Destination # 16: The W to E Scale

When I first moved to San Francisco and was looking for a place to live, my wonderful cousin, David, gave me a simple formula for deciding which neighborhood would be right for me: This formula is now known as the H to Y scale. It is a spectrum, where on one end is the H (Hipster) and on the other is the Y (Yuppie). So, for example, the Mission would be more on the H end of the spectrum, while Fisherman's Wharf is hanging off the Y end.

I've decided to create a similar scale for my food adventure. I call it the W to E scale, W being "White" and E being "Ethnic."

After my Korean "taco" mis-adventure, I was ready for some real, ethnic, Mexican food. I headed to the Castro for some Tortilla Soup at Chilango, #43.

When I walked into the restaurant with my buddy, Winslow, things were already looking a little "white." The place was decked out with chrome counter tops and tables, an open kitchen, and dim lighting for ambiance. There were no Mexican people in the entire place, except for the nice host and his kitchen crew (I think the host spoke a little Spanglish to his guests to make the place seem more ethnic). It's not the hole-in-the-wall that you hope for when going out for Mexican food.

My Sopa de Tortilla had fantastic things about it. It had the type of broth that makes you roll your eyes with immense pleasure, I savory and bold chicken broth with tomato and beautiful spice. The pulled chicken was nice and tender mixed with big chunks of queso fresco (a Mexican style fresh mozzarella) and underneath was a surprise of creamy chunks of avocado.

There were some "white" things about my soup, as well. All of the delicious edibles were piled high in the middle of my fancy white bowl with perfect rounds of carrot and cubes of potato (almost cooked to the point where they could've been served to a Yuppie baby in the Marina) and the broth surrounded the pile, like a mote. This was a little too Euro for my taste. When I order Tortilla Soup, I want a big ugly deep bowl of spicy soup with some tortilla chips sticking out of it, no fancy schmancy hills of food surrounded by motes of broth.

Despite the lack of authenticity, the soup was very enjoyable, as were Winslow's grilled cactus tacos that came with a fizzy beer salsa.

If you're looking for a place where you can join some unshowered men in screaming at a television where Ronaldo, Rivaldo, and Ronaldinho are faking injuries, while drinking a one dollar beer and eating a three dollar ginormous bowl of Tortilla Soup, Chilango is not the place. But it's a wonderful location for going out with a friend to a nicer, more trendy, and still tasty, meal.

Destination #15: Open-Faced Maki

The two ethnicities of food that tend to be the most authentic, delicious and dominant in the city's restaurant scene are Asian and Latin American. The idea of combining the two sounded pretty sexy, so I ventured to the Ferry Building during their Saturday farmer's market for Korean Tacos from the Namu stand, #89 on the list.

I bought two little seaweed wrapped tacos. The rice was nicely seasoned with a sweet vinegar solution that tasted like the seasoning for sushi rice. The cute Korean guy assembling the tacos put the rice on top of a small square toasted seaweed wrapper, the "tortilla," if you will, which felt a little stale. He then topped the rice with my choice of beef or chicken (I got both), which was very mildly seasoned, and a little luke warm after sitting in his mis-en-place all morning. The "condiments" were quite nice, such as the pickled daikon, and kimchi salsa, which actually had tomato, the only trace of Mexican influence. If I were in charge, I would've named my so-called-taco, "open faced beef maki." It seemed to me like a very Americanized sushi roll left unwrapped.

Tasty? Yes. Worth five dollars for two miniscule "tacitos"? Not for a cheapskate like me. However, it was quite nice sitting by the bay, watching the rich white people browse the farm stands, witnessing that Iranian man from the nut stand force free samples of almond brittle upon everyone that passed, and gazing off into the distance at the bay bridge while eating a not-so-mexican korean taco. In this case, it's the experience that counts.