walk to eat, eat to walk (bloated memories of san francisco)

When we weren't tied up with Slow Food events, A and I busied ourselves with our own food events. Our first night in town, following a long afternoon of panels, we pursued a tip for a local pub run by Dave McLean, the brewer who oversaw the beer component of Slow Food Nation. Magnolia looks like the product of an old Dead Head who unwittingly became editor for McSweeney's. Their menus are a slick mash-up of Victorian hierarchy typography with hidden Grateful Dead lyrics and wacked-out contemporary watercolors printed on an LSD blotter grid. Along with some existential cartoons about a man explaining the reality of a bone to his dog, the website gives a pretty good sense of what I'm talking about. Top this design-conscious psychedelia with a rehabbed vintage bar and some great farm-to-table food, and you've got a solid restaurant. We had wild board head cheese, Louisiana boudin sausage with garlicky grilled eggplant and an amazing goat cheese praline cake. And the beer wasn't bad, either. I went for an "Out with the Old Ale," a beer aged in bourbon barrels with a strong, sweet kick that knocked me out. After one or two those, it was hard to find the bus out of the Haight.


Not to be discouraged by a busy day of events on Saturday, we rounded up a few of our friends from the Portland Slow Food chapter and marched them down to the Mission in search of Tartine. It was a classic P & A vacation activity - walking an unspecified (long) distance to taste something, then turning in the other direction and walking elsewhere to eat some more. From a block away, we recognized the bakery by the line out the door. Luckily, once we tasted their offerings, the walk and the wait were all worthwhile. Theirs was the single most custardy bread pudding I've ever tasted - bathed in a tangy sauce of raspberries and peaches. The standout, though, was the orange-scented and caramelly morning bun. While standing in line, we spied back into the kitchen, getting a sense of what makes these pastries so damn good. Hint: it might have something to do with the cubic feet of butter stacked on the counters.


After a round of mid-day Slow Food activities (visits to the garden, market, and street food bazaars), we took a walk down to the water through Chinatown and North Beach. Along the way, A fell prey to the shrewdest lemonade stand racket I've ever seen - those kids set up shop halfway up the steep incline to Coit Tower!

That evening, after a predictably bleak (though really strong) Slow Food film festival, we met back up with two of our friends to try Farmer Brown, a farm-to-table soul food that focuses on sourcing their ingredients from black farmers around the Bay Area. A and I shared some crispy catfish with candied yams and a tangy bean salad. The table favorite, though, was anything that we could douse with the addictive jalapeno-honey sauce - particularly their sweet little cornbread muffins.


Early Sunday morning, we left our hotel to check out Liguria Bakery in North Beach, on a tip from the owners of Pastaworks. We'd scoped it out the day before and noticed their hours: from 8 until they run out product, never later than 2 pm. Now what baked good could inspire such morning devotion to sell out each day? Focaccia. Amazing focaccia. That's right: they make one product and they do it well. The women running the shop were cranky, deliberate, and totally impatient with us trying to decide between the six flavors they offered. The scene was so very Italian. We took a slab of the plain and a slab of the garlic out to the nearby park for a simple breakfast. While A was pretty taken by the elderly Chinese women doing calisthenics in the park, I was pretty taken by the incredibly chewy loaf with its wonderfully sweet garlic topping. A little focaccia, a little coffee and I was ready to check out the Taste pavilions at Slow Food Nation.

On Sunday evening, after we leveled out from the caffeine and booze-induced stupor of Taste, we felt like it was time for one last meal in town. Where better to go after a weekend of Slow Food than Zuni Cafe? We are huge fans of chef Judy Rodgers' cookbook - I can't think of many other chefs who write so eloquently as to sound as though they are in the kitchen alongside you. It is filled with wonderful insights into method and preparation - every time I open the book, I feel like I learn a new, eminently practical technique. The dishes featured in the book make up a cuisine of brilliant, simple flavors that are coaxed to reach their height. The restaurant is even more impressive.


The food at Zuni is always an incredibly simple demonstration of the tastes of a few ingredients. We had two simple starters: a mix of grilled peppers with ripe cherry tomatoes and a fritto misto of onion, lemon and agretti. A and I then shared a bowl of corn soup that perfectly captured that late-season sweetness; there are few better things you can do with corn than a simple soup. Our friends shared a bowl of polenta with mascarpone, an incredibly basic dish that is cooked so well that it becomes decadently smooth and savory. I think I'm going to need to brush up on Judy Rodger's explanation of polenta cookery. Out of the main courses, I think that my squab may have captured the most attention for its beautiful juxtaposition of tastes - zante grapes, grilled polenta, and fennel gave a nice balance to the roasted bird. To finish, A and I ordered a Sicilian sweet bun stuffed with almond and sour cherry granitas and fresh nectarines. It was a perfectly refreshing end to a full weekend of over-eating.