Destination #39: At The Real People Farmer's Market

I took a long bike ride one Saturday morning, further south than I’d ever been in San Francisco. Finally, after a wrong turn off of Mission Street somewhere, I happened upon about a dozen trucks and two parallel cement awnings as long as football fields bedecked in graffiti underneath Highway Two Eighty, and more Asian people than I’ve ever come across outside of China Town. This is the Alemany Farmer’s Market.

After milling about and discovering the large variety of fruits, vegetables and eggs for about half the price of the produce at the Ferry Building, I decided this was a market for real people. And I shan't forget to mention the half hatched duck embryos. The large population of toothless families confirmed this. It was surely a nice change from the Gucci adorned crowd of Embarcadero.

Of course there cannot exist a Farmer’s Market without food trucks. El Huarache Loco is number sixty on my list for their authentic Mexican street food, specifically their huarache with cactus salad.

Huarache consists of two masa (corn) based tortillas in the shape of beaver tails, stuffed with refried beans, then lightly fried. Unfortunately, the huarache I ate in this parking lot in Alemany didn’t stand up to the cold humid weather very well: Any crispiness soon diminished to a slightly soggy and chewy huarache. The salad on top was refreshing with crumbled queso fresco, fresh cilantro, and spicy chilies, although the cactus tasted a little like canned green beans.

Ok, so the huarache was not my favorite food item I’ve ever bought from a truck, but if it hadn’t been for El Huarache Loco, I probably never would’ve discovered the wonderful and inexpensive Alemany Farmer’s Market. Since this discovery, I have eaten more juicy peaches, cherries, and tangelo minneolas than I have in the last twenty-four years, and it’s barely made a dent in my wallet.

Destination #38: Eating Out The Door

My favorite activity in San Francisco has quickly turned into a trip down Market Street to its dead end at the Ferry Building, eating lunch out on the back plaza next to the water on a sunny day, and watching the gulls fly over Treasure Island. I love sharing this activity with others, so when Peter (an old friend from college) came to visit, I took him with me for an Out the Door lunch.

Out the Door is the take-out fast food version of the fancy Vietnamese fusion restaurant, Slanted Door. Vietnamese food constantly excites me… the idea of it, eating it, talking about it, cooking it. The thought of eating Out the Door’s Vietnamese food on the Ferry Building patio sounds a little like paradise. Out the Door’s chicken rice porridge made it to number fifty-six on the list.

Sitting in the sunshine on a bench with my plastic one-quart vat of porridge, the first bite was delightful. It had a mildly sweet and gingery zing, much like the tofu pudding my Vietnamese host mom used to buy me for breakfast from the Tofu Lady in Can Tho. The fried shallots and fresh spring onion added a variety of crisp textures. After several bites in, when the fried shallots were gone, the porridge lost its zing and I started craving protein, or at least something besides soupy rice. That’s when I discovered stringy pieces of overcooked white meat chicken sitting at the bottom of my porridge.

Eating half of the porridge that Out the Door served was too much. I didn’t even bother taking my leftovers home, which for a cheapskate as myself is something of a revelation. The pork steamed buns are what should’ve made the list: Hot, salty and sweet juicy pork inside a cloud-light bun. Perhaps it was a mistake to take a bite of this wildly tasty bun in the midst of eating my very mildly flavored chicken goop.

Either way, one goopy experience was not enough to deter me from Out the Door. I will just stay away from Asian porridge dishes from now on.

Destination #37: Gooey Steamy Bar Snacks

I have a small obsession with the Bravo TV show Top Chef. After discovering one of the Top Chef contestants was a chef at Absinthe, I couldn’t wait to go to try out number thirty-six on my list.

I met two friends at Absinthe in Hayes Valley for some R&R after a hard week at the restaurant. It turned out to be the priciest restaurant I will have visited in San Francisco so far. Although the dining room is dark, romantic, and quiet, the neon backlit bar and fabulous cocktails give the place a little bit of a funkier and relaxed feel.

After the talk around town of Absinthe’s fantastic food and pricey menu, I couldn’t understand why their most famous menu item is a bar snack… the soft garlic pretzels. It only took one bite for me truly understand.

Four small puffy round pretzels came wafting through the dining room to our table, leaving behind a trail of steam. Pulling one pretzel apart revealed the gooiest inside, similar to a buttery garlic bread. The pretzel was delicious, but the side of Vermont Cheddar mornay turned my pretzel to the most unctuous snack. The mornay was a béchamel style tangy, boozy fondue-like cheese.

There was no way we were stopping at a bar snack. The potato crusted Arctic Char and the whole golden trout that Steph and Sally ordered blew out of the water almost every fish dish I had ever ordered in a restaurant. The flavors were vibrant and the textures varied with the crisp skin and the soft plump flesh. My pork loin was a bit dry as I typically assume pork loin to be. I ordered this dish hoping Absynthe might change my preconceptions of the loin. I also ordered it because the dish came with a sous-vide pork belly beside the loin. (Pork belly is like crack for me. I cannot resist it.) The dish was seasoned perfectly and had the most wonderful balance of flavor with the sweet carrot puree and the savory pork jus.

Even after the mind-blowing fish dishes and my to-die-for pork belly, those little pretzels were still the highlight of a meal. I never thought that a bar snack would be the winning component to a fifty-five dollar meal.

Destination #36: Better than Liguria

My two biggest fans and supporters of the food list decided to cook me a birthday dinner. I took the ferry north across the bay to Marin where Cousin David and Janey were whipping up something magnificent at Jane's parent's house.

It was my first escape from the city in months since being committed to a restaurant's kitchen. Yet David and Jane surprised me by bringing a little piece of San Francisco to Marin... number sixty-eight on my list.

I had ventured to Liguria Bakery in North Beach a couple months earlier to pick up a loaf of foccacia, and even at four oclock in the pm, they were closed. Liguria sells their foccacia until they run out, and considering the focaccia is the only thing they sell, they run out quickly then close down shop for the rest of the day.

The bakery is by no means the cutesy italian deli one might expect in North Beach. It is slightly run down, and their menu is written on one of those tacky ice skating rink boards where one can switch out individual letters to create words. The menu, as aforementioned, is only comprised of different types of focaccia... plain, olive, rosemary, garlic, onion, and a few others.

Some people go to eateries and stores for the ambiance and not the quality of food. Liguria Bakery could only survive if their food were knee slapping good. And it is.

To put it simply, their focaccia is better than any focaccia I ate while in Liguria Italy this November (sorry my dear Italians). David and Jane bought a plain loaf, and it was by no means plane. The focaccia comes in thin square loaves and is light as a feather with a crisp and salty outer edge. It leaves behind the finest olive oil lip gloss.

The rest of my birthday dinner was fantastic. David seared tuna steaks while Jane cooked couscous and a spicy Basque roasted red pepper dish. They also made Jane's mom's world famous three-hour roasted tomatoes. It is comprised of canned plum tomatoes roasted for three hours until the sugars have become concentrated and the tomatoes take on a sweet toasty quality. Bursting with flavor, Jane and David topped slices of the focaccia with these tomatoes. Thank you, David and Jane, for your efforts of cooking tomatoes for three hours but the focaccia really doesn't need any accompaniment. It is just that tasty.

Destination #35: Eating the Ocean

I had done myself wrong in this city… I hadn’t eaten at a true seafood restaurant. Sure I’ve had fish dishes here and sushi there, but nothing to write home about. It was time to change all that. For Dad’s last day in SF before heading back up north, we went to Tadich Grill for lunch, one of the more famous seafood restaurants, and what is known to be the oldest restaurant in the city.

And it felt old. Everything from the décor to the tables and bar to the equipment to the employee uniforms made me feel as if I had stepped into a Humphrey Bogart mystery. Everything has been there since this location opened in the 1960s after Tadich Grill was established in 1849. There are only a few tables available by the windows right near the entrance. Otherwise all of the seating is at the long wooden bar leading to the copper bedecked kitchen.

Dad and I sat at the bar and ordered the mixed seafood plate and number sixty-four on my list, the sand dabs. I had no idea what sand dabs were. I had never seen them on a menu before, and our waitress thought I was crazy when I told her this. It is a Pacific coast fish that Tadich Grill had received fresh from the ocean that day. It is a thin slightly flaky fish similar to flounder, yet a bit oilier like halibut. Tadich Grill served three filets breaded and fried with a side of sautéed long Chinese green beans. The fish was the perfect combination between white flaky fish and oily steak, an important discovery for my food education.

Our mixed seafood plate was really the winner of the day. If I had gone swimming in the deep ocean with my mouth wide open, I probably would have eaten much the same meal. Smoked salmon, oysters, squid, smoked trout, mackerel, shrimp with cocktail sauce… you name it, it was probably there. All served on a bed of lettuce and tomatoes with fresh California avocado slices. Tadich Grill could probably do just fine with a one-item menu, that one item being their mixed seafood plate. It tasted like the ocean.

Whether ordering the mixed seafood plate, Sand Dabs, or their famous chowder, Tadich Grill is truly a San Francisco seafood spot, and remains a place in the city's history.

Destinations #33 and 34: Food as History

Zare at Fly Trap is one of the only restaurants on my list of one hundred that no one has heard of. It opened in 2008, making it one of my more newly opened destinations, but there is no reason that it shouldn’t have a bigger name. I would call it historical Mediterranean food, each dish with a story and a place in the past.

Dad and I ventured downtown to the swankier “Fidi” (financial district) and ducked into a hidden patio blooming with ivy and spider plants. The dimly lit and quiet dining room echoed the serenity of the patio entrance. Every dish on the menu had unique twists and interesting sounding flavors, so Dad and I decided to stick with just appetizers so that we could try more.

We immediately ordered the pistachio meatballs, Chef Zare’s signature dish and the item on my list. With a tart pomegranate glaze and crunchy pistachios, these meatballs were certainly tasty (although I thought the meat was a tad overcooked).

The dishes to follow, however, showed a certain inventiveness and authenticity that I always hope to find. The bone marrow with toast, black sea salt and quince jam made both Dad and I smile. The eggplant with rehydrated yogurt made Dad question why they bothered dehydrating than rehydrating when the chef could’ve just kept the yogurt hydrated in the first place. But like I said, Zare keeps the dishes authentic with a story in mind. If that’s how the Persians did it, that’s how Zare will do it, and it certainly pays off in the flavors of the food.

After our educational and delicious meal, the items on the dessert menu made my mouth water, even after stuffing my face with oozing, dripping bone marrow. But Dad and I decided to pull ourselves away from Fidi and grabbed a cab headed down south to Mitchell’s Ice Cream to knock another one off my list.

Mitchell’s smelled like the Carvel I used to go to growing up, but their flavors are more daring. They have a section in the ice cream display case particularly for their stranger flavors, most of which contain rare tropical fruits from the Philippines, one of which is called Ube… a purple yam. That’s the flavor I was to order.

It was another mildly flavored and slightly boring ice cream cone. I kept licking and licking hoping to eventually taste something, but all I could really decipher was purple wax.

If for some reason you happen to be milling about way down south in Noe Valley and get a serious hankering for ice cream, then give Mitchell’s a visit for their homemade ice cream and friendly atmosphere. Otherwise, I would advise to stay out of the projects and treat yourself to Bi Rite. Next time, I will stay at Zare at Fly Trap for another course. I can only imagine what their desserts could do to the palate.

Destination #32: Afternoon Delight

Since my discovery of beer, I have also discovered that even better than a cold beer is a cold beer in the afternoon. It is unexpected, like a matinee, or salt on chocolate, or sex in the morning.

Monk’s Kettle has both good food and beer, so Dad and I decided to go for lunch. I asked my waitress for a recommendation of an “obscure Belgian beer,” number 50 on my list. The waitress scoffed at this question, as most of the beers on the menu at Monk’s Kettle are obscure, or not easily found. Looking over the thirty-page beer menu, she picked out a few that I might like. After trying samples of each of her recommendations, I chose one and enjoyed sipping my twelve-dollar afternoon beer.

Yes… that’s right, twelve-dollars for twelve ounces of fizzy alcohol. The price of the beer at Monk’s Kettle is almost more impressive than the breadth of the menu. I would highly recommend a trip to Monk’s Kettle for the relaxed atmosphere and the incredible selection of rare beer, but I would advise against going for the purpose of a drunken Friday night. This would not only rob you of your spending allowance, but of your entire bank account. I can easily imagine drinking a little too much and thinking that buying a forty-dollar beer made by Belgian Trappist monks is a fantastic idea.

But for an afternoon or evening beer, Monk's Kettle is a wonderful place. And no matter how many times one visits, there will always be a new beer to try.