San Francisco: Eating and Drinking Institutions
Jul 13th, 2004, 05:52 PM
#22
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Yes, you can go to Bix just for cocktails.
I'm also behind the suggestions for:
Swan's Oyster Depot on Polk. There will be a line. Just deal with it. Cash only, so bring lots of it.
High tea in the Palace Hotel's Garden Court (or tea at the Top of the Mark)
Capp's Corner in North Beach (get tickets to Beach Blanket Babylon in advance and go before the show -- just do it.)
Additionally:
A lava bowl at the Tonga Room in the Fairmont Hotel.
A real burrito at any of the following Mission District establishments:
Pancho Villa
El Farolito
Taqueria Cancun
Dim Sum at Yank Sing in the Financial District or make the trek out to Ton Kiang in the Richmond.
Espresso at Caffe Trieste; Sandwich at Molinari Deli; A drink at Vesuvio
And I would forgo Sears for Dottie's True Blue Café any day of the week.
It's hard not crossing the line between old SF standby's and great places to go!
I'm also behind the suggestions for:
Swan's Oyster Depot on Polk. There will be a line. Just deal with it. Cash only, so bring lots of it.
High tea in the Palace Hotel's Garden Court (or tea at the Top of the Mark)
Capp's Corner in North Beach (get tickets to Beach Blanket Babylon in advance and go before the show -- just do it.)
Additionally:
A lava bowl at the Tonga Room in the Fairmont Hotel.
A real burrito at any of the following Mission District establishments:
Pancho Villa
El Farolito
Taqueria Cancun
Dim Sum at Yank Sing in the Financial District or make the trek out to Ton Kiang in the Richmond.
Espresso at Caffe Trieste; Sandwich at Molinari Deli; A drink at Vesuvio
And I would forgo Sears for Dottie's True Blue Café any day of the week.
It's hard not crossing the line between old SF standby's and great places to go!
Jul 15th, 2004, 06:30 AM
#24
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degas,
You mean "buffett pants"?
My closet if full of 'em!
We call our travels "Animal Planet" trips...eat like a pig, drink like a fish...and something about rabbits I can't recall right now....
Do you have a set time you're coming to SF?
I'm in "negotiations" with Priceline as we speak for a possible August visit. Mrs Kal has a hankerin' for The Original US Restaurant's Friday Calamari special. And I just need to be depressed under all that cold fog. (another possible 100 degree day in the Sac Valley)
G'hop-I think it would be a 6.2 on the Richter?
emmum-Ditto O'Reilly's. Maybe better IC's than the BV but no view..other than a Funeral home!
Great soda bread, too! Good Irish b'fasts. Yummmmm...blood sausage....
Underhill-Thx for the 411. Loved getting a window seat, sipping some wine and watching the world go by.
I wonder if you can still just get a cocktail there?
You mean "buffett pants"?
My closet if full of 'em!
We call our travels "Animal Planet" trips...eat like a pig, drink like a fish...and something about rabbits I can't recall right now....
Do you have a set time you're coming to SF?
I'm in "negotiations" with Priceline as we speak for a possible August visit. Mrs Kal has a hankerin' for The Original US Restaurant's Friday Calamari special. And I just need to be depressed under all that cold fog. (another possible 100 degree day in the Sac Valley)
G'hop-I think it would be a 6.2 on the Richter?
emmum-Ditto O'Reilly's. Maybe better IC's than the BV but no view..other than a Funeral home!
Great soda bread, too! Good Irish b'fasts. Yummmmm...blood sausage....
Underhill-Thx for the 411. Loved getting a window seat, sipping some wine and watching the world go by.
I wonder if you can still just get a cocktail there?
Jul 15th, 2004, 09:20 AM
#26
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Hasn't been mentioned here, but an old college friend of mine used to talk a lot about a bar called the Toronado....he loved that place. Sounded like a watering hole more than a restaurant. Just wondering if anyone here has ever been & if it's worth a visit.....
Jul 15th, 2004, 09:31 AM
#27
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Great suggestions! Ella's at Presidio and California is a marvelous stop for brunch - their chicken hash is to die for! And the Swan Oyster Depot packs a mean picnic to take on the plane when you leave. They'll shuck the oysters and put them on ice, pack the crab louis separately from the sauce, and truly have every other mouth on the plane watering.
Jul 15th, 2004, 10:33 AM
#28
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Toronado is straight up beer. It's a local favorite, on a great street for pub crawling. More on the gritty, urban side, it's on lower Haight, east of Divisadero. We used to live just a block away, just after the projects were torn down but before the new ones went up, so I watched a good portion of the gentrification that occured there.
Other bars on the street include Mad Dog in the Fog, an English pub that is frequented by English footballers. There used to be a really fun quiz night there, not sure about that anymore though. There is also the Noc Noc which has a sort of day glo subterranean feel with a little bit of Marrakech thrown in for good measure.
For something to eat try the falafal at Ali Baba's Cave. Or a sausage at Rosamunde's which is right next to Toronado.
Other bars on the street include Mad Dog in the Fog, an English pub that is frequented by English footballers. There used to be a really fun quiz night there, not sure about that anymore though. There is also the Noc Noc which has a sort of day glo subterranean feel with a little bit of Marrakech thrown in for good measure.
For something to eat try the falafal at Ali Baba's Cave. Or a sausage at Rosamunde's which is right next to Toronado.
Jul 15th, 2004, 12:58 PM
#30
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The Toronado is one of the preeminent beer bars in the US. Michael Jackson (the esteemed beer critic, not the pedophile) is a diehard enthusiast for that establishment. It is beer ONLY, but with 60 on tap, 7 of which are hand pulls...at least 10-15 of which are Belgian and the rest interesting beers from all over the world. You can bring food in, and there are plenty of takeout places nearby. My recommendations: Rosamunde Sausages, next door, and Memphis Minnie's BBQ across the street...perhaps the only truly great BBQ place in SF.
Jul 15th, 2004, 08:55 PM
#32
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Oh yes the Noc Noc! Super groovy. I remember going there once and while waiting for a cab two guys running past us shirtless and swinging chains above their heads. It was very funny at the time.
In the Sunset (not a big tourist area) on Noriega there's great Irish bar called O' Carolyn's. They have the best Juke Box. Elvis, the Doors Sinatra , Rosemary Clooney and U2.
Another great place, the Philosopher's Club in W. Portal. I love that name, perfect for a bar.
In the Sunset (not a big tourist area) on Noriega there's great Irish bar called O' Carolyn's. They have the best Juke Box. Elvis, the Doors Sinatra , Rosemary Clooney and U2.
Another great place, the Philosopher's Club in W. Portal. I love that name, perfect for a bar.
Jul 16th, 2004, 01:46 AM
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Sears and The Compass Rose. I guess I am overdue for a trip in the city. Most of my time recently in Marin Co. and north.
Chez Panisse, now there is an institution! Much of the current restaurant movement towards great seasonal ingredients prepared with great care began with Alice Waters restaurant in Berkeley. Going there is almost like a pilgrimage to a foodie. I think moreso than French Laundry another institution but in Napa.
I shudder, but another institution is probably those little seafood cups from Aliotos down on the Fisherman's Wharf. oh, and Swans Oyster Depot also.
LMF
Chez Panisse, now there is an institution! Much of the current restaurant movement towards great seasonal ingredients prepared with great care began with Alice Waters restaurant in Berkeley. Going there is almost like a pilgrimage to a foodie. I think moreso than French Laundry another institution but in Napa.
I shudder, but another institution is probably those little seafood cups from Aliotos down on the Fisherman's Wharf. oh, and Swans Oyster Depot also.
LMF
Jul 16th, 2004, 01:54 AM
#36
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I'm reposting a couple of classics from the old Fodors. Enjoy. Sometimes its fun to read the older posts.
"Author: John Montana
Date: 07/23/1999, 12:09 pm
Message: From the pine-shaded towns of Georgia they come. From the
sprawling suburbs of Ohio and the cramped apartments of
Manhattan. By Boeing jet, by Greyhound, by wood-paneled
station wagon and Harley-Davidson. They come bearing
uncomfortable walking shoes and empty suitcases yearning for
souvenirs. They come with dreams of Jack Kerouac, Carol
Doda, and free fog for all.
They are the San Francisco tourists.
And you are their tour guide.
It doesnt matter that you didnt ask
for this job. Just by living in this great
city, near this great city, or even a
days drive from this great city, you
have volunteered your time, energy,
and sofa bed to the vacation
enjoyment of others.
When faced with these obligations,
its tempting just to steer your guests
toward Pier 39 and consider your duty done. Unfortunately,
these are people you know, people you love. You owe them
something a little more personal.
It isnt that difficult. First, think carefully about your visitors.
Consider their ages, their dispositions, their loves and hates. Do
they like jazz? Are they afraid of heights? Can they order in
Cantonese? Then ask yourself what little slice of San Francisco
these people will want to take home and treasure.
To help you find the answer, weve woven together these five
tourist tales. So gather round and listen. You may find your own
guests in these storiesstories that begin, "Once upon a time,
in the kingdom of San Francisco . . ."
They Like Ike At 5:23 a.m., it begins. A creak of bedsprings, a
loud clearing of sinuses. By the time you stumble bleary-eyed into the
living room, theyre drinking Folgers instant coffee and talking loudly
over the Today show. Uncle Irv and Aunt Edna. By some bizarre twist
of genetics, your relatives.
After a stack of Swedish
pancakes at Sears Fine Food,
your first stop is the Jeremiah
OBrien. On board the World War
II liberty ship, the voices of the
Andrews Sisters ring through
narrow hallways. Edna avoids the
steep steps into the engine room,
but you follow Irv down to where a
bright-eyed veteran is explaining
how scenes from Titanic were shot using Jeremiahs triple-expansion
steam engine. Irv couldnt care less. Hes too busy poking around the
pipes, peering into the boilers. "Look here," he beckons, pointing to a
3-foot-long box wrench. "Won two bits for putting my head through one
of these."
After the Jeremiah, Irv is itching to go see the World War II Pampanito
sub, also docked at Pier 45. You and Edna decide to visit the nearby
city museum, in the Cannery building. As you work your way through,
the citys legends spring to life: Joshua Norton, self-declared Emperor
of the United States; Lillie Hitchcock Coit, spunky heiress and fire
aficionado. Just as you and Edna are poring over bottles melted in the
1906 inferno, Irv reappears. "How was the Pampanito?" you ask.
"Tighter than a sardine can. Lets eat."
On the western edge of Golden Gate Park, the historic Beach Chalet
is crowded with couples sipping microbrews and chatting over salads.
While you wait, you study the vibrant WPA murals of San Francisco.
Edna stops before a panel of women in one-piece swimsuits that show
their strong legs and rounded stomachs. "Now thats what a gal
should look like," she says approvingly. "Well-fed."
After lunch and two stops in Golden Gate
Parkthe arboretum for Edna and the
fly-casting pools for Irvyou cruise down
the Great Highway to Fort Funston. A faded
wind sock sails taut to the east, beckoning
to hang gliders. You pause to watch a group
struggling into their pupa-like harnesses,
then head to the ocean overlook.
"Holy mackerel!" bellows Irv as the first
glider leaps off the cliff. The three of you sit
spellbound, squinting up at the silhouettes
whirling on an updraft. Afterward you walk
along the cliff tops, where Edna befriends
every scrappy terrier that bounds past.
By now youre craving Indian food, but
youre going to play it safe: Years ago you
took Irv and Edna out for Ethiopian and they
still havent let you forget about the lack of
silverware. You decide on Kuletos
downtown, where you like the dark, stylish
decor and Edna and Irv will be satisfied with
the large portions of pasta.
On nearby Nob Hill, hundreds of World War
II servicemen downed their last martini at
the Top of the Mark before shipping out.
Tonight, Wallys Swing World is re-creating
the sounds of the era, and Edna pulls Irv
onto the dance floor before he can finish
complaining about his dress shoes. You
walk to the window and gaze at the lights of the city.
"May I have this dance?" Its Irv, looking bashful. You take his rough
hand and he catches you up in a graceful twirl and a cloud of Old
Spice. Edna looks on, clapping and smiling. In an instant the predawn
wake-up is forgiven. They are, after all, your relatives.
The Young and the Restless Despite the fact that she
slept until 11, Mel still looks venomously cranky this morning as she
slips on her leather jacket and pins back her dark hair. You know what
this face means: You have exactly 10 minutes to locate caffeine or
Mel will self-destruct.
Theres a line of sunglass-shrouded hipsters outside Boogaloos in the
Mission, but you squeeze past the crowd and return with an orange
juice for you and a Depth Chargecoffee with an extra kick of
espressofor Mel. By the time she drains the last muddy drops, her
mood has brightened considerably. She points to the Bay Guardian
shes been leafing through. "Hey, get this: Eco-warrior seeks
Buddhist nudist for spiritual interludes. Who are these people?"
A t the table, the conversation shifts from the personals to her latest
Super 8 film project, pausing only slightly when the huevos rancheros
arrive. Completely sated, the two of you stroll down sunny Valencia
Street, ducking into thrift shops and record stores before turning down
to the BART station on Mission. When the train reaches Powell Street
you head toward the unmistakable silhouette of the Museum of
Modern Art. Inside theres a visiting black-and-white photo exhibit that
Mel wont stop talking about and a diorama show that she calls "the
most bogus thing Ive seen all year." The biggest hit is the
vertigo-inducing catwalk.
You while away the last hour of the afternoon in the green oasis of
nearby South Park, then head to the Brain Wash Cafe for Mels
second caffeine infusion of the day. On the way you stop for photos at
the Defenestration Building art project, an abandoned building with
Dali-esque furniture hanging out its open windows.
"Whats defenestration?" Mel asks, peering up at a food-filled
refrigerator suspended in midfall.
"It means to throw something out a window," you sagely reply,
thankful you looked the word up.
Knowing Mels love of drama, you made
dinner reservations weeks ago for Asia SF,
home of some of the citys finest gender
illusionists. As the sleek walls shift slowly
from red to purple to yellow, Mel gives her
order to a Ru Paul look-alike with a pale
orchid tucked behind his left ear. Ten
minutes later this same waitress is towering
atop the bar in 5-inch silver platforms. As he
struts and strides to "I Will Survive," Mel
leans over to whisper ruefully, "Hes got
nicer legs than I do."
Its a tough decision what to hit next: a
campy classic at the art deco Castro
Theatre . . . madcap snapshots in the photo
booth at Uncle Mames variety store . . .
Then it comes to you: the Beauty Bar.
When you arrive at the faux beauty parlor,
the crowd is busy nursing pink
cosmopolitans and admiring the 1950s
kitsch. Mel grabs a spot under a hair dryer
and you head to the bar to order. When you
turn around Mel has moved to the
manicurists table and is waving a still-wet
set of orange nails in your direction. "Its
called Dork. Whatcha think?"
"Looks dorky."
"No come on, really."
After another round, Mel begs you to take her dancing, even though
you havent updated your moves since high school. Finally you agree
and catch a cab to Nikkis.
As you step inside youre hit with a wave of sweat, sound, and energy.
The whole place is pulsing to Michael Jacksons "Dont Stop Til You
Get Enough," and before you can help yourself, you and Mel are
grooving in the thick of things. Three songs later youre still going. As
soon as a bad song comes on, Ill take a breather, you think.
By 1:30 you still havent stopped dancing and your knees are officially
on strike. You give Mel the signal to head out. Outside in the chilly air
she grabs your arm conspiratorially: "Man Im starving. Lets get some
grub."
You stare at her incredulously but youre too tired to argue. As the
cab pulls up to take you to El Farolito for burritos, all you can think is
tomorrow its Mels turn to buy you a Depth Charge.
Lawyers in Love For a guy who never
wore anything but jeans and a sweatshirt in
college, Steve seems completely at ease this
morning in his button-down and Dockers.
"Lookin sharp, big guy," you say as you clap
him on the back and kiss Victoria on the
cheek.
Since your VW is in the shop, youve agreed
to take their rented Explorer to the Marina. On
the way, Steve and Victoria reminisce about
their last visit, when they toured Union Street.
Oh yes, you recall grimly, the day you
became a human pack mule for shopping bags.
After picking up steaming lattes and croissants at the Grove, you
continue to the Palace of Fine Arts. A remnant of the 1915 worlds fair,
the Palace looks majestically anachronistic as you approach, and by
the time youve finished your outdoor breakfast, several brides have
been photographed against the classical columns.
Steve and Victoria are home-hunting in Denver, so you cruise up to
the moneyed neighborhood of Sea Cliff for a house tour, pointing out a
white colonial here, a Mediterranean villa there. You gesture
nonchalantly toward a sprawling mansion. "Thats Robin Williamss
house."
"Really?" Steve rolls down his window. He sits expectantly, searching
for signs of stardom.
"I see him!" he yells suddenly, causing you and Victoria to press up
frantically against the window. As a figure in white disappears behind
the manicured shrubs, Victoria sinks back into her seat. "Honey, that
was the gardener."
At the end of Sea Cliff you stroll down to the tiny crescent of China
Beach. Steve skips rocks as Victoria takes photos of the Golden Gate
with her digital camera. Off the rocky point, a lone surfer bobs like a
shivering seal.
After the wind and fog it feels good to reach the sun- filled interior of
Zuni Cafi, where you slurp up salty oysters and people-watch out the
windows. As you head down to the next highlightthe ornate
stone-and-plaster interior of City Hallyou realize youll have to
traverse shop-lined Hayes Street to reach your final destination, the
Victorian Painted Ladies. Stay calm, you think. The Hayes boutiques
may be upscale, but theyve got a little too much attitude to appeal to
these two.
After only a block you are proven wrong. First theres the Hayes &
Vine Wine Bar, where Steve and Victoria each sample a handful of
vintages. Then two shoe stores, a watch shop, a home furnishings
store, two galleries. Before you know it, youre lumbering behind,
laden with bags. Next visit, you swear darkly, youll insist on an
Anchor Steam Brewery tour and a Giants game.
Finally you reach the row of pastel
Victorians that slants against the cityscape.
"Wow, is that the Mrs. Doubtfire house?"
Victoria asks, pointing to the corner home.
"No," you say wearily, "thats further down,
on Broadway." Youve been upstaged by
Robin Williams again.
Two of the citys sleekest
restaurantsAbsinthe and Jardinihreare
nearby, but youve got something even more
dramatic in mind. When you descend into
Loongbars dragon-themed dining room and
hear the gasps, youre glad you broke your
rule about eating at Fishermans Wharf.
Just as the black pepper ribs arrive, Steves
cell phone rings and he heads outside to
take the call. By the time he returns, the
ribs are in your stomach and their spot
taken by sweet-and-sour snapper. As you
take a bite, you hear the waitress telling
Victoria that Don Johnson has just bought
the restaurant. "Itll be reopening as
something Vietnamese," she whispers. "He
may even feature it on Nash Bridges. " You sigh. Don Johnson.
Robin Williams. Maybe you should just move to Hollywood.
After dessert, you stand to leave, patting your pocket. Tickets to Rent
still there. Stomach satisfied. Youre feeling good. "Hey guys, why
dont we take the cable car downtown and grab a cab back? Itll be
fun."
Steve and Victoria turn and look at each other in bewilderment.
"What? And leave the Explorer?"
Youve Got to be Kidding Worlds Coolest Grown-up.
These are the words shining in Natalies and Dereks young eyes
when you tell them youre taking them for a doughnut picnic at the
Wave Organ. Martha and Bills concerned looks seem to suggest
"Worlds Highest Dental Bills," but you know theyll come around once
they bite into a chocolate iclair.
After procuring the candy-pink box from All Stars, the five of you walk
down the Marina breakwater, pointing out Angel Island and Alcatraz.
At the end of the path, a Dr. Seussian series of pipes gurgles and
sighs to the incoming slosh of the sea. Nine-year-old Derek presses
his ear to one. "Sounds like Dads stomach." Bill grins and pats his
belly.
By the time the box is empty the kids are frothing to be set loose in
the Exploratoriums cavernous hall of science. Derek practically trips
in his eagerness to experience centrifugal force on the spinning
machine; Natalie is slightly more dignified as she hurries toward the
giant bubbles shimmering up from the center of the room.
You catch up with them at the
large shadow box, where Natalie
performs a shaky handstand
against the wall and Derek leaps
into the air. Flash! An upside-down
Natalie is captured in shadow, her
younger brother two feet off the
ground beside her. Before long,
you, Martha, and Bill are elbowing
kids aside, twisting sideways against the wall in pharaoh profile as Bill
hums "Walk Like an Egyptian." Suddenly, you see Natalie standing in
front of you, arms folded. "You guys are so embarrassing."
So much for Worlds Coolest Grown-up.
Cheeseburgers and malteds at Mels Diner soon smooth over the
Shadowgate incident, and Natalie even joins in when "The Chipmunk
Song" comes on the jukebox. With preteen scorn defused, its time to
rent skates and head for Golden Gate Park.
Since its Sunday, the parks main drive is
blocked off, and a legion of in-line skaters
weave expertly through orange cones,
leaping over obstacles. It looks effortless. A
hundred yards later youre cursing what
seem to be ball bearings strapped to your
feet. Just as you hit the ground for the
second time, Martha whizzes by. "Looking
good, Martha!" you shout in admiration.
"Where are the brakes?" she shrieks.
By the time you reach the Japanese Tea
Garden youre happy to settle into the
shady teahouse with a plate of almond
cookies. The kids wont stop clambering
over the bridge that arches across the koi
pond, and you eventually convince the whole
family to perch on its perfect half-circle.
"Say bonsai trees! " you call out and snap
the photo.
The long second stretch of skating goes
smoother, and when you finally reach
Ocean Beach youve stopped clutching your
chest in fear. Martha doles out street shoes
from her backpack and you head up to the
Cliff House and the Musie Micanique,
home of the old arcade games from the Playland-by-the-Sea
amusement park. Youve brought a roll of quarters so everyone can
watch the dancing marionettes, hear the player pianos, and peer
through the aging stereoscopes, but most of the roll goes to feeding
Laughing Sal, the mechanical redhead whose maniacal cackle elicits
peals of laughter.
If you didnt have to return the skates, youd take the kids down to the
Sutro Baths to poke around the ruined foundations and salty tide
pools. Happily, the cab ride back to the Haight carries its own
entertainment value for two suburban kids.
Youre hoping Isobunes circular sushi bar will be a similarly
successful novelty, though its a stretch for children raised on grilled
cheese and fries. As wooden boats piled with mackerel and spicy
tuna float by, Natalie decides shes sticking to California rolls. Derek,
on the other hand, is delighted with the idea of raw fish. "Hey, Nat!
Nat!" he yells, wiggling a pale strip of halibut at his sister. "This one
isnt dead yet!"
So much for cultural enrichment.
Feelin Groovy At 8:30 in the morning, Lydia is waiting
outside the Red Victorian B&B as promised. She jumps into the car
with a jangle of jewelry and you head toward Fort Mason and Greens
restaurant. They wont have table service for several hours, but you
pick up buttermilk scones at the to-go counter and take a seat
overlooking the harbor. Theres a calm hush in the dining room that
befits a place owned by the Zen Center.
Although you have a few suggestions for todaythe Asian Art
Museum, a walk along the coast to Lands Endyou decide to ask
Lydia what she wants to do. "Well," she muses, "we could pick up
some herbs."
Chinatown. A car-parkers purgatory.
Just as the thought of narrow alleyways and
double-parked delivery trucks begins to
incite a migraine, you remember your
salvation: the Sutter Stockton Garage.
Along Stockton Street the herb stores are
cluttered with bins of bright red wolfberries
and dusty ginseng. Lydia decides on a bag
of yucca roots that look like chalky tongue
depressors. As you continue eastward, the
two of you duck into Waverly Place alley
and climb up to the Tin How Temple to light
incense at the gilded shrine of Tien Hua,
Protector of Travelers. You wonder where
they keep the Protector of Hosts.
Chinatown bleeds into North Beach as you
reach Columbus Avenue and the legendary
City Lights Bookstore. Lydia crosses herself
as she steps through the doorway and
clomps downstairs to find the Eastern
philosophy section. You wander up to the
Beat area and are soon lost in the pages of
The Dharma Bums. When you return to the
main level, Lydia is chatting up the cashier
and stuffing two books on meditation into a canvas backpack already
bulging with the harmony balls and Buddha charms from Chinatown.
On the grass of Washington Square you bite into hearty focaccia
sandwiches from Molinaris deli, watching the wizened Italian men
doze in the shadow of the church. From the square, its a steep and
breathless walk up to Coit Tower, where cuddling couples peer out at
the bayscape below. After peeking in at the Depression-era frescoes,
you descend to the east along the garden-lined Greenwich Steps.
Light laces down through giant ferns as a gray tabby slinks up and
winds himself between Lydias ankles. A young man carrying a
cherubic baby passes you and disappears into a shingled cottage
framed in orange trumpet vine. "Can you imagine living here?" asks
Lydia. "Paradise on earth."
You smile and nod. You were actually just thinking how miserable it
would be to haul groceries up these stairs.
By the time you and Lydia return to the car theres a throbbing blister
on your baby toe and still an hour and a half until your appointment at
the Kabuki Springs in Japantown. In the meantime, youll have to
de-stress at Mad Magdas Tea Room.
The fortune-tellers table is empty when you arrive, and Lydia takes a
seat beneath the colorful onion dome of St. Basils Cathedral. You
order a pot of smoky Russian tea and head for the garden to sip and
wait. After 15 minutes, Lydia returns, beaming. "Whatd she say?"
you ask.
"She told me Im ripe."
"Ripe?"
"Open to new experiences, filled with
possibility, blooming with potential," Lydia
gushes.
When its your turn at the tarot table, your
first card reveals a dark tower being struck
by lightning. "Does this mean Im ripe?"
you ask hopefully.
When you arrive at the Kabuki, soothing
Japanese music is drifting softly over the
communal bathing pools. Youve booked a one-hour shiatsu massage;
Lydia has signed up for something called a Javanese lulur, involving
yogurt. You dont dare ask. When you emerge from the room, youre
almost too relaxed to drive to dinner at Angkor Wat. Inside the dining
room, a young Cambodian girl in pancake makeup and a traditional
gold headdress is onstage, dancing sinuously to atonal music. Lydia
is mesmerized. "Do you think they offer lessons? I used to belly
dance you know."
After finishing off her lemongrass salmon she leans over again. "Hey,
did you see the ad for a nudist Buddhist in the Bay Guardian? I think I
might call." ""
"Author: John Montana
Date: 07/23/1999, 12:09 pm
Message: From the pine-shaded towns of Georgia they come. From the
sprawling suburbs of Ohio and the cramped apartments of
Manhattan. By Boeing jet, by Greyhound, by wood-paneled
station wagon and Harley-Davidson. They come bearing
uncomfortable walking shoes and empty suitcases yearning for
souvenirs. They come with dreams of Jack Kerouac, Carol
Doda, and free fog for all.
They are the San Francisco tourists.
And you are their tour guide.
It doesnt matter that you didnt ask
for this job. Just by living in this great
city, near this great city, or even a
days drive from this great city, you
have volunteered your time, energy,
and sofa bed to the vacation
enjoyment of others.
When faced with these obligations,
its tempting just to steer your guests
toward Pier 39 and consider your duty done. Unfortunately,
these are people you know, people you love. You owe them
something a little more personal.
It isnt that difficult. First, think carefully about your visitors.
Consider their ages, their dispositions, their loves and hates. Do
they like jazz? Are they afraid of heights? Can they order in
Cantonese? Then ask yourself what little slice of San Francisco
these people will want to take home and treasure.
To help you find the answer, weve woven together these five
tourist tales. So gather round and listen. You may find your own
guests in these storiesstories that begin, "Once upon a time,
in the kingdom of San Francisco . . ."
They Like Ike At 5:23 a.m., it begins. A creak of bedsprings, a
loud clearing of sinuses. By the time you stumble bleary-eyed into the
living room, theyre drinking Folgers instant coffee and talking loudly
over the Today show. Uncle Irv and Aunt Edna. By some bizarre twist
of genetics, your relatives.
After a stack of Swedish
pancakes at Sears Fine Food,
your first stop is the Jeremiah
OBrien. On board the World War
II liberty ship, the voices of the
Andrews Sisters ring through
narrow hallways. Edna avoids the
steep steps into the engine room,
but you follow Irv down to where a
bright-eyed veteran is explaining
how scenes from Titanic were shot using Jeremiahs triple-expansion
steam engine. Irv couldnt care less. Hes too busy poking around the
pipes, peering into the boilers. "Look here," he beckons, pointing to a
3-foot-long box wrench. "Won two bits for putting my head through one
of these."
After the Jeremiah, Irv is itching to go see the World War II Pampanito
sub, also docked at Pier 45. You and Edna decide to visit the nearby
city museum, in the Cannery building. As you work your way through,
the citys legends spring to life: Joshua Norton, self-declared Emperor
of the United States; Lillie Hitchcock Coit, spunky heiress and fire
aficionado. Just as you and Edna are poring over bottles melted in the
1906 inferno, Irv reappears. "How was the Pampanito?" you ask.
"Tighter than a sardine can. Lets eat."
On the western edge of Golden Gate Park, the historic Beach Chalet
is crowded with couples sipping microbrews and chatting over salads.
While you wait, you study the vibrant WPA murals of San Francisco.
Edna stops before a panel of women in one-piece swimsuits that show
their strong legs and rounded stomachs. "Now thats what a gal
should look like," she says approvingly. "Well-fed."
After lunch and two stops in Golden Gate
Parkthe arboretum for Edna and the
fly-casting pools for Irvyou cruise down
the Great Highway to Fort Funston. A faded
wind sock sails taut to the east, beckoning
to hang gliders. You pause to watch a group
struggling into their pupa-like harnesses,
then head to the ocean overlook.
"Holy mackerel!" bellows Irv as the first
glider leaps off the cliff. The three of you sit
spellbound, squinting up at the silhouettes
whirling on an updraft. Afterward you walk
along the cliff tops, where Edna befriends
every scrappy terrier that bounds past.
By now youre craving Indian food, but
youre going to play it safe: Years ago you
took Irv and Edna out for Ethiopian and they
still havent let you forget about the lack of
silverware. You decide on Kuletos
downtown, where you like the dark, stylish
decor and Edna and Irv will be satisfied with
the large portions of pasta.
On nearby Nob Hill, hundreds of World War
II servicemen downed their last martini at
the Top of the Mark before shipping out.
Tonight, Wallys Swing World is re-creating
the sounds of the era, and Edna pulls Irv
onto the dance floor before he can finish
complaining about his dress shoes. You
walk to the window and gaze at the lights of the city.
"May I have this dance?" Its Irv, looking bashful. You take his rough
hand and he catches you up in a graceful twirl and a cloud of Old
Spice. Edna looks on, clapping and smiling. In an instant the predawn
wake-up is forgiven. They are, after all, your relatives.
The Young and the Restless Despite the fact that she
slept until 11, Mel still looks venomously cranky this morning as she
slips on her leather jacket and pins back her dark hair. You know what
this face means: You have exactly 10 minutes to locate caffeine or
Mel will self-destruct.
Theres a line of sunglass-shrouded hipsters outside Boogaloos in the
Mission, but you squeeze past the crowd and return with an orange
juice for you and a Depth Chargecoffee with an extra kick of
espressofor Mel. By the time she drains the last muddy drops, her
mood has brightened considerably. She points to the Bay Guardian
shes been leafing through. "Hey, get this: Eco-warrior seeks
Buddhist nudist for spiritual interludes. Who are these people?"
A t the table, the conversation shifts from the personals to her latest
Super 8 film project, pausing only slightly when the huevos rancheros
arrive. Completely sated, the two of you stroll down sunny Valencia
Street, ducking into thrift shops and record stores before turning down
to the BART station on Mission. When the train reaches Powell Street
you head toward the unmistakable silhouette of the Museum of
Modern Art. Inside theres a visiting black-and-white photo exhibit that
Mel wont stop talking about and a diorama show that she calls "the
most bogus thing Ive seen all year." The biggest hit is the
vertigo-inducing catwalk.
You while away the last hour of the afternoon in the green oasis of
nearby South Park, then head to the Brain Wash Cafe for Mels
second caffeine infusion of the day. On the way you stop for photos at
the Defenestration Building art project, an abandoned building with
Dali-esque furniture hanging out its open windows.
"Whats defenestration?" Mel asks, peering up at a food-filled
refrigerator suspended in midfall.
"It means to throw something out a window," you sagely reply,
thankful you looked the word up.
Knowing Mels love of drama, you made
dinner reservations weeks ago for Asia SF,
home of some of the citys finest gender
illusionists. As the sleek walls shift slowly
from red to purple to yellow, Mel gives her
order to a Ru Paul look-alike with a pale
orchid tucked behind his left ear. Ten
minutes later this same waitress is towering
atop the bar in 5-inch silver platforms. As he
struts and strides to "I Will Survive," Mel
leans over to whisper ruefully, "Hes got
nicer legs than I do."
Its a tough decision what to hit next: a
campy classic at the art deco Castro
Theatre . . . madcap snapshots in the photo
booth at Uncle Mames variety store . . .
Then it comes to you: the Beauty Bar.
When you arrive at the faux beauty parlor,
the crowd is busy nursing pink
cosmopolitans and admiring the 1950s
kitsch. Mel grabs a spot under a hair dryer
and you head to the bar to order. When you
turn around Mel has moved to the
manicurists table and is waving a still-wet
set of orange nails in your direction. "Its
called Dork. Whatcha think?"
"Looks dorky."
"No come on, really."
After another round, Mel begs you to take her dancing, even though
you havent updated your moves since high school. Finally you agree
and catch a cab to Nikkis.
As you step inside youre hit with a wave of sweat, sound, and energy.
The whole place is pulsing to Michael Jacksons "Dont Stop Til You
Get Enough," and before you can help yourself, you and Mel are
grooving in the thick of things. Three songs later youre still going. As
soon as a bad song comes on, Ill take a breather, you think.
By 1:30 you still havent stopped dancing and your knees are officially
on strike. You give Mel the signal to head out. Outside in the chilly air
she grabs your arm conspiratorially: "Man Im starving. Lets get some
grub."
You stare at her incredulously but youre too tired to argue. As the
cab pulls up to take you to El Farolito for burritos, all you can think is
tomorrow its Mels turn to buy you a Depth Charge.
Lawyers in Love For a guy who never
wore anything but jeans and a sweatshirt in
college, Steve seems completely at ease this
morning in his button-down and Dockers.
"Lookin sharp, big guy," you say as you clap
him on the back and kiss Victoria on the
cheek.
Since your VW is in the shop, youve agreed
to take their rented Explorer to the Marina. On
the way, Steve and Victoria reminisce about
their last visit, when they toured Union Street.
Oh yes, you recall grimly, the day you
became a human pack mule for shopping bags.
After picking up steaming lattes and croissants at the Grove, you
continue to the Palace of Fine Arts. A remnant of the 1915 worlds fair,
the Palace looks majestically anachronistic as you approach, and by
the time youve finished your outdoor breakfast, several brides have
been photographed against the classical columns.
Steve and Victoria are home-hunting in Denver, so you cruise up to
the moneyed neighborhood of Sea Cliff for a house tour, pointing out a
white colonial here, a Mediterranean villa there. You gesture
nonchalantly toward a sprawling mansion. "Thats Robin Williamss
house."
"Really?" Steve rolls down his window. He sits expectantly, searching
for signs of stardom.
"I see him!" he yells suddenly, causing you and Victoria to press up
frantically against the window. As a figure in white disappears behind
the manicured shrubs, Victoria sinks back into her seat. "Honey, that
was the gardener."
At the end of Sea Cliff you stroll down to the tiny crescent of China
Beach. Steve skips rocks as Victoria takes photos of the Golden Gate
with her digital camera. Off the rocky point, a lone surfer bobs like a
shivering seal.
After the wind and fog it feels good to reach the sun- filled interior of
Zuni Cafi, where you slurp up salty oysters and people-watch out the
windows. As you head down to the next highlightthe ornate
stone-and-plaster interior of City Hallyou realize youll have to
traverse shop-lined Hayes Street to reach your final destination, the
Victorian Painted Ladies. Stay calm, you think. The Hayes boutiques
may be upscale, but theyve got a little too much attitude to appeal to
these two.
After only a block you are proven wrong. First theres the Hayes &
Vine Wine Bar, where Steve and Victoria each sample a handful of
vintages. Then two shoe stores, a watch shop, a home furnishings
store, two galleries. Before you know it, youre lumbering behind,
laden with bags. Next visit, you swear darkly, youll insist on an
Anchor Steam Brewery tour and a Giants game.
Finally you reach the row of pastel
Victorians that slants against the cityscape.
"Wow, is that the Mrs. Doubtfire house?"
Victoria asks, pointing to the corner home.
"No," you say wearily, "thats further down,
on Broadway." Youve been upstaged by
Robin Williams again.
Two of the citys sleekest
restaurantsAbsinthe and Jardinihreare
nearby, but youve got something even more
dramatic in mind. When you descend into
Loongbars dragon-themed dining room and
hear the gasps, youre glad you broke your
rule about eating at Fishermans Wharf.
Just as the black pepper ribs arrive, Steves
cell phone rings and he heads outside to
take the call. By the time he returns, the
ribs are in your stomach and their spot
taken by sweet-and-sour snapper. As you
take a bite, you hear the waitress telling
Victoria that Don Johnson has just bought
the restaurant. "Itll be reopening as
something Vietnamese," she whispers. "He
may even feature it on Nash Bridges. " You sigh. Don Johnson.
Robin Williams. Maybe you should just move to Hollywood.
After dessert, you stand to leave, patting your pocket. Tickets to Rent
still there. Stomach satisfied. Youre feeling good. "Hey guys, why
dont we take the cable car downtown and grab a cab back? Itll be
fun."
Steve and Victoria turn and look at each other in bewilderment.
"What? And leave the Explorer?"
Youve Got to be Kidding Worlds Coolest Grown-up.
These are the words shining in Natalies and Dereks young eyes
when you tell them youre taking them for a doughnut picnic at the
Wave Organ. Martha and Bills concerned looks seem to suggest
"Worlds Highest Dental Bills," but you know theyll come around once
they bite into a chocolate iclair.
After procuring the candy-pink box from All Stars, the five of you walk
down the Marina breakwater, pointing out Angel Island and Alcatraz.
At the end of the path, a Dr. Seussian series of pipes gurgles and
sighs to the incoming slosh of the sea. Nine-year-old Derek presses
his ear to one. "Sounds like Dads stomach." Bill grins and pats his
belly.
By the time the box is empty the kids are frothing to be set loose in
the Exploratoriums cavernous hall of science. Derek practically trips
in his eagerness to experience centrifugal force on the spinning
machine; Natalie is slightly more dignified as she hurries toward the
giant bubbles shimmering up from the center of the room.
You catch up with them at the
large shadow box, where Natalie
performs a shaky handstand
against the wall and Derek leaps
into the air. Flash! An upside-down
Natalie is captured in shadow, her
younger brother two feet off the
ground beside her. Before long,
you, Martha, and Bill are elbowing
kids aside, twisting sideways against the wall in pharaoh profile as Bill
hums "Walk Like an Egyptian." Suddenly, you see Natalie standing in
front of you, arms folded. "You guys are so embarrassing."
So much for Worlds Coolest Grown-up.
Cheeseburgers and malteds at Mels Diner soon smooth over the
Shadowgate incident, and Natalie even joins in when "The Chipmunk
Song" comes on the jukebox. With preteen scorn defused, its time to
rent skates and head for Golden Gate Park.
Since its Sunday, the parks main drive is
blocked off, and a legion of in-line skaters
weave expertly through orange cones,
leaping over obstacles. It looks effortless. A
hundred yards later youre cursing what
seem to be ball bearings strapped to your
feet. Just as you hit the ground for the
second time, Martha whizzes by. "Looking
good, Martha!" you shout in admiration.
"Where are the brakes?" she shrieks.
By the time you reach the Japanese Tea
Garden youre happy to settle into the
shady teahouse with a plate of almond
cookies. The kids wont stop clambering
over the bridge that arches across the koi
pond, and you eventually convince the whole
family to perch on its perfect half-circle.
"Say bonsai trees! " you call out and snap
the photo.
The long second stretch of skating goes
smoother, and when you finally reach
Ocean Beach youve stopped clutching your
chest in fear. Martha doles out street shoes
from her backpack and you head up to the
Cliff House and the Musie Micanique,
home of the old arcade games from the Playland-by-the-Sea
amusement park. Youve brought a roll of quarters so everyone can
watch the dancing marionettes, hear the player pianos, and peer
through the aging stereoscopes, but most of the roll goes to feeding
Laughing Sal, the mechanical redhead whose maniacal cackle elicits
peals of laughter.
If you didnt have to return the skates, youd take the kids down to the
Sutro Baths to poke around the ruined foundations and salty tide
pools. Happily, the cab ride back to the Haight carries its own
entertainment value for two suburban kids.
Youre hoping Isobunes circular sushi bar will be a similarly
successful novelty, though its a stretch for children raised on grilled
cheese and fries. As wooden boats piled with mackerel and spicy
tuna float by, Natalie decides shes sticking to California rolls. Derek,
on the other hand, is delighted with the idea of raw fish. "Hey, Nat!
Nat!" he yells, wiggling a pale strip of halibut at his sister. "This one
isnt dead yet!"
So much for cultural enrichment.
Feelin Groovy At 8:30 in the morning, Lydia is waiting
outside the Red Victorian B&B as promised. She jumps into the car
with a jangle of jewelry and you head toward Fort Mason and Greens
restaurant. They wont have table service for several hours, but you
pick up buttermilk scones at the to-go counter and take a seat
overlooking the harbor. Theres a calm hush in the dining room that
befits a place owned by the Zen Center.
Although you have a few suggestions for todaythe Asian Art
Museum, a walk along the coast to Lands Endyou decide to ask
Lydia what she wants to do. "Well," she muses, "we could pick up
some herbs."
Chinatown. A car-parkers purgatory.
Just as the thought of narrow alleyways and
double-parked delivery trucks begins to
incite a migraine, you remember your
salvation: the Sutter Stockton Garage.
Along Stockton Street the herb stores are
cluttered with bins of bright red wolfberries
and dusty ginseng. Lydia decides on a bag
of yucca roots that look like chalky tongue
depressors. As you continue eastward, the
two of you duck into Waverly Place alley
and climb up to the Tin How Temple to light
incense at the gilded shrine of Tien Hua,
Protector of Travelers. You wonder where
they keep the Protector of Hosts.
Chinatown bleeds into North Beach as you
reach Columbus Avenue and the legendary
City Lights Bookstore. Lydia crosses herself
as she steps through the doorway and
clomps downstairs to find the Eastern
philosophy section. You wander up to the
Beat area and are soon lost in the pages of
The Dharma Bums. When you return to the
main level, Lydia is chatting up the cashier
and stuffing two books on meditation into a canvas backpack already
bulging with the harmony balls and Buddha charms from Chinatown.
On the grass of Washington Square you bite into hearty focaccia
sandwiches from Molinaris deli, watching the wizened Italian men
doze in the shadow of the church. From the square, its a steep and
breathless walk up to Coit Tower, where cuddling couples peer out at
the bayscape below. After peeking in at the Depression-era frescoes,
you descend to the east along the garden-lined Greenwich Steps.
Light laces down through giant ferns as a gray tabby slinks up and
winds himself between Lydias ankles. A young man carrying a
cherubic baby passes you and disappears into a shingled cottage
framed in orange trumpet vine. "Can you imagine living here?" asks
Lydia. "Paradise on earth."
You smile and nod. You were actually just thinking how miserable it
would be to haul groceries up these stairs.
By the time you and Lydia return to the car theres a throbbing blister
on your baby toe and still an hour and a half until your appointment at
the Kabuki Springs in Japantown. In the meantime, youll have to
de-stress at Mad Magdas Tea Room.
The fortune-tellers table is empty when you arrive, and Lydia takes a
seat beneath the colorful onion dome of St. Basils Cathedral. You
order a pot of smoky Russian tea and head for the garden to sip and
wait. After 15 minutes, Lydia returns, beaming. "Whatd she say?"
you ask.
"She told me Im ripe."
"Ripe?"
"Open to new experiences, filled with
possibility, blooming with potential," Lydia
gushes.
When its your turn at the tarot table, your
first card reveals a dark tower being struck
by lightning. "Does this mean Im ripe?"
you ask hopefully.
When you arrive at the Kabuki, soothing
Japanese music is drifting softly over the
communal bathing pools. Youve booked a one-hour shiatsu massage;
Lydia has signed up for something called a Javanese lulur, involving
yogurt. You dont dare ask. When you emerge from the room, youre
almost too relaxed to drive to dinner at Angkor Wat. Inside the dining
room, a young Cambodian girl in pancake makeup and a traditional
gold headdress is onstage, dancing sinuously to atonal music. Lydia
is mesmerized. "Do you think they offer lessons? I used to belly
dance you know."
After finishing off her lemongrass salmon she leans over again. "Hey,
did you see the ad for a nudist Buddhist in the Bay Guardian? I think I
might call." ""
Jul 16th, 2004, 02:11 AM
#37
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From the same thread: a followup
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Author: martha python
Date: 07/23/1999, 02:02 pm
Message: Are there any numerologists out there who can tell us whether John Montana = J. Peterman?"
LMF
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Author: martha python
Date: 07/23/1999, 02:02 pm
Message: Are there any numerologists out there who can tell us whether John Montana = J. Peterman?"
LMF
Jul 16th, 2004, 04:11 PM
#39
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Speaking of SF sausages, I read recently in the SF Comical that Bertrand Boudreau, formerly of Rosamunde Sausage Grill and some partners opened "World Sausage Grill".
I think it's at 2073 Market St.
22 diff sausages including veggie and seafood. Slurrrp.
scarlett-I wore my first catcher's cupp to a Giants game at The Stick in '63.
I think it's at 2073 Market St.
22 diff sausages including veggie and seafood. Slurrrp.
scarlett-I wore my first catcher's cupp to a Giants game at The Stick in '63.
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beckytx
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Dec 3rd, 2010 09:11 AM
TravelingMom
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May 10th, 2005 08:24 AM
