Christmas by the Bay

The first couple of times I went to San Francisco I was not that impressed. I was spending time working at Davies Hall, which can only be described as an abomination inside and out. I trust that even the most recent round of acoustic treatment has done little to remedy that. I guarantee that it still looks like a sports arena outside, especially set as it is among the Beaux Arts buildings of the SFWMPAC. Worse, we were working on a Christmas record in June with (fellow Hoosier) Vance George and the San Francisco Symphony Chorus. That tree says it all, doesn't it.

Anyway, I had a really great vegetarian meal at Millenium, which just happened to be in my hotel, and a delicious Anchor Steam on tap. I went out to have a smoke afterward (I was young...) and got to talking to some other people. When they asked where I was from and I replied Los Angeles, the said that they were sorry. At that time, the crazy good Thai food that our producer, the inimitable Lolly Lewis, took us for in the Tenderloin wasn't enough to make up for the sting. I stayed a week and got the crabs then took a bus back home.

Future trips to work in Marin County only served to bolster my image of San Franciscans as uppity, and the hangover from my 25th birthday still throbbed in my head as I made my first pilgrimage to the Haight (why does it play Set the Controls for the Heart of the Sun?!?!) and Amoeba. But even Amoeba couldn't undo the hypocrisy I felt typified the city when I saw that Baby Gap there. 

I'm older now, and maybe have lost some of my idealism. I've watched as Wicker Park and the Ukranian Village lost Sophie's Busy Bee and with it, much of its soul. I've seen what Guiliani and Michael Eisner hath wrought in Times Square. I got priced out of Venice during the real estate bubble of the oughts. I guess what I'm saying is that with my iPhone in tow and my cat securely locked away at home with a litter robot, my soulless yuppie ass has now figured out that San Francisco is one of the best restaurant cities in the world and I should just enjoy it for what it's worth, not what it's reputation or history may claim.

We are lucky enough to have friends who are lucky enough to benefit from parental largess in the form of an awesome Victorian in Cow Hollow. The future-Mrs.-Stretch was in town for a convention, leaving Stretch, BoW, and I free during the days. We filled those days mostly with mountain biking which, despite some protestation from BoW, was spectacular and rewarding. What she doesn't realize is that it's just as hard for Stretch and I, we just don't want to look weak in front of her. When we ride alone together, we usually have at least one good cry.

Anyway, the food is supposed to be the point of this entry that I started 10 days ago, so I'll start at the beginning. We went to dinner with some friends of JT at Allegro Romano in Russian Hill. Great service, good food, and an off-the-list Barbera that was as affordable as it was delicious. To really solidify the SF experience, the hippy cab driver was actually listening to the Grateful Dead and smelled like Otto's jacket. Breakfasts revolved around huge bowls of coffee at La Boulange, the local outpost of a SF chain. Snacks were generally underwhelming, but mostly that was because we were usually too tired and hungry from riding to go very far afield.

The main meal of the trip came in the middle, so I'll skip ahead to the other highlights for a sec. We grabbed some dim sum on our way out of town at Canton Dim Sum and Seafood south of Market. The previous night, we met Count Reeshard at Shalimar, a delightful Indian spot in the Tenderloin. Rarely do restaurants live up to their hype, but the recommendation from the Count made me think that this one would. And it did. Chased with delicious Taj Mahal from the liquor store on the corner, the curries were as delicious as the staff was surly. This is not a place you go for ambience. This is real food, real fast, real cheap, and real delicious. Our cabby said that it was a cabby hangout, and that we should ask to sit where they do, in the back. I expected a South Asian version of King of New York, so we passed.

The middle night, we were on our own, so we decided to follow the advice of some friends and head to Richmond to try out Burma Superstar. Clearly, this place also lives up to its reputation because there was a 2 hour wait for tables. We put our name and cell number in then did a spin around the block. Lots of interesting SE Asian fare, but nothing with the draw of the Superstar, so we went back to post up and see how the progress was going. That's when we noticed the sign advertising their new venture just up the street. Well, I was born to have adventure, so we followed up the block.

What we found was B Star Bar. Looking at the menu, we knew we were in for a treat, so we went in, sat down, ordered some Soju mojitos, 

renkon chips (so delightfully spicy with ichimi togarashi), 

and the house pickles (slightly sweet, and just briny enough -- not vinegary, but real homemade pickles!) to keep us busy while we decided what we were really going to eat.

By this point, our server was beginning to get a little uncomfortable with my enthusiasm and picture-taking. Whatever, I was on vacation and staring into the mouth of deliciousness.

We decided to have soup and a main course. BoW started with the wonton, a wonderful clear broth with lots of fresh veggies and beautiful, tender pork and shrimp wontons. Nothing special, you may think, but satisfying on a cold night and bursting with fresh flavor. 

I had the samusa soup, which tasted just like it sounds: curried flavors in a thick broth based on potatoes and chick peas. For texture, they added fresh veg and chunks of falafel. Man, it was good. I got misty. I went back and forth between savoring bites and eagerly anticipating our main courses.

Was it silly for us to get BoW soup and then jook? Maybe, but man, that was some seriously good rice porridge. And it had meat balls. Those meatballs had meatballs on their meatballs. They were completely different from the stellar polpette that Chef David treated us to the previous week, but every bit as satisfying.

The truly amazing dish, though, was my pork belly. It was perfectly cooked, falling apart into strips of glistening moistness while retaining the caramel crisp glaze of the fatty layer on top. There was a chocolaty flavor that I couldn't quite put my finger on until later: tea. It was kind of like they marinated it in sweet Thai tea. This flavor was supported by a harmonious spice mixture of mostly star anise and clove, yielding a complete olfactory experience in addition to the gustatory.

I was so high from the food, I let BoW talk me into stopping across the street at The Plough and the Stars for a nightcap. It was a Green bar, and it felt pretty homey. Of course, we got some Jamesons and settled in to drinking while members of Tipsy House and friends informally played traditional music at the end of one of the long communal tables. Well, the food high began to wear, and the whiskey brought back the hater in me, and soon the incessant compound-triple made me want to go. We flagged a cab, and who should be driving but our hippy friend from the first night. I guess maybe this town isn't so bad after all.