Newport, RI: Franklin Spa

Unsurprisingly, after our long, drawn out dinners inNewport, we were pretty slow-going in the mornings.  But there were things to do, cliffs to walk, mansions to tour, and we needed to be refueled.  Given the duration and relative fanciness of the previous night’sdinner, we wanted something casual, but (of course) not at the expense of deliciousness.  Franklin Spa showed up on nearly every best-of breakfast / brunch list we came across, so we figured it must be a reliable spot.  So we headed on over and found a bustling breakfast scene.  After a wait of just a few minutes spent ogling the food being ushered past us, we settled into our corner booth, ready to enjoy some straight-up comfort food.

Franklin Spa is the epitome of a greasy spoon - not exactly what I had in mind when I heard the name of the joint.  From the swiveling stools at a counter in front of an open kitchen to the vinyl booths and the no-nonsense yet affable hey darlin’ sort of service you’d expect from a local joint, you just know you're in for an enjoyable meal. 

Most of the time, when I eat out, I am looking to experience new tastes and experiences and discover combinations I’d never have dreamed up on my own.  That’s not always the case for brunch.  Sometimes I am looking to be wowed, but sometimes I just want some comforting food prepared by someone else, someone who has their shit together at the ungodly hour of one p.m. on a weekend day. 

Smoked Salmon Benedict

For me, comfort food at brunch time is found in the form of smoked salmon and poached eggs.  It’s a go-to of mine because it’s relatively healthy (though hello, sodium!), straightforward and simple.  Despite this simplicity, it’s surprising how frequently the dish falls short of its potential.  I suppose I can’t expect busy kitchens to present me with perfectly poached eggs every time, but at the very least I expect to be met with runny yolks.  Diners tend to be well-seasoned egg-slingers, so I put my faith in the short-order cooks behind the counter and ordered a smoked salmon benedict – hollandaise on the side (so sue me, I’m not immune to the threats of butterfat, and it’s impossible to tell just how heavy-handed a kitchen will be with the hollandaise, so I figure it’s best to just apply it, or dunk it, realistically, myself).  The fellas at Franklin Spa did not let me down.  My eggs were perfect – perfectly runny, not a hard bit of yolk to be found, with thoroughly cooked whites.  The hollandaise was lemony and bright, though a bit clunky.  A simple dish very well executed, and served with some well-spiced home fries.

Corned Beef Hash

Robbie opted for the corned beef hash with poached eggs and hollandaise.  What can I say, we were a little sodium-hungry, I suppose.  His plate came teeming with fatty corned beef and browned potatoes. A hangover helper if there ever were one.

Stuffed French Toast with Bananas and Pecans

CF went with the stuffed french toast, which was topped at her request with bananas and pecans.  A solid move.  The battered slices of bread were barely able to contain the mounds of maple-spiked cream cheese within.  This was unabashedly decadent; not as sweet as you'd expect but very difficult to tackle alone.  I was glad I wasn't the one faced with the task, but happy to be able to sneak a taste. 

I didn't photograph CH's dish, but it was a chili and cheese omelet.  CH is to chili as Rob is to hot wings.  If it's on a menu, it's tough for him to look past it and order something else. When he saw it combined with breakfast food, he knew immediately it'd be his.  Bad move.  Learn from his mistake.  Not only did he not enjoy it much, but it repeated on him all afternoon, as if to remind him of his failing.  

That one misstep aside (and I'll put that one on CH, as opposed to Franklin Spa), this was a very solid meal.  It was unpretentious, relaxed and really quite good.  Recommended.

Franklin Spa

229 Spring St.

Newport, RI

(401) 847-3540

Newport, RI: Tallulah on Thames

For our next, and what we’d presumed to be our last, dinner in Newport, Robbie, C&C and I decided to class it up a little bit.  We secured a late reservation at Tallulah onThames, just a few blocks down from where we’d dined the nightbefore.  The space was small but welcoming; dim, but not dark. Dining out as frequently as I do in New York, I kind of forget what it’s like to have space between my table and others.  Like actual, I don’t even have to pretend I can’t hear those two girls talking about their relationships even though I can hear every awkward word, space.  Not only was the space plentiful, but it was airy, simply outfitted and quite lovely. 

Since all of the entrees hovered in the mid-thirties range, we opted for the prix fixe menu, which allowed us to select an appetizer, entrée and dessert from the menu for $50, with supplemental charges for certain dishes. 

Botanica, 2009 Chenin Blanc

 We selected a lovely, very interesting bottle of South African Chenin Blanc – the waitress was apparently a very big fan and doesn’t get asked about it frequently, so she insisted we give it a try.  She did not lead us astray; it was awesome.  I was at first thrown off by the minerality of it, but was hugely converted after a few sips, and we drank far too much of it. 

Tallulah espouses the same farm-to-table sentiment that’s popped up nearly everywhere these days.  Which is not to say I don’t appreciate the movement – I love sitting down with confidence that my meal did not originate in a factory. 

Butter.  Obvs.

I tend to place a disproportionate weight on bread and butter when deciding whether I like a restaurant.  I prefer butter to olive oil (that vegan thing never stood a chance), and I think you can tell a lot about how seriously a restaurant treats its food by the butter – it should be room temperature, maybe on the cool side of room temperature, but it should never be cold, since it should spread easily. And I could tell from this butter that we were in for a good meal.  Sprinkled with fleur de sel, micro greens, and edible flowers, it was just fabulous.  This butter was, ironically, my jam. 

But bread and butter alone do not, unfortunately, a proper meal make.  Since this meal happened over a month ago and I neglected to take a picture of the menu, I am very fuzzy on what was actually consumed, but suffice it to say that everything was quite delicious.  I have a general idea, though, and some pathetic pictures, so here goes anyway.

Baby greens with apples, cheese and other stuff

I started with a baby greens salad with Apples, shallots and blue cheese.  Despite all the distraction in the plating, at its essence this salad was simple, balanced, and fresh. All of the flavors played off of one another and the freshness of the mache really shone through.  

Endives, frisee and beets beets beets

CF started with the other salad option, endives and frisee with beets.  She seemed to enjoy it quite a bit.  

Appetizer win

Robbie and CH went for the broccoli and cheddar veloute.  I am not a fan of cream-based soups, and thinking the veloute would be, if not, cream-based, quite heavy, I opted for the salad, and the second Rob's soup was poured I had serious food envy.  It was awesome.  The cheddar somehow seemed to contribute only flavor, giving a little bit of an edge to what would be an otherwise run-of-the-mill broccoli soup, but did not weigh down the veloute at all.  Rob and CH won the appetizer course.

For the mains, I had been considering the fluke but was told they'd run out.  So I opted instead for the cod, which was a wonderful fallback.  Served with brandade, olives, and a piquillo pepper puree, the fish was cooked fantastically - crispy skin veiling perfectly moist flesh.  Say what you will, call me gross even, but I love crispy fish skin, and I don't give a fuck.  

Cod

Robbie also went with the cod.  Typically, I'd be secretly (and, yes, selfishly) resentful that he hadn't gone with something different so that I could pick from his plate, but since the four of us had been eating from each other's plates all weekend, I knew I'd have a chance to taste a few different things.  

Risotto avec l'arc de courge musquée

CF went with the seasonal squash risotto, which was good but not mind-blowing, and plated far too preciously for my taste.

Beefaroni

CH went for something far heartier - steak (I believe it was flank steak, perhaps?) cooked into a rich sauce.  Piled atop some seriously delicious fresh egg pappardelle, it was the lovechild of italian ragu and beef bourguignon.  I actually really liked the plating of this dish, and the portion was definitely appreciated more by the stomach than the eyes.

Ganache et al

Onto dessert we went.  Since it was Robbie's birthday the following week, the staff graciously put a candle in his dessert.  I don't recall what this dessert was, but I think it was a chocolate ganache with some other business going on.  It was fine, but not remarkable. 

Panna cotta spiked with awesome

What was, remarkable, however, was my coffee caramel panna cotta, with hazlenut crunch and "sweet milk espuma." This was just solid all around.  The delicious little toffee pieces, the little crunchies, reminiscent of the middle layer of the Carvel cakes of my youth, the sweet milk espuma (just call it foam, dude) - all delicious, and the bitterness of the coffee prevented all the sweet from creeping too close to saccharine.

The prices at Tallulah seem rather out of line with the rest of Newport.  The meal was by far our most expensive of the weekend, and from what I understand, the $50 prix fixe jumps significantly during the busy summer months.  While I think the artiness of the plating could have been dialed back a few notches, it did not obscure the fact that the food we were eating was pretty damn great.  

Tallulah on Thames

464 Thames St
Newport, RI

(401) 849-2433

Newport, RI: Brick Alley Pub & Restaurant

About, oh, a month ago (wow, am I behind on these posts), Rob and I took a little weekend jaunt over to Newport, Rhode Island with our friends C&C.  We'd never been before, and we were able to snag a pretty good deal on a vacation home since apparently not many people favor New England beach town destinations in the dead of winter. 

We went armed with a bunch of dining options from my friend Sheera, a trusty source of food recommendations.  We arrived in Newport in time for a late-ish dinner thanks to the trusty I-95 traffic, and wanted someplace casual and good.  Sheera had high praise for Brick Alley pub, and a quick Google search turned up a number of encouraging articles, including the fact that Bon Appetit named Brick Alley’s lobster roll one of the best in America.   

We were pretty voracious by the time we sat down around 9:30, obviously past prime dinnertime, as most of the tables were wrapping up and we were the last to be seated.  We studied the immense menu (and ridiculous drink / beer list) and proceeded to over-order.  

Not even close to actually being a slider, but no less delicious for it

First up, some Ahi Tuna Sliders.  The waitress beamed when we ordered these, and they were good, not life changing by any means, but perfectly tasty and great for sharing  And certainly one of the lighter options on the pub-fare-heavy menu. 

Apparently the progeny of one of the 13 best recipes published by Bon Appetit
in its first 50 years

Next, the Portugese Clams, another dish that Bon Appetit apparently loves, going so far as to name it in its 50^th anniversary issues as one of the 13 best recipes in the history of the magazine (per the note on the menu).  For a little touristy spot with a giant, pages long menu listing among its edibles nachos and spinach artichoke dip, Brick Alley has sure received its fair share of legit accolades.  The clams were delicious – meaty but not chewy, salty but not thirst-inducing, and that broth was utterly chugable.  Reading the menu quickly, we expected chorizo in the dish, but instead found chouriço, a Portuguege sausage that seemed more closely related to kielbasa than chorizo.   One of the 13 best recipes I imagine Bon Appetit published in its first 50 years?  Not sure, but it hit the spot. 

Habanero on the left; normalcy on the right

Robbie has a bit of a wing problem.  He might claim it an affinity rather than a problem, but whenever wings are on the menu, it’s like he has blinders on and can see nothing else.  Typically, the hotter the wings the better for the Robster.  So once I saw habanero wings on the menu, with a disclaimer (“may not be returned due to ‘too hot’”) no less, I knew they’d be appearing on our table.  The waitress, bless her heart, managed to talk Mr. WingFace into going halfsies with the habanero and filling the rest of the order up with the Rhode Island Red Hot Chicken Wings.  

As an attorney, I can vouch for the legally binding nature of this  document.

This turned out to be very sage advice.  If the disclaimer on the menu weren’t ominous enough, the release that Robbie had to sign seemed to seal the deal – he was in for some heat. He made it through a couple of those habanero wings, taming the fire in his mouth with his boozy mudslide; our friend Chris took one for the team as well, also requiring the solace of Rob's cold, creamy beverage.  I’m not a chicken wing fan at all, but I couldn’t resist trying a bite. They were, indeed, hot as shit.  Not wanting to totally kill my taste buds, I kept it at that; Rob admitted that his were useless after those wings. 

Lobstery, New Englandy goodness

But really, I was in it for the lobster roll.  I have a weird thing with lobster rolls.  I love them in theory, but I very rarely order them because I know there’s only so much mayo-slathered seafood I can handle.  When I do order them, I am typically skeeved out by them after the third bite.  And three bites of a lobster roll is hardly a good investment.  But I expected a lot from one named among six of the best in America – I doubt just any mayo-bomb would make that cut.  And in any event, was in the mood for it.  And it was good. Really good.  Big, juicy chunks of lobster, tossed but not drowned in mayo, with a deliciously awesome, buttery split-top bun.  It was utterly enjoyable, even the next day.  But all those apps (and the bingeing in which I’d drunkenly, embarrassingly indulged the night before) did me in; despite my best intentions, I had room for jut a few bites.  Not even enough to make it to the point where hoisting the roll up off of the plate was a viable option.  Thankfully, we were staying in a rental home with plenty of fridge space, so into a doggy bag it went. 

This plate was hubcap-sized

Rob had the generously portioned short rib, which could’ve tasted like hot flaming ass and it wouldn’t have made a difference after those wings.  The bite I stole was salty, but good; the accompanying creamed spinach a fine version of the form.  The majority of this came home with us as well.   I’d be loath not to mention that the short rib came with access to the unlimited salad bar (including bread and soup), which was hardly necessary given the amount of food we’d ordered. 

C&C went splitsies ordered a Buffalo Chicken Salad and Fish Tacos,.  Since both dishes were handily demolished, I’d have to imagine they were well-received. 

  

Far from fine dining, Brick Alley seems perfectly suited to its surroundings. Tasty, plentiful food right in the heart of Newport's tourist drag.  Though we’d long been the only table dining, there was a solid bar scene going, and we didn’t feel rushed out of the place at all.  Then a crowd, bedecked in green and black, some with fuzzy pints of Guiness atop their heads, entered and invited us to join them in the Great Guiness Toast.  Not the types to turn down the chance to take part in setting a world record (or free beer), we accepted; the perfect capper to our admittedly gluttonous meal.  Hey, we’d turned down dessert*, a little beer wouldn’t hurt. 

* I suppose one could argue we’d eaten dessert throughout the meal through the stolen sips from Rob’s many mudslides. I say, irrelevant. 

Brick Alley Pub

140 Thames St.
Newport, RI
(401) 859-6334

Manolo Caracol - Panama City, Panama

At the end of our holiday, Andrew and I found ourselves in Panama City, in a quite romantic part of town, on a very (admittedly manufactured) romantic day of the year. Due to the fact that we were thousands of miles from our kitchens and apartments, if we were going to celebrate the holiday, we had no choice but to deviate from our typical stay-in-and-cook Valentine's Day celebration and cease control of our palates to a stranger. Thankfully, we were thousands of miles from home, thousands of miles from prix fixe menus dotted with purported aphrodisiacs, thousands of miles from profit-hungry restauranteurs who view Valentine's day as nothing more than a ripe opportunity to turn tables as quickly as possible and take advantage of dudes who need a table that will impress their girlfriends.



We were staying at a little bed and breakfast (breakfast to come) in Casco Viejo, a neighborhood on the southern edge of Panama City that has seen a renaissance of late - its narrow, cobbled-stoned streets have been the subject of a vast gentrification effort. It was hard to imagine a better scene for a Valentine's day stroll and repast. The buildings range from gutted and totally renovated, with new, wrought iron railings to charmingly (and not-so-charmingly) dilapidated structures with balconies that appear mere seconds from collapse. With much of the city's residents out of town to escape the insanity of Panama City's Carnival, the neighborhood was dark, quiet, peaceful.

As we'd heard that the restaurant is one of Panama City's most popular, we made reservations ahead of time, figuring that between Manolo Caracol's destination dining status and Valentine's Day we'd need one. However, the mass Carnival-driven exodus meant that there was little reason for them. While nearly all of the tables had little reservation cards noting the party's name and anticipated time of arrival, many tables remained unoccupied throughout the duration of our meal. We didn't mind, though. After so many meals in the crowded confines of New York City restaurants, it felt nice to have some breathing room.

Manolo Caracol is fully ingredient-driven. There is no set menu whatsoever, except for wine. The chef creates twelve small plates, served tapas style, based on what is fresh and what his suppliers have come through with that day. For this reason, I've heard that the restaurant is very hit and miss - sometimes spectacular, sometimes less so. From what we tasted, I'd imagine that the better the haul of the restaurant's seafood suppliers, the better your meal will be.



We were treated first to plantain chips with a tomato and olive salsa. The chips were great, sliced lengthwise, super thin and perfectly crispy. Because of how thin they were, they didn't risk turning soggy as soon as they reached room temperature. I think the kitchen waited a bit too long to salt these, though, after they came out of the fryer, since they were on the bland side, the bottom of the serving glass littered with salt crystals.



At the same time, we were brought two little cups of ceviche, which were stellar. The shrimp were juicy and tender, having been perfectly cooked by the lime juice without turning rubbery. The onions were raw so that they were still crunchy, but their sting was tempered by the lime juice as well so as not to overwhelm the other elements. There were other crunchy things in there, which now escape me, but the dish as a whole was really great, especially spooned atop the plantain chips, which provided another level of crunch.



After that came a huge salad, topped with fresh, crunchy greens and what I believe was a beet vinaigrette. The salad was great to provide some much-needed roughage, which had bee missing from most of our meals in Panama, but was otherwise unremarkable. It seemed a bit out of place with all the other dishes, since there was no element that elevated it or made it anything more than your standard side salad. Still, I ate it gladly.



Following the salad, we were brought tiny bites of tuna tartar, wrapped in seaweed. They were topped with julienned carrots, a couple of sesame seeds and sesame oil. and were so, so good. The tuna was finely diced, but contained in a neat little package, and had a great mouthfeel. It was simply a classic dish, but one perfectly done.



Oh yea, there were button mushrooms too. They were...button mushrooms.



Two discs of chicken roulade, stuffed with basil and carrots, dusted with paprika and paired with a passion fruit sauce. The chicken was well-seasoned and just slightly on the dry side of well-cooked. The passion fruit sauce seemed a bit odd at first, since I don't tend to associate chicken with fruity sauces the same way that I associate pork or duck or other gamier meats, but it actually worked. It was light and not overly fruity and I ended up eating every last bit off the plate.



Steamed littleneck clams in a basil and parsley broth (I think). The clams were nothing remarkable, tender, but could have been cleaned a bit better. They were good, but nothing mind-blowing.



Roasted red peppers stuffed with shrimp and vegetables were next. These were extremely flavorful, especially after the lightly seasoned clams, and were a big hit. The shrimp were finely diced, yet managed not to get lost at all in the aggressively-flavored pepper.



"Meat," as this plate of veal was so artfully described by our server, followed. The meat was overcooked, save for patch of pink in the thickest part of the veal. It was seasoned simply with salt and pepper, and tasted very vealy; had it not been overcooked, it would have been a winner.



We were then given a plate of rice and beans, topped with a chunky salsa. While Andrew is not a bean fan in the least, I love rice and beans with an unbridled passion. That said, these were nothing amazing. I like the "beans" part more than the "rice part" and I like my beans to be mildly soupy. These were dry, and, though they were perfectly cooked, they got lost in the rice. The salsa provided a wonderful textural contrast.



This piece of fish was next up. It actually reminds me a little bit of the mahi-mahi I made with cilantro chutney once upon a time. This one was really a winner. The kitchen's strength is definitely in its seafood preparations. This little piece of fish, I'd venture to guess it's corvina, which is widely available in Panama, was tender, flakey, pretty much everything you want in a piece of fish. It was seasoned delicately with an herb sauce and dotted with capers to provide a briny note. Really, truly wonderful.



Dessert was another simple affair. A lilliputian bowl of vanilla ice cream, topped with a rich, thick caramel sauce, decorated with slices of strawberries and crowned with a swirl of whipped cream. There was something chunky going on in there that I couldn't put my finger on as well, it had the texture of partially-hardened wax and didn't really taste like much. That said, it didn't adversely affect the dish, which I enjoyed because hell, I'll eat ice cream any day of the week.

All in all, this was a really enjoyable meal (made more enjoyable that the tasting menu is $25 per person, which I'm sure made me more forgiving in my criticism of the restaurant throughout the meal). Though I've only been there once and don't know if the kitchen tends to reuse certain staple dishes, since there is no menu, it's probably a really fun place to stop in frequently, since it's unlikely you'd get bored with the menu choices. The kitchen prepares a bunch of the same dish at once, it seemed to be sending about 4 or 5 out at a time, so that affects the timing and pace of your meal, sometimes negatively. We would sometimes be brought two dishes at once, or three within 6 minutes, and sometimes would wait 20 minutes between courses. Overall, though, it was a very pleasant dining experience and one that will not put a huge dent in the wallet. Manolo Caracol is a pioneer in the Panama City restaurant scene, having spawned restaurants using a similar concept, and generally opening the door for fine dining in the city. Though it's hit or miss, if you have the time to spend a leisurely couple of hours enjoying some simply prepared food, it's a worthwhile risk to take.

Manolo Caracol
Calle 3a Oeste (at Avenida Central)
(507) 228 4640
Panama City, Panama

In-N-Out of Napa

We set out for Napa behind the wheel of a Sebring convertible. Though cheesy as can it was beyond necessary for an unabashedly sunny day that was to be spent driving through the vineyards and greenery of Northern California. We set out early and arrived in Napa just in time for a late breakfast. Our plan had been to check out a small café, get some coffee and relax in order to free our bellies for a large meal that was sure to come later on. Instead, we turned into the Boon Fly Café, a cutesy place set up in what used to be a barn (or was at least constructed so that it looked as if it was in an old barn).

The interior was very welcoming. Huge windows lined the walls, allowing natural light to pour in and bask everything in its sunlit glow. This created indisputable warmth, the kind that convinces you you’re going to love this experience no matter what you end up eating. We ordered the Boon Fly Benedict, in which poached eggs top very thick cut ham and homemade levain in lieu of English muffins. The ham was a bit too salty for me taste (which is saving a LOT), but he loved every bite, and it wasn’t my dish anyway, so I just watched on in delight as he barreled his way through. The other plate to arrive at the table carried a breakfast flatbread, essentially a pizza with eggs on it. It was interesting, and, in my opinion quite good. The saltiness of the cheese and the bacon contrasted so nicely with the caramelized onions. Upon popping the yolk of my over easy eggs, each of these flavors was brought together in a wonderful bite that was all at once salty, sweet, creamy, crispy, and chewy. Breakfast was a bit on the expensive side, but we were only in Napa one day, so we figured we might as well, and we both left satisfied and very, very full.



Our first vineyard stop was at Darioush, which is fairly new to the Napa scene. The proprietor is of Persian descent and this influence is apparent throughout the property. There are pillars inside and out, lavish bathrooms, Persian touches throughout. It was, by far, the most ostentatious building I saw throughout the day, but we never did make it to the Castle. The winery was, in a word, ridiculous, in its size, stature and decoration, but it was an experience I am definitely glad we had, since it differs so much from the rest of the Napa wineries. There were artichokes growing in the lawn, which made me beyond jealous that it was artichoke season in northern California and unadulterated winter back in Chicago. As for the wines: they were all good, but the Chardonnay we tasted was the best of any we tasted all day. I usually don’t tend towards whites, but this was perfectly balanced, not too sweet and totally refreshing. Instead of crackers during the tasting, Darioush places before you delicious roasted pistachios (which can, conveniently, be purchased by the bagful).



We went next to Mumm for some sparkling wine. We sat outdoors in the warm sun and drank sparkling wine overlooking the vast expanse of vineyard that lay before us. It’s not far off from perfection as far as Mondays go, or any day really. We each ordered a different tasting flight, the “Best of the Best” and the “Reserve Tasting,” so that we could try as many wines as possible (obviously). Not all of them were great, but they were mostly quite good, and the DVX Rose 2002 was by far our favorite. The wines on the Reserve Tasting were generally more affordable, so we went home with a bottle of the Blanc de Blancs 2003, which we enjoyed our last morning in the city. We loitered at the vineyard for a while, drinking and enjoying the beauty around us. The scenery was gorgeous, the company great and the sparkling wine quite enjoyable.



(We made it to another couple of vineyards before calling it a day, but neither one of them was particularly notable, so we’ll just skip right through them.)

The early evening found us at Ad Hoc. I had read many great things about it prior to our departure. Since there was no way we could afford a French Laundry meal, we decided that a home-style Thomas Keller meal was a great bet. We called to see if there were reservations still available, and unsurprisingly there were not, but we were told that we could sit at the bar and enjoy our meal there. They gave us the menu (they provide a fixed menu each night of four courses: salad/soup, main with sides, cheese and dessert) on the phone, which featured fried chicken. We later heard from one of the locals that fried chicken night was beloved within the community and the place was jam-packed every other Monday. This tidbit, combined with our struggles with timing in San Francisco prompted us to arrive at the restaurant a half hour before it opened, at 4:30. We waited and waited and were finally let in at five o’clock. We sat at the corner of the bar and were promptly greeted by one of the friendliest servers I’ve encountered in a very long time. It was clear from the moment we walked in how proud every person there was to work there, and how much they appreciated the food we were about to be served.



Though the wine list seemed quite nice, we settled on beers – we were eating fried chicken after all. Our meal started with a simple salad of mixed baby greens salad, cremini mushrooms, pickled red onions and turnips, shaved parmesan and garlic vinaigrette. The salad came dressed with olive oil only with the dressing served in a little boat on the side so that we were free to add as much as we pleased, no more, no less. The big bowl of salad placed in front of us drove home the idea of the home-style restaurant. The salad was super fresh, and I made sure to pick every last pickled turnip out of the giant bowl.

Next came the fried chicken, which was presented on paper in a metal tray. It had been brined in lemon and soaked in buttermilk, which left it with an amazing lemony tang screaming out from underneath the perfectly crisp, yet not at all greasy skin. My boyfriend, the biggest fried chicken lover I know declared it perhaps the best he’s ever had. I was still talking about it three weeks later, and I don’t usually even like fried chicken. I understood immediately why the chicken riled the locals up so much.

The chicken was accompanied by black-eyed peas with smoked ham hocks and wilted spinach over melted leeks. The beans came dotted with generous hunks of pork and the saltiness was just at the right level. There was not much complexity to the black-eyed peas, but they were simple, comforting, and delicious. The spinach was delicious, too, full of the subtle sweetness of the leeks and speckled with garlic.

Next we were brought a hunk of Westfield Farm’s Hubbardston Blue cheese with Marcona almonds and Marshall’s farm honey, which was served warm. The cheese was particularly interesting because all of its blueness was in the rind, with none of the trademark dotting within the cheese that you expect from a Stilton or other blues. It was much more mild than other blue cheeses, but it was pretty good. I enjoyed the honey as well, and felt that the warm honey and the mild bite of the cheese really complemented each other. I held off on finishing the whole hunk, since dessert was yet to come and I already was pretty stuffed.

The apple upside down cake was served with cinnamon ice cream. The apple called forth nostalgic memories of apple pie, which is funny, because I never really ate pie as a kid. But the flavors are undeniably those of home, and of picnics, and of good times in general. I loved the ice cream, and was perfectly content with the wee scoop I was given, since any more would surely have put my over the edge. I cannot comment too much on the cake itself, since I minimized the amount I ate as I thought I was going to burst.

The service was spot-on the whole time. They apparently noticed us standing outside for a while, and respected our commitment to the fried chicken cause, giving us one of our two meals for free. This meant that our four-course meal was $48 plus drinks and tax. Obviously we tipped extremely generously because of this, but the thought and sentiment behind this gesture was incredibly nice.

Stuffed beyond recognition, we departed Napa and headed back for San Francisco. We started on the scenic drive after we cross the Golden Gate Bridge and continued along until it got too dark for it to be scenic. Before we left, though, we had decided that today was going to be the day that I had my very first In-N-Out Burger. People from California cannot shut up about this place, so I knew I had to try it. Since we both just pigged out, we shared a cheeseburger, and none of that “animal style” business either. I wanted my first In-N-Out experience to be unobstructed by extra sauce and fussiness. I wanted a pure cheeseburger in order to best judge the burger. And you know what? It was pretty damn good. Everything just seemed really fresh and the bun was squishy and delicious. It was a very good fast food burger. The jury is still out on the fries though. They’re cut right before they’re fried and not coated with any sort of batter. This leaves them incredibly starchy and kind of flavorless. I wasn’t convinced, but it also seemed like the type of fry that could really grow on you.

And that does it for the NorCal posts. I recognize it took me just about forever for me to get them all up, so thank you for your patience.

Ad Hoc
6476 Washington St.
Yountville, CA 94599
(707) 944-2487

Darioush
4240 Silverado Trail
Napa, CA 94558
(707) 257-2345

Mumm Napa
8445 Silverado Trail
Rutherford (Napa), CA 94558
(707) 967-7700

In-N-Out
333 Jefferson St.
San Francisco, CA 94133
(800) 786-1000

San Francisco, at Last (part I)

A week ago today I woke up for the first time in eight days in Chicago (note: this proves how long I’ve been writing this post, I arrived back on the 27th of March, which makes it just about, oh, forever . Please forgive me! I had a paper! About Banking Law! BANKING LAW! I knew you would understand). I had been in San Francisco, stuffing myself to the gills and walking up and down (but mostly up) countless charming streets. The weather was beautiful (I got a tan!), which was quite fortuitous considering that this food wasn’t really going to walk itself off. We were there for long enough that we didn’t have to take a “let’s do EVERYTHING right NOW” approach to our trip, but sunk into Bay Area life and let it take us around.

It should come as no surprise that the main focus of this trip was food. While I was ecstatic about good weather, the Pacific Ocean, and a generally more relaxed attitude, I was thrilled at the multitude of dining options that lay before me. Caught up in the deliciousness of it al, I neglected to take pictures of everything I ate, and for this, I am deeply sorry. I hope you will bear with me and read along anyway. After all, it's not like my pictures don't suck anyway.

Our first stop along the San Francisco dining train was at A la Turca, a small Turkish place recommended by the friendly dude sitting next to me on the plane. He said his wife was Turkish, and this is her favorite place to eat. So without delay, we dined. The space was bare bones and casual. The kitchen featured an open grill visible to the street as well as the dining room. Having dealt with the requisite delays and airport difficulties associated with a flight out of O’Hare, we were both quite famished. So we started with the appetizer combo platter, which featured myriad vegetarian delights - I believe eight in total. I particularly liked the white bean salad and the baba ganouj. For my main course, I ordered the beyti kebap, which is ground lamb wrapped in Turkish flatbread and baked, topped with “special” sauce and fresh yogurt. The special sauce was essentially a spicy marinara sauce, but the yogurt, generously placed in the center of the divided beyti so complemented every aspect of the dish, bringing it all together seamlessly into one of the better bites in recent memory. Reenergized, we headed down to the Mission to drink some local microbrews and play Ms. Pac Man.



The next morning we set out walking, our ultimate goal to cross the Golden Gate bridge and head down to Golden Gate Park. We left our Union Square hotel and ascended Grant Street towards the gates of Chinatown. Before crossing the threshold though, we sat outside and drank cappuccino at Café de la Presse. It had been too long since we’d felt the warmth of direct sunlight for us to not merely sit, relax and enjoy it before we did anything else. I really took to that little Café, it was charming, quite Parisian in its décor, and while the cappuccino was expensive, it was really, really good.

And so we embarked, walking in and out of multiple bakeries in Chinatown until we found one that fit the bill. When we found what we were looking for, we got rather overzealous and carried away six Chinese buns to take along with us on our journey. We wasted no time though, and dug right in. I went straight for the char siu bao, a yeasted bun enveloping sweet, tender barbequed pork. The Chinese buns had been a matter of discussion for days leading up to our departure, and I had been quite excited to gorge on them as a result. The curried beef bun was rather good, though I prefer the pork. We also had a scallion bun, which, though initially untouched came up in the clutch on Friday morning when our stomachs were calling for something, anything, solid. I had been told tales of the coconut bun, convinced that the sweet, crunchy topping was what memories were made of. It was good, but I preferred the savory buns, and I am not a huge fan of dried coconut, so the paste on the inside really did not appeal to me.

As we were walking down Chestnut, popping in and out of stores as we saw fit, we stumbled upon A16, which I had read much about. Since it was about two o’clock and we had done a ton of walking already, we felt a glass of wine (or a half carafe) was well deserved. But what is afternoon wine without cheese and sausage? Nothing, I tell you. Accordingly, feasted on fennel sausage and burrata cheese. Now, I must admit - I have a borderline obsession with burrata. Gooey, creamy, chewy, soft, burrata is a being all its own, the mild cheese succumbs to the weight of your tongue, enveloping it with its milkiness. It’s sometimes hard to find, but I suggest that if you’ve never had it before and you stumble across it, whether in a store or on a menu, order it. You won’t be sorry. We ate and drank at the bar, conversing with the bartender the whole time, asking for advice on where we should go, what we should see. The sausage was great, and plentiful, as was the cheese, and though we didn’t order any of the pizzas, we watched as one was placed further down the bar and it looked great. Though I cannot attest to the main courses or dinner-time atmosphere at A16, which I know is busy every night of the week, our hour at the bar was entirely pleasant and the food was simple and of great quality.

The next morning we went to try out Ti Couz before a walk around the Mission and the Castro on a gorgeous day. We arrived expecting a wait, especially since we wanted to sit outside and enjoy the sun for the first time since last October. We waited. And waited. And watched as four tables sat empty for a good 30 minutes before anyone bothered to clear them and sit other people down. Our wait probably ended up being 45 minutes or so. And once we sat down we were fully ignored, we had to ask the host (who I’m convinced was superman, as he was carrying plates, bussing tables, seating guests, wiping down tables) to ask our waitress to please help us. We ordered drinks, then a few minutes later we requested a salad and crepes, one with mushroom, gruyere and crème fraiche, and one complete, with ham, cheese and a sunny-side up egg for me. Our salad came rather quickly, and was in fact quite good, as were the crepes, if you like that sort of thing. The complete was far better than the other, as the salt from the ham provided much of the flavor. What about our drinks, you might ask? Oh, those came after – after the salad, after the crepe. And the bread we were promised with our salad? Well that never even made it to the table. Now I’m not fully hating on Ti Couz, I really liked the atmosphere, and when the food made it to our table it was very good, not great, but I guess I’ve yet to eat a transcendent crepe. I didn't mind the relaxed attitude the wait staff exuded, and I appreciated that we were allowed to linger after our food was taken. I mean, its not like I was really in a rush to get anywhere, but almost two and a half hours for a couple of crepes and a salad seems a bit ridiculous, even in hindsight.



What came as most of a shock to me about the San Francisco culture was how early everything got going, but more importantly, what time everything got wrapped up. We had been excited for a German-style brauhaus experience at Süppenkuche, though I had read mixed reviews we thought it would be a fun time to sit around, drink giant beers and feast on no-frills cuisine. Thinking we were really hedging our bets, we arrived to request at table at eight, only to be told that they were no longer taking names for seating that evening. Really? At eight? On a Friday night? Really?!? So we walked down Hayes and stumbled upon a trendy little sushi joint that I had read reviews of in my pre-departure search for culinary destinations. We left our name, departed down the street for a drink and came back when we were called. Though the food came slowly, the service was incredibly nice and accommodating, our waitress in fact gave me her phone number in case we had trouble finding trouble to get ourselves into, and the sushi was very good. We had no intention of rushing our meal along anyway. The uni I ordered was stellar. I was slow to take to the uni craze, but I attribute that to the fact that the uni I tried early on was not the freshest, not the best possible uni out there. And when you’re dealing with a substance such as sea urchin roe, it needs to be of superior quality. Something custardy, smooth, buttery and rich in its most pure form can be downright nasty when it’s not fresh. The yellowtail (I forget the precise type I tried) was great, as was the eel, which was soft and subtly sweet. Sebo was not a bad place to stumble into after all.

Our dinner at 1550 Hyde was an equally pleasurable affair. We walked in a few minutes late for our reservation, but were seated immediately. The space was intimate, reminding me much more of New York than Chicago. With no more than a quiet din from the other diners reaching our table, our conversation was held at a normal level with no need to strain to hear across the table. The menu was quite small, and in fact nothing really jumped out at me from the get-go, which usually is not such a great sign. Though dining at a wine bar, I was unable to make up my mind as far as red and white goes, so I just went for beer to make my life easier. I chose an oatmeal stout, which was heavy, but nice. We began our meal with a couple of salads, one of grilled romaine with chorizo and the other an avocado and fennel salad with citrus vinaigrette. They were both quite good, refreshing and perfect for winding down a warm day. Andrew ordered the fried chicken, in what would become a theme of the trip, while I got the seafood stew with shrimp, mussels, clams. It was good, though maybe short of great, but I managed to muster up the strength to finish it all, so that must say something. The food was all very fresh, and very carefully prepared with the utmost care and deference clearly given to the selection and preparation of the ingredients. It didn’t break the bank either, and was great for a nice, cozy Saturday night.

I’m going to skip ahead now until Tuesday, since Sunday we were mostly in Palo Alto and Monday we hit up Napa, a fantastic day to which I will devote a different post. One of the things we realized we had to schedule into our trip at all costs was a dim sum meal. We looked at a number of different books and while they all recommended different restaurants for dim sum, there was one constant throughout – Yank Sing. We walked over expectantly and apparently just beat the crowd; we were seated immediately but by halfway through our meal we espied a dense crowd at the entryway.

Nestled within a mall, Yank Sing seems quite unassuming, though it was soon clear that this was going to be a gussied-up dim sum experience. The dim sum started rolling out, and we began with fried scallop balls. Then came crabs cakes, then pork dumplings rolled in bean curd skin, then the mushrooms stuffed with chicken, then steamed shrimp dumplings (har gau), then greens, then fried tofu wrapped in seaweed, then the long rice noodles with shrimp nestled inside. The small bites descended upon us in a seemingly-never ending string, until our table was nearly covered with white plates of various sizes and dipping bowls as far as the eye could see. They cleared our plates, one by one, and though the boy across from me had grown increasingly full, nearly to the point of sickness, he was not done. We had to have Peking duck. Indeed, we had chosen Yank Sing because one of the books specifically noted that its Peking duck was not to be missed. I have an affinity for the steamed buns in which the Peking Duck is eaten – for which I give all credit to David Chang and his pork buns at Momofuku – and while duck is not my most favorite thing in the world, I gladly laid it snugly within the bun, brushed it with hoisin sauce and a couple of greens and dug in. The duck was quite good, though I would venture to say that even scraps of paper, brushed with hoisin and nestled in a pillowy envelope would be met without complaint from this girl.



Our final meal came at Café Claude on Wednesday afternoon after a leisurely morning enjoying one of the bottles of sparkling wine we had brought back from Napa. We had been in search of something close to the hotel, since we had to make our way to the airport and this seemed convenient and potentially promising. We entered the restaurant and were the first ones there for lunch service. Hidden on a quiet lane in an otherwise busy commercial area, Café Claude is instantly reminiscent of Paris. The outdoor tables tilted precariously on the sidewalk, the zinc bar was lovingly scratched - the charming imperfections that make Europe so endearing, yet we were in an alley in San Francisco. We shared a bottle of wine, dug into some crusty bread presented in generous amount in front of us and took our sweet time deciding on our orders. I settled on the Pan Roti, a pork tenderloin sandwich with grainy mustard, greens and an arugula salad with champignions and parmagianno cheese, while Andrew took to the steak tartare with its multiple traditional accoutrements. My sandwich was simple, and exactly as advertised, the bread was crusty, with great bite and the salad was devoured in order. The steak tartare was good as well, tender and flavorful. It was a fully relaxing end to a wonderfully relaxing week.

1550 Hyde
1550 Hyde St. (at Pacific)
(415) 775-1550

A la Turca
869 Geary St
(415) 345-1011

A16
2355 Chestnut St (between Divisadero and Scott)
(415) 771-2216

Café Claude
7 Claude Lane (off Sutter)
San Francisco, CA
(415) 392-3515

Café de la Presse
352 Grant St. (at Sutter)
(415) 398-2680

Sebo
517 Hayes St. (between Ocatavia and Laguna)
(415) 864-2122

Ti Couz
3108 16th St. (at Valencia)
(415) 252-7373

Yank Sing
101 Spear St (at Mission)
(415) 957-9300

Also of note:
Katana-Ya, where we had some pretty good ramen (advice: go for the richer broth, it’s well worth it). We had a craving, it hit the spot. x
430 Geary St (at Mason)
(415) 771-1280

CocoBang, a Korean joint we stumbled into late Tuesday after the aforementioned dim sum incident. This was one of the only places still serving in our general vicinity by the time we were ready to eat again. We had hopes of the Korean fried chicken eaten religiously over the summer in New York, but we were disappointed. The bulgogi, however, was quite good, though our squid dish was disappointing as well.
550 Taylor St (at Post)
(415) 292-5144