Posted by Anita on 09.08.06 12:13 PM
I’ll cut to the chase: I think Pearl’s — the newish SF outpost of a Mill Valley icon — has a lot of potential, especially if you order correctly. Someone’s obviously put a lot of thought into the menu, where you’ll find gourmet-ish upgrades like buffalo burgers and natural beef (for an extra $1.25-$1.50) and seasonal fresh-fruit shakes, alongside Pink’s-style gutbombs like The King: “A 1/4 pound burger crowned with a hot dog, cheddar, American cheese, and thousand island dressing.” Whoa.
The place is clean and crisp, without feeling sterile. Counter service was on the ball, and the prices seemed in line with similar joints: We paid a bit more than $20 for the two of us. You could see the fresh fruit for shakes in pourable containers in a little fridge near the register, and everyone backstage looked like they knew what the hell they were doing. They even offered frings, so I didn’t have to choose between two equally appealing side orders… sa-weet.
Unfortunately, I was so distracted by the surprise option of fries with rings that I didn’t specify what kind of cheese I wanted on my Pearl’s Deluxe, so I got some particularly nasty American technicolor-orange stuff. The theoretical 1/2-pound patty was flat, machine-made, and downright industrial. It came with a decent, but obviously store-bought bun, plus nice leafy lettuce, cardboardy tomato, and sliced onions. The meat was cooked to medium — as they said it would be by default — but tasted manky enough that I don’t think I’d dare order it again.
Cameron wisely opted for the natural-beef upgrade on his mushroom-bacon burger; his Jack cheese tasted a little less processed than the American, the ‘shrooms were good (although they paled in comparison to those at Joe’s), and the patty looked like it had been formed by human hands. Unfortunately, they’d cooked the living daylights out of it. Medium? Nononono… this poor patty was scorched to fare-thee-well-done. Still, it remained reasonably juicy and definitely worthy of another try.
How ’bout those sides? Both fries and rings were from a bag, but actually tasted like someone had bothered to find the best premade versions they could get, rather than the cheap, sugar-coated nasties you find most places. Similarly, Cam’s vanilla malt — although made with soft-serve ice cream — was actually creamy and malty, without the gloppy texture you usually find with extruded dairy.
Will we go back? Probably, yeah. But I’ll stick with the natural beef, make sure to specify real cheese, and ask for my burger to be cooked medium-rare.
Pearl’s Deluxe Burgers
780 Post Street (at Jones)
San Francisco, CA 94109
415.409.6120
downtown SF, meat, restaurants
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Posted by Anita on 09.06.06 9:43 AM
Pardon my tardiness with the next couple of posts… I’m clearing out a post-holiday backlog. (Or is that back-blog?)
If I hadn’t seen it with my own two eyes, I might not believe there really is a restaurant called El Jefe’s. It made me want to walk right up to the hostess desk and ask, in my best Chevy Chase voice: “Do you have anything here besides… Mexican food?”
But the place is indeed real, and, in fact, they do have plenty of things on the menu that would confuse the heck out of the denizens of San Poco. The decor‘s your first clue that perhaps this isn’t your typical combo-plate shack. Obviously, these guys have pretentions, and it shows in the menu.
Now, I’m no purist when it comes to my comida: I love my gringified Mexican places as much as the next SoCal emigrant, and I’m even pretty fond of Mexican fusion, when it’s done right. But even given the fact that they’re obviously shooting straight for my demographic, I couldn’t find anything to latch onto at El Jefe’s. The chips and salsa they brought to the table didn’t give me much hope: The chips were made from a strange combination of flour and corn masa, giving the impression of eating the wrapping from a greasy chimichanga, and both green and red salsas were obviously sweetened.
Even though I wasn’t particularly hungry, I ordered a “Mexican chopped salad” to hedge my bets. The spicy mix of chicken, lettuce, poblanos, pepitas, hominy, and apples wasn’t bad, although, again, someone in the kitchen used a very heavy hand with the sugar when mixing the dressing. For my main, I went with mole chicken enchiladas. They arrived in a soup plate, swimming in sauce and “artfully” drizzled with crema. The chicken was good, if not particularly interesting; the sauce would have been a perfect balance of smoky, spicy and rich, if it hadn’t been marred by an odd fruity sweetness. Accompanying pintos were bland, and white rice was waterlogged… and unnecessary.
The whole experience made me want to go back into the kitchen and ask: “Could it be that you are angry for something else, and you are taking it out on me?”
El Jefe’s Mexican Restaurant & Cantina
9925 S. Eastern Avenue
Las Vegas, NV 89123
702.453.JEFE
Mexican, restaurants, Vegas
1 Comment »
Posted by Anita on 08.28.06 11:15 AM
If you’re looking for a review of Perbacco restaurant in the Financial District, we’ve got one of those, too. (Psst, click HERE.) But below you’ll find a review of Bacco in Noe Valley.
Cameron’s sister and brother-in-law were visiting last week, taking a slightly circuituitous route from their old home in London to their new one in NYC. Since we’d had a bit of a delay rounding up a babysitter for our favorite niece, all of the city hotspots were long since booked for a Friday-night celebration at anything resembling a decent dinner hour.
And so, like we’ve done so many times before, we turned to Ristorante Bacco, another one of our perennial faves. We’ve said it before and we’ll say it again: We can never understand why we’re able to walk in without reservations on weeknights, and snag prime-time seats on OpenTable even at the last minute.
It may be a cliché, but Bacco really does feel like a neighborhood restaurant in Italy: great European-style service, well-prepared food with a seasonal vibe, and warm ambiance without a hint of pretension. All of the waiters are Italian, and their European approach is evident: they’re not just here while they write their screenplay or find their next tech job; they’re professional waiters who know a lot about food (and wine) in general, and Bacco’s menu in particular.
The decor is cozy and Tuscan-ish in a manner that verges on caricature: Large smooth terracotta tiles set on a diagonal covering the floor, color-washed walls, long/heavy curtains, and bas-relief sculptures of Bacchus and his nymphs.
The menu changes seasonally, but many items remain year-round. Unless you’ve spent your life eating at Olive Garden, Bacco’s not going to change the way you think about Italian food. But that’s not really the issue: We come here — as you should — expecting good food, simply prepared.
Appetizers cover a wide range: there’s usually a soup (often bland and forgettable), a special salad (usually one of the best choices; they sound more boring than they turn out), and some seasonal small plate.
In the pasta section, our old favorites include a rigatoni dish with lamb ragu and tiny peas. The usual assortments of meat-centric entrees are workmanlike (and more expensive) and generally not quite as interesting as the pastas. But if you see something that catches your eye, go for it: all of them use top-notch ingredients and are prepared just as they should be.
Desserts — panna cotta, affogato, tiramisu and the like — are satisfying, if neither particularly innovative nor seasonally inspired. The wine list offers a small assortment of California reds and whites, plus a larger selection of Italian varietals; all are reasonably priced.
Ristorante Bacco
737 Diamond Street
San Francisco, CA 94114
415.282.4969
Italian, Noe Valley, restaurants
1 Comment »
Posted by Anita on 08.24.06 5:47 PM
In the pantheon of old standbys, San Tung ranks among the venerable elders. We’ve been eating there since one of Cameron’s roommates — ironically, a vegetarian — recommended it to us, back in the days when we were just a-courtin’. I can’t even begin to count the number of friends we’ve turned on to the pleasures of dry-fried chicken and other San Tung delights in the years since.
As with any long-standing friend, we’ve collected plenty of lore about ol’ San Tung, most of it based on stuff that’s no longer entirely accurate. Example: It’s still formally known as “San Tung Chinese Restaurant #2”, although there’s no longer is a #1 to be found. And ’round our house, we affectionately refer to ST as “closed on every wednesdays” in deference to the chinglish sign that used to grace the door. (It’s long been replaced by a just-slightly ungrammatical “wednesdays closed”).
You’ll see dry-fried chicken on almost every table at San Tung, for good reason: it rocks! (For those keeping score at home, we prefer the diced version to the wings, and alternate between the “wet” and “dry” variants.) If you’re a fan of the hot, you’ll love the little dish of kimchee that you get while perusing the menu.
We can also recommend spicy soup noodles, spicy peanut noodles, potstickers, pork dumplings, mu-shu whatever — if it’s got noodles or a dumpling wrapper, it’s going to be good — and the hot-and-sour soup is pretty respectable.
Service is brusque, as you’d expect from a restaurant in this particular genre — cheap Chinese, sans atmosphere — and you should be prepared to wait anywhere from 5 to 20 minutes, or share a banquet-size table with other parties. But what it lacks in charm, San Tung most decidedly makes up for in deliciousness. We’re always happy when the craving strikes on a day that isn’t a “wednesdays”.
San Tung Chinese Restaurant #2
1031 Irving Street (at 11th)
San Francisco, CA 94122
415.242.0828
– 11am to 9:30pm; closed [on every] Wednesdays
restaurants
4 Comments »
Posted by Anita on 08.17.06 11:56 AM
Finding ourselves without dinner plans — and seriously in need of both comfort food and cocktails — we decided to try out farmerbrown. (Or is it “farmer brown”? Even they can’t decide: it’s farmerbrown on the sign and the site, and farmer_brown on the door.)
Anyway… Our man Brown — or his real-life counterpart, chef-owner Jay Foster — seems to be a heckuva guy, and we figured we’d like his stuff. Any place that boasts of “farm-fresh cocktails” can’t be all bad, and Foster makes a big deal about supporting local and African-American farmers. Cool beans.
Realizing that fb is a hot ticket, we called ahead to make sure we could get in. Cameron tried first, and got no answer… even though it was 5:20 and the restaurant opens at 5. I tried a bit later, and got an answer on the first ring. I said that I realized it was late, but wondered if they had space for 2 at 6:30; the hostess said they did.
I arrived at 6:25 and was asked to take a seat at the bar until the rest of my party arrived. Which would have been a lovely idea, as I spied some vodka infusions that looked interesting, except there were no seats to be had. Luckily, Cameron walked in just at 6:30. The hostess seated us at a 2-top table right in the doorway, and asked “Is this OK?” I asked if we could get something a little less in the middle of traffic, so the hostess checked the books and seated us along the banquette near the door — good enough.
But then, just as we were settling in with menus and napkins, she came back and, with no apology, tells us that, oops, she made a mistake, that table’s reserved for a large party. We followed her to the rear of the restaurant where two different tables had to move so that we would be shoehorned into our seats. Harumph.
OK, so… menu at last. Looks like it does online: Hopped-up versions of soul-food classics. We snarkily pointed out multiple typos to one another (like “dungenss” and “pickeled”) but otherwise liked what we saw. Water arrived in cute little canning jars, with a mint-spiked carafe for refills. The cocktail list is short, but balanced and in tune with the theme. The beer list is impressive — only five taps, but the closest thing to a generic brew was Anchor Steam — and mostly local. We chose a bourbon sidecar and a mint julep, which both were reasonably well made, served in stemless cocktail glasses over far too much ice.
After placing our food order, the runner brought us a plate of mini-breads: a pair of nice cornbead muffins and two dinner roll-ish biscuits, plus a small serving of runny berry preserves. We both ordered Wedge salads, which were fine but rather uninspired for a place that boasts of its farm connections: a quarter-head of iceberg, good bleu-cheese dressing, a sliced radish and a few cherry tomato halves. It needed something more to make it feel special; as it was, it felt like something you would whip up in 5 minutes at home.
I ordered the much-praised fried chicken for my main, which was possibly the best rendition I’ve had in San Francisco. The accompanying side of mac-and-cheese was measly — no more than a half a cup — and not very well made. The macaroni was overcooked, and the cheese sauce tasted overwhelmingly like a prepackaged spice blend: Tony Cachere’s or Lawry’s Seasoned Salt, perhaps? The accompanying sad, dead pile of arugula shouldn’t have left the kitchen.
Cameron’s crab po’ boy sandwich was similarly problematic. The overstuffed crabcake interior and too-chewy bread made it impossible to eat without a knife and fork, and its flavored-mayo spread was tooth-achingly sweet. On the upside, there was plenty of crab, although it didn’t taste especially fresh and crabby. The dish’s highlight was its accompanying slaw: a chunky cabbage-and-cuke mixture lightly dressed in mayo touched with Chinese mustard.
Service was distant and scattered, and gave us the distinct impression that they really wanted us out of there: We ordered nearly the identical meal as the table next to us, who ordered before us, but we got served first. And instead of asking us if we wanted more drinks, the server just took the empty glasses; we had to hunt her down to order a round of beers. She also brought us the check as soon as our plates were cleared, and half-assedly added “Any dessert?” Gosh, no… we wouldn’t want to put you out.
Despite all of our whining, we managed to make a number of pleasant observations. First: whoever runs their fryer knows their business; neither the chicken nor the po’ boy stuffing was the least bit greasy. And it’s not expensive: We barely spent $60 between us. The decor is a trainwreck, but the ambiance feels cozy despite the amateurish design. But the initial fumbling by the hostess, the crappy table we ended up in, and the mad rush through our meal all rattled us so deeply that we had a hard time enjyoing ourselves.
farmerbrown
25 Mason Street
San Francisco, CA 94112
415.409.3276
downtown SF, restaurants
6 Comments »
Posted by Anita on 08.13.06 4:48 PM
We had a ton of house projects to finish today, and that meant a trip to Lowe’s. What’s that got to do with food? Well, Lowe’s is in South City… and South City is home to JoAnn’s, an unpretentious little diner that’s become one of our favorite breakfast stops.
Now, I don’t want to get your hopes up: The breakfasts aren’t amazingly special — JoAnn’s no Dottie — but they’re usually tasty. And even though the place is always busy, there’s rarely a wait. People apparently come from far and wide for their muffins, if that’s your sort of thing.
I also love the place because if you’re not in the mood for breakfast, they serve the lunch menu — including a fabulous burger — all day long.
JoAnn’s Cafe
1131 El Camino Real
South San Francisco, CA 94080
650.872.2810
breakfast, restaurants
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Posted by Anita on 08.12.06 1:09 PM
We started out the weekend at one of our favorite restaurants: Range. We’ve been coming here since soon after they first opened, and we — along with half of San Francisco — immediately fell in love with the coffee-rubbed pork shoulder served with creamed hominy. Then we dug deeper into the menu and found plenty of other strengths: a rotating sashimi/crudo selection, various riffs on pasta appetizers, and a bavette so good that I don’t even mind that it comes pre-sliced. (No need to comment: I know it’s supposed to be like that!)
It’s obvious that the bar staff cares a lot about how their creations get built, and comes up with specialty drinks that — although occasionally more perfect in inspiration than in execution — are some of the most creative cocktails in the city. Service is unfailingly professional and helpful, without smothering or being overly familiar — a solid balance.
The environment is half the fun of dinner at Range: It’s a little retro (industrial-meets-Art Deco, especially in the lighting), a little sexy (indirect lighting behind the backs of the banquettes) and a little hip (modern furniture, lots of brown). We like the banquettes in the main dining room quite a lot. The tables in the hallway between the bar and the main dining room, however, are a terrible place to eat: One person ends up staring at a blank wall, and the other has a view of the cooks’ heads, but none of the fun of the kitchen.
Anyway, back to Friday… Cameron started with a cocktail that featured green-tea gin, Lillet blanc, chartreuse, and lemon juice. It had potential, but needed a little something more: Cameron voted for more gin, while I thought more chartreuse. My drink was the night’s special, a mixture of Sun Gold tomatoes, Plymouth gin, elderflower syrup, and lemon juice. It was a lovely combination, and the tomato was a great ‘secret ingredient’ type of flavor, but they hadn’t seived the tomatoes, so the drink was muddied by pulp and an unappetizing layer of seeds gathered at the bottom of the glass.
Since it doesn’t get any better than mid-August when it comes to heirloom tomatoes, I opted for a salad that featured a nice assortment of varieties along with crescenza cheese and crispy breadcrumbs — an interesting contrast to the usual softness. Cameron, as usual, opted for the raw fish; the selection was paper-thin slices of sockeye salmon with avocado.
None of the newer main dishes caught my eye, so I chose the standby bavette, served with slow-roasted tomates, broccoli rabe, and an oddly refreshing horseradish sauce. Cameron’s halibut was perfectly prepared, but its corn-puree sauce was a touch strange-tasting.
To finsh the evening, we ordered the cheese plate: a perfectly ripe Roquefort served with marcona almonds and slivers of dates. The server also brought us an order of crepes with sauteed plums — presumably as an apology for her boss having lightly spritzed us with champagne earlier in the evening — served with a cardamom ice cream that I loved but Cameron studiously avoided.
All in all, we paid about $150, including tax and tip, for a thoroughly enjoyable dinner.
Range
842 Valencia Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
415.282.8283
drinks, restaurants, The Mission
1 Comment »
Posted by Anita on 08.09.06 10:47 PM
Tonight, a combination of factors conspired to keep us out of the kitchen. I ended up working late yet again, leaving Cameron to cook solo… and then he realized that the grill had run out of propane. When the universe sends clear signals like this, we’ve learned to listen.
Cameron picked me up at Glen Park BART, and asked: “Mexican, Indian, or Ethiopian?”
To which I replied: “Duh!”
So, we hopped on 280 and pointed the car toward Don Pico’s.
Don Pico’s offers Mexican-food aficionados an interesting juxtaposition. On one hand, it’s an old-school “plate food” restaurante of the SoCal style, serving up combination platos and cold beers. But it also has aspirations to upscale-ness, calling itself a “Mexican bistro,” sporting spruced-up decor straight out of Trading Spaces, and adding daily specials like butternut squash tamales to the usual cheesy fare.
Our friends Andrew & Kathy turned us on to the charms of the Don late last year, and since then we’ve eaten here every couple of weeks. The kitchen always dishes up comida that’s solid, if a bit under-spiced. Service ranges from really great — as it was tonight — to downright spacey; eventually, we always get fed.
I toyed with ordering the chilaquiles (if only for the comedic effect of having the same meal for breakfast and dinner), but settled on my prototypical cheesy combo: A chicken taco, and a cheese enchilada. As always, it was good, in a baaad way. Cameron took the chef’s advice and opted for the amusingly named Mexican Jambalaya, and was rewarded by an interesting riff on the old bayou classic, with chorizo taking the place of andouille, and bell-pepper strips standing in for okra.
My biggest Don Pico’s gripe — other than the fact that they are closed on Sundays and Mondays — is their lack of full bar, so dÃos only knows what foul tequila substitute goes into their margaritas. Luckily, they have plenty of cold Negra Modelo ready for me.
(Oh, and if you’re a fan of karaoke-style lounge acts, you’ll love it here on weeknights. Don’t say you weren’t warned…)
Don Pico’s Original Mexican Bistro
461 El Camino Real
San Bruno, CA 94066
650.589.1163
Mexican, restaurants
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Posted by Anita on 08.05.06 9:25 PM
I had a meeting Saturday morning in Los Altos, and — knowing full well what the answer would be — I asked Cameron if he wanted to head south with me and go to Fiesta del Mar.Those of you who’ve known us for a while can probably skip this post; there’s no new information here. What did we have? Same thing we always do: A #15 combination ($12.50) for me — the world’s best chile relleno, and an excellent chicken tostada — and Camarones a la Diabla ($16.95) for Cameron — “jumbo shrimp sautéed in spicy hot chile de árbol sauce” says the menu, which really doesn’t do justice to the tangy, garlicy, spicy love that surrounds the prawns. How was it? Just as fabulous as always, and maybe even a little bit better than usual. In fact, over the years we’ve been going here (heading on 10, now) I can only recall one meal that wasn’t stunning.
We’ve been known to plan our arrival times into SFO based on whether we’ll make it back in time for dinner at FdM. It’s one of the few old standbys that’s actually stood the test of time.
Fiesta del Mar
1005 N. Shoreline Blvd.
Mountain View, CA 94043
650.965.9354
Mexican, restaurants
1 Comment »
Posted by Anita on 08.03.06 7:23 AM
After 8 months of keeping The Liberty Cafe in the penalty box, we decided to give it another whirl. See, we talk a good game as unforgiving food snobs, but we’re really good sports. (Actually, we’re just desperate for better food close to home…)
Here’s a review I wrote on Yelp last year:
10/27/2005
Food was good, but not amazing. The butter lettuce salad’s bleu cheese was bland, hazelnuts were a touch rancid, but pears were lovely and the vinaigrette perfect. On the other salad, the too-tough mache was garnished with grapes, walnuts, pecorino.
I’d had the chicken pot pie before, and I also make it at home from the recipe that the Chron published a few years back. It was just like homemade — decent, nothing special — only I don’t burn my puff pastry. The “fancy mac-and-cheese” was short tubes (nice) with arugula (nice, but skimpy) and pine nuts… which sounds like a good idea but ended up tasting like uncooked peas. Bleh.
There wasn’t anything wrong with our pale caramel pot de creme, but it would have benefitted from deeper, richer caramel flavor.
Service was all over the map. One server was sweet and clueless, the other was sharp but snarky.
Maybe it’s just a matter of ordering well. Or that they do better with summertime produce. Or we caught them on a good night. Or lowered expectations… But we had a pretty good dinner last night. Still not worthy of the endless praise that gets heaped on this place from near and far, but good, solid neighborhood chow.
I started with the heirloom tomato salad ($9): Ripe but not perfect tomatoes, solid slices of mozzerella (which needed more salt), fresh basil leaves and a cloying basalmic reduction. In theory it was supposed to be garnished with grey salt, but I only noticed it on one bite. Cameron opted for the mixed greens ($8.50), which featured hazelnuts — happily, not rancid this time — nectarines, and a fromage-blanc crouton, which he said were very nice.
Cameron’s main course — a pizza ($10) with taleggio, proscuitto and arugula, plus a small scattering of Sweet 100 tomato halves — was tasty. Although the crust (like all of the bread products) was heartfelt but a tad amateurish, the toppings and preparation were spot-on. My flank steak was cooked to a perfect medium rare, but its presentation was rather scary: the entire plate was covered by a quarter-inch pool of (very tasty) infused oil. Slices of steak scattered with herbs sat atop a small stack of sauteed spinach and a few potato halves. Needless to say, it’s a good thing I am not on a low-fat diet… and I still was taken aback.
Overall, the food was good, if slightly homespun. It’s the sort of thing that if you cooked it at home, you’d be delighted. You’d turn to your partner and say “Hey, that’s pretty good! Let’s make that again.” But it doesn’t feel like restaurant food, which is a blessing and a curse. I’m not sure I’m willing to regularly spend $75 for a dinner that I (or most of my friends) could make at home just as well. On the other hand, if they can keep the food as consistently good as it was last night… well, I’m obviously torn. But I am glad to have had a nice meal there, if only because now I see why everyone says we’re so lucky to live so close.
Service, once again, was a bit off the mark. One of the waiters (the snarky one) was familiar to us; the other may also have been the “sweet but clueless” lad of our previous visit. Although there was no snarkiness on offer tonight, the older waiter did seem to be a bit bossy to his co-workers; the younger one was having a rough night, coming back to ask us our order after having forgotten what starters we ordered, and then again with the wine. I heard him do the same to the people at the next table over. And then at the end of the meal, he bumped the table and sent a glass of ice water sailing toward Cameron’s lap.
Which brings us to the setting: It’s cozy in there, to be sure. But it’s also a tad cramped and not a little unfomfortable. The chairs are hard and awkward, and the tables placed just a touch too close together. Liberty’s well-known for its tolerance of smaller patrons (notice the stack of highchairs in the bathroom), and our dinner was interrupted numerous times — even approaching 8pm — by shrieks and howls from a tot seated across the room. I realize this isn’t strictly the restaurant’s fault, but it is something to keep in mind. If you have a low tolerance for screeching during dinner, this probably isn’t your place.
The Liberty Cafe
410 Cortland Avenue
San Francisco, CA 94110
415.695.1223
Bernal, restaurants
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