If necessity is the mother of invention, then laziness must certainly be its kooky old aunt. Many times I will improvise with or substitute ingredients simply because I don't have the proper ones on hand and am too lazy to go out and get them. (The fact that I live in San Francisco, surrounded by shops within walking distance that probably carry almost anything I could need, speaks volumes about my degree of laziness.) Sometimes my improvisation goes terribly awry, and my dastardly experiment goes directly into the mulch can. Other times, though, I come up with something worth repeating.
This morning I wanted to make coffee cake. I thought for sure I had all the necessary ingredients — butter, sugar, eggs, flour, cinnamon — but I was missing one that is key: sour cream. Every recipe seemed to call for it, and I had nothing in the house with a similar texture. I pored through a few recipe books, but no luck. Then, as a last resort, I pulled out The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook, copyright 1980. It was my grandmother's and the first cookbook I used when I got interested in cooking back in high school. I hadn't opened it in about 15 years, but there — on page 430 — was a recipe for cherry coffee cake, sans sour cream. I didn't have the cherry pie filling it called for, but I did have an unopened jar of organic blueberry preserves. I substituted orange zest for lemon, added some ground cardamom, and voila! I was rewarded with a pretty damned good coffee cake.
Not bad for a lazy Saturday morning.
Blueberry Cardamom Coffee Cake
Adapted from The Good Housekeeping Illustrated Cookbook.
Ingredients:
1-3/4 cup all-purpose flour
3/4 cup sugar
1 tsp baking powder
1/4 tsp baking soda
1/4 tsp salt
10 tbs unsalted butter, melted
1/2 cup milk
1 egg
1 tsp vanilla extract
1/4 tsp ground cardamom
1 10-oz jar blueberry preserves
1 tsp orange zest
1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Butter and flour a 9-inch square baking pan.
2. In a large bowl, mix 1-1/4 cup flour, 1/2 cup sugar, baking powder, baking soda and salt with a fork.
3. Add 1/2 cup melted butter, milk, egg and vanilla to flour mixture. Beat just until well mixed and pour into prepared pan, smoothing top.
4. In a small bowl, combine the remaining 1/2 cup flour, 1/4 cup sugar and 2 tbs butter with the ground cardamom until mixture resembles coarse crumbs.
5. Sprinkle half of crumb mixture evenly on batter in pan.
6. Stir orange zest into blueberry preserves and pour over crumb mixture in pan. (Preserves will not completely cover crumbs. Sprinkle rest of crumb mixture on preserves.
7. Bake 1 hour, or until top is golden.
Saturday, March 1, 2008
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Restaurants: Aqua
Frank Flannagan: Everything about you is perfect.
Ariane Chavasse: I’m too thin! And my ears stick out, and my teeth are crooked and my neck’s much too long.
Frank Flannagan: Maybe so, but I love the way it all hangs together.
– Audrey Hepburn and Gary Cooper in Billy Wilder’s 1957 film Love in the Afternoon
Sometimes the way it all hangs together is what matters. Take Audrey Hepburn, for example. Few would argue that she was beautiful. (The ones who would are idiots.) If you examine each of her features on its own – long neck, crooked teeth, willowy body – nothing is outstanding; but put them all together, and you have one of the most unconventionally gorgeous women ever captured on film.
Under the best circumstances, food is much the same way. Though quality ingredients are key, it’s different flavor combinations and methods of preparation that transform ingredients into a whole that transcends the individual parts. This sums up my problem with Aqua – it just didn’t all hang together that well.
On paper, Aqua sounds wonderful: the freshest, highest-quality ingredients; flourished presentation; a dramatic space; and an efficient, knowledgeable staff. In reality, though, my experience at Aqua left me feeling like something was, well, missing.
Things started off auspiciously with a No. 209 martini, up with olives. It was magnificent and one of the best I’ve had in a very long time; it knocked Kokkari’s martini – my former favorite – into second place on my list of all-time best cocktails. Bravo to Aqua’s bartender. (Though it didn’t hurt that he/she started out with an exquisite gin.)
When the amuse-bouche arrived at the table, it also looked promising: a diminutive morsel of fresh sardine, a demitasse cup of kabocha* squash soup with truffled creme fraiche, and a miniature tuna croquette on a bed of piquillo pepper sauce. I am not a fan of sardines, but I tried mine anyway; it didn’t sway me, though it was of fine quality. The soup tasted as lovely as it sounds. The item about which I was most excited, though – the tuna croquette – was lackluster. The texture was a bit grainy, and the flavor fell flat. The piquillo pepper sauce helped, but not enough.
Bread and butter were offered with the aforementioned flourish; our server formally presented both a regular cow’s milk butter and a sheep’s milk butter topped with crystals of sea salt, the latter of which was delicious. But as a sipped my glass of Grüner Veltliner, I wondered if such presentation of something as tertiary as butter wasn’t a bit much.
My appetizer of dungeness crab salad with meyer lemon cucumber caviar and curry poppy seed vinaigrette arrived beautifully presented – little cylinders of crab meat wrapped in thin cucumber skins and topped with cucumber “caviar”. The crab itself was excellent and (not surprisingly) paired beautifully with the cucumber. The cucumber “caviar” was marvelous and was so much like real caviar in appearance and texture that until I actually bit down and experienced its cool sweetness, I wasn’t sure if it was the genuine article. (I’m terribly curious as to how they made the tiny, delicate orbs.) I was slightly disappointed by the poppyseed curry vinaigrette; it was nice enough and didn’t detract from the dish, but it didn’t add much in the way of flavor. I wanted the curry to be a bit more pronounced. It just didn’t sing.
One of my dining companions ordered the lobster and curry kabocha squash soup with apple and mint yogurt. It was decadent, wonderfully complex, and flavorful. Heaven.
Our entrees arrived with much fanfare. Right before my eyes, mint & Marcona almond pistou was scattered across my plate by our server with artistic flair, a striking contrast to the parsley crusted monkfish rôti with baby carrot fettuccine. It was a gorgeous visual composition, and as I raised a morsel of fish to my mouth, I hoped it would taste even half as beautiful as it looked. Unfortunately, it didn’t. The fish, while delicate and perfectly cooked, didn’t have a parsley crust at all; rather, it was coated with an overcooked layer of dull green that tasted quite bland. Ever the optimist, I tried dipping another piece of fish into the pistou and the intriguing-looking orange foam that also shared the plate, hoping for redemption; no such luck. It just didn’t work. With every bite, I thought “Hmmmm.... interesting”; that’s never a good first reaction when tasting food. What did work, however, was the baby carrot fettuccine. It was wonderful, the delicate strands of carrot straddling that oh-so-thin line between luxuriously supple and disappointingly overcooked. It was by far the best part of the dish, but it shouldn’t have been.
I’m usually not one to turn down dessert, but nothing on the menu really called out to me. Many of the selections sounded overly fussy and/or featured “foam,” a dessert element of which I’m not terribly fond. Instead, I opted for the cheese plate, which I shared with one of my dining companions. We were presented with a dozen or so selections, ranging from young and mild to ripe and runny. All were very good, but the standout was a cheese that tasted much like stilton, to which I’m admittedly partial. Served with the cheese was a hazelnut and dried fruit (apricot?) bread that was especially good.
I feel the same way about Aqua’s service and decor as I do about their food – all the elements were there, but they didn’t quite gel. Our stunning, 6 ft tall, 110 lb blonde hostess, for example, was courteous and accommodating but didn’t radiate the confidence expected from the hostess of a reputable, well-established restaurant. Similarly, our server, though very knowledgeable and attentive, seemed nervous and sounded like he was about to stumble over his words at any moment. (He also failed to instruct us to taste our cheeses in order from mildest to most pungent – a glaring oversight.) And the space, with its soaring ceiling, ochre-sponged walls and immense framed mirrors, seems to lack a focal point. The dining room is also unnervingly loud, especially considering the visually-sedate surroundings. For most of the evening, I had to concentrate in order to hear our server and the three other people at the table.
All in all, my experience at Aqua was pleasant, but I expected much more from a Michelin-rated restaurant, especially one that charges $72 for a 3-course menu. If you’re lucky enough to have an unlimited entertaining budget or expense account, then by all means try Aqua. But if you’re like the rest of us who have to be choosy about expensive meals, skip it.
★ ★ 1/2
Aqua
252 California St.
San Francisco, CA 94111
(415) 956-9662
* I have tried to be as detailed as possible in this review, but since the items offered in the amuse-bouche were not on the menu, I’ve had to rely on my memory. (I was dining with a client; as such, taking notes would have been rude.)
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Shriveled Minds?
Am I the only person who’s annoyed by the recent “dried plums” PR campaign? Are we Americans really so stupid that the mere name of a particular food could prevent us from enjoying it?
I’ve loved prunes since I was a kid. What’s not to love? They’re like giant raisins but with a much more sophisticated flavor. I even love the taste of prune juice – a secret I kept well-guarded from my childhood friends, who teased me relentlessly just for being so bizarre as to like (gasp!) spinach. And before virtually eliminating commercial soft drinks from my life for culinary-political reasons, I loved Dr. Pepper, which I’ve heard uses prune flavor as its base. (“Virtually” means I only drink soft drinks when combined with alcohol. The thought of never again being able to enjoy Captain Morgan’s and Dr. Pepper is more than I can bear, and ever so slightly outweighs my antipathy for Big Food. I am, after all, an admitted food whore.)
And then there are prune desserts. The French are light years ahead of us on this point. Prunes are seemingly ubiquitous in French desserts, and for good reason. Their gorgeous, complex tang is a natural foil to more decadent ingredients like butter and cream. Think prunes in bread pudding, armagnac-soaked prunes with vanilla ice cream, and port-stewed prunes with creme fraiche.
Prunes are also wonderful in savory dishes, and can hold their own against very strong flavors and spices. The first time I used prunes in a savory dish was about 10 years ago. It was a recipe called Chicken Marbella that I acquired from my then roommate and years later found was originally published in 1979’s The Silver Palate Cookbook by Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso. My young, underdeveloped palate was not quite accustomed to the combination of sweet and savory flavors, so when I saw 2 cups of pitted prunes among the other ingredients – garlic, oregano, olives, capers, white wine – I was reluctant. My roommate, though, raved about the dish, so I decided to give it a try. It knocked me out, and after making it about 5 additional times that month, my fear of sweet/savory flavor combinations melted away. Best of all, though, I learned that the use of my beloved prune need not be limited to desserts.
Mention the word “prune” to the average American, though, and you’ll invariably get a wrinkled-nosed, sour look and a muttered reply involving grandmothers and constipation. Yes, my older family members drank prune juice to keep them regular, but I never understood why that bothered people so much. The bottom line for me has always been that they taste so damned good. I never cared that they could also be used to relieve irregularity, a benefit that now, as I get older, I very much appreciate.
In her wonderful cookbook The New American Cooking, Joan Nathan includes a revealing little tidbit about the prunes vs. dried plums phenomenon. Apparently, when a Houston television station performed a taste test, 90% of people preferred dried plums to prunes. Sadly, I think that says it all.
If I can look past the fact that companies like Sunsweet are now further polluting the planet by individually packaging (!) prunes, I guess I can see silver lining in all this stupidity. The increased PR for “dried plums” (grrrrrr) could mean that they will appear more frequently in American cooking, and I’m all for that. But the phrase “dried plums” will never roll off my tongue. No matter how out of fashion it may sound, they will always be prunes to me.
Chicken Marbella
Reprinted from The New American Cooking, by Joan Nathan. Originally published in The Silver Palate Cookbook, by Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso.
This is a great recipe for a dinner party, since you can assemble it beforehand and just pop it into the oven 40 minutes before dinner. Joan Nathan writes that she likes to double the amount of prunes when she makes it.
Ingredients:
6 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, halved
1 full bulb garlic, finely pureed
1/4 cup dried oregano
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups pitted prunes
1 cup of pitted green olives, or a mix of olives, such as Greek, Moroccan or French
1/2 cup capers with about a tablespoon of their juice
6 bay leaves
1 cup of brown sugar
1 cup of white wine
1/2 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley
1. Place the chicken in a large bowl. Cover it with the garlic, oregano, salt, pepper, vinegar, olive oil, prunes, olives, capers and juice, and bay leaves. Rub the chicken well with the marinade, and refrigerate, covered, ideally overnight, but at least for 2 hours.
2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
3. Arrange the chicken in a single layer in 1 or 2 large, shallow baking pans and spoon marinade over evenly. Sprinkle with brown sugar, and pour white wine around, but not on, the chicken.
4. Bake for about 40 minutes, basting every 10 minutes with the pan juices.
5. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the chicken, prunes, ollives and capers to a serving platter. Moisten with a few spoonfuls of pan juices, and sprinkle with the parsley. Pass the remaining pan juices in a separate bowl.
Yield: 10-12 servings
I’ve loved prunes since I was a kid. What’s not to love? They’re like giant raisins but with a much more sophisticated flavor. I even love the taste of prune juice – a secret I kept well-guarded from my childhood friends, who teased me relentlessly just for being so bizarre as to like (gasp!) spinach. And before virtually eliminating commercial soft drinks from my life for culinary-political reasons, I loved Dr. Pepper, which I’ve heard uses prune flavor as its base. (“Virtually” means I only drink soft drinks when combined with alcohol. The thought of never again being able to enjoy Captain Morgan’s and Dr. Pepper is more than I can bear, and ever so slightly outweighs my antipathy for Big Food. I am, after all, an admitted food whore.)
And then there are prune desserts. The French are light years ahead of us on this point. Prunes are seemingly ubiquitous in French desserts, and for good reason. Their gorgeous, complex tang is a natural foil to more decadent ingredients like butter and cream. Think prunes in bread pudding, armagnac-soaked prunes with vanilla ice cream, and port-stewed prunes with creme fraiche.
Prunes are also wonderful in savory dishes, and can hold their own against very strong flavors and spices. The first time I used prunes in a savory dish was about 10 years ago. It was a recipe called Chicken Marbella that I acquired from my then roommate and years later found was originally published in 1979’s The Silver Palate Cookbook by Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso. My young, underdeveloped palate was not quite accustomed to the combination of sweet and savory flavors, so when I saw 2 cups of pitted prunes among the other ingredients – garlic, oregano, olives, capers, white wine – I was reluctant. My roommate, though, raved about the dish, so I decided to give it a try. It knocked me out, and after making it about 5 additional times that month, my fear of sweet/savory flavor combinations melted away. Best of all, though, I learned that the use of my beloved prune need not be limited to desserts.
Mention the word “prune” to the average American, though, and you’ll invariably get a wrinkled-nosed, sour look and a muttered reply involving grandmothers and constipation. Yes, my older family members drank prune juice to keep them regular, but I never understood why that bothered people so much. The bottom line for me has always been that they taste so damned good. I never cared that they could also be used to relieve irregularity, a benefit that now, as I get older, I very much appreciate.
In her wonderful cookbook The New American Cooking, Joan Nathan includes a revealing little tidbit about the prunes vs. dried plums phenomenon. Apparently, when a Houston television station performed a taste test, 90% of people preferred dried plums to prunes. Sadly, I think that says it all.
If I can look past the fact that companies like Sunsweet are now further polluting the planet by individually packaging (!) prunes, I guess I can see silver lining in all this stupidity. The increased PR for “dried plums” (grrrrrr) could mean that they will appear more frequently in American cooking, and I’m all for that. But the phrase “dried plums” will never roll off my tongue. No matter how out of fashion it may sound, they will always be prunes to me.
Chicken Marbella
Reprinted from The New American Cooking, by Joan Nathan. Originally published in The Silver Palate Cookbook, by Sheila Lukins and Julee Rosso.
This is a great recipe for a dinner party, since you can assemble it beforehand and just pop it into the oven 40 minutes before dinner. Joan Nathan writes that she likes to double the amount of prunes when she makes it.
Ingredients:
6 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts, halved
1 full bulb garlic, finely pureed
1/4 cup dried oregano
Coarse salt and freshly ground pepper to taste
1/2 cup red wine vinegar
1/2 cup extra-virgin olive oil
2 cups pitted prunes
1 cup of pitted green olives, or a mix of olives, such as Greek, Moroccan or French
1/2 cup capers with about a tablespoon of their juice
6 bay leaves
1 cup of brown sugar
1 cup of white wine
1/2 cup chopped fresh Italian parsley
1. Place the chicken in a large bowl. Cover it with the garlic, oregano, salt, pepper, vinegar, olive oil, prunes, olives, capers and juice, and bay leaves. Rub the chicken well with the marinade, and refrigerate, covered, ideally overnight, but at least for 2 hours.
2. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees.
3. Arrange the chicken in a single layer in 1 or 2 large, shallow baking pans and spoon marinade over evenly. Sprinkle with brown sugar, and pour white wine around, but not on, the chicken.
4. Bake for about 40 minutes, basting every 10 minutes with the pan juices.
5. Using a slotted spoon, transfer the chicken, prunes, ollives and capers to a serving platter. Moisten with a few spoonfuls of pan juices, and sprinkle with the parsley. Pass the remaining pan juices in a separate bowl.
Yield: 10-12 servings
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Restaurants: Tommaso Ristorante Italiano
We walked in to Tommaso’s at 6:20 pm on a Friday and were met with throngs of people waiting for tables. An older gentleman with a thick Italian accent jovially informed us that a table for three would be 35 minutes. “Great,” I thought as I reached for my phone to try to find another restaurant in the neighborhood that wasn’t infested with tourists. (Not an easy feat in North Beach.) By the time I had fished my phone out of my pocket, though, my friends were already ordering a glass of wine from the same Italian gentlemen. Well, you know, when in Rome (or North Beach)... So I ordered a glass as well. Maybe it was the wine; maybe it was the charming Italian gentleman. Those 35 minutes seemed to melt away with the day’s stresses, and as we were led through the din and heavenly smells to our table, I was very glad we decided to stay.
We were very hungry, and – at this point – in a hurry, so we kept our order simple: asparagus a la vinaigrette, a caesar salad, and a pizza. The caesar arrived first. I’m a bit of a caesar salad snob, so I was very disappointed when I spied store-bought croutons in the salad. I begrudgingly took a bite and was amazed at how good it was – rich, creamy, very garlicky, and not too acidic. (Caesar dressings that are too tangy tend to taste bottled to me.) I ended up polishing off a healthy portion, all the while pretending the croutons were homemade. It’s a shame, though, because those croutons kept a very good salad from being truly excellent.
Up next was the asparagus a la vinaigrette – chilled asparagus in a tangy Italian vinaigrette. It was very basic, but very good, and a nice contrast to the richness of the salad.
We were told by a friend that we absolutely had to get the pizza with fresh spinach and shaved parmesan, so we did. Before it arrived, I wasn’t sure why she had made such a big deal about this particular pizza. Parmesan and spinach are, after all, a pretty common pairing. This pizza, though, was much more than the sum of its parts. It arrived with a pile of fresh spinach leaves on top that were gently wilted by the heat of the crust and sauce underneath. Topping it all was a generous portion of large parmesan shavings. The combination of the flavors and textures was incredibly good. The only problem with this pizza is that it will most likely prevent me from trying anything else on the menu, because I will want to order it at every future visit.
We didn’t have time (or room) for dessert, but I’ll be sure to try it next time.
Service was friendly and efficient, which is just what I’d expect from an old-school Italian restaurant like Tommaso’s.
The experience was soooooo worth the wait.
★ ★ ★
Tommaso Ristorante Italiano
1042 Kearny St
San Francisco, CA 94133
(415) 398-9696
(Originally written 05/21/2007)
We were very hungry, and – at this point – in a hurry, so we kept our order simple: asparagus a la vinaigrette, a caesar salad, and a pizza. The caesar arrived first. I’m a bit of a caesar salad snob, so I was very disappointed when I spied store-bought croutons in the salad. I begrudgingly took a bite and was amazed at how good it was – rich, creamy, very garlicky, and not too acidic. (Caesar dressings that are too tangy tend to taste bottled to me.) I ended up polishing off a healthy portion, all the while pretending the croutons were homemade. It’s a shame, though, because those croutons kept a very good salad from being truly excellent.
Up next was the asparagus a la vinaigrette – chilled asparagus in a tangy Italian vinaigrette. It was very basic, but very good, and a nice contrast to the richness of the salad.
We were told by a friend that we absolutely had to get the pizza with fresh spinach and shaved parmesan, so we did. Before it arrived, I wasn’t sure why she had made such a big deal about this particular pizza. Parmesan and spinach are, after all, a pretty common pairing. This pizza, though, was much more than the sum of its parts. It arrived with a pile of fresh spinach leaves on top that were gently wilted by the heat of the crust and sauce underneath. Topping it all was a generous portion of large parmesan shavings. The combination of the flavors and textures was incredibly good. The only problem with this pizza is that it will most likely prevent me from trying anything else on the menu, because I will want to order it at every future visit.
We didn’t have time (or room) for dessert, but I’ll be sure to try it next time.
Service was friendly and efficient, which is just what I’d expect from an old-school Italian restaurant like Tommaso’s.
The experience was soooooo worth the wait.
★ ★ ★
Tommaso Ristorante Italiano
1042 Kearny St
San Francisco, CA 94133
(415) 398-9696
(Originally written 05/21/2007)
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Bars/Clubs: Dolce (alternate title – Ding Dong the Witch is Dead)
I squealed with glee when I recently learned that Dolce mercifully closed its doors to the public. In honor of this joyous occasion, I’m resurrecting my admittedly nasty (but totally deserved) review from 2006. Here you go, boys and girls...
--------------------------------
Dolce is kind of like that friend we all have. You know, the one who thinks he’s “in” because he’s donning what he deems to be the latest-and-greatest in fashion, but who just ends up coming off as trying far too desperately to be cool.
I was invited to Dolce for the 25th birthday of a friend of a friend. From the moment I arrived at the velvet-roped front entrance, I knew I was going to have an awful experience. (Actually, I should have known I was going to have an awful experience when I learned it was located on Broadway in North Beach.)
Why?
First and foremost, the crowd. I moved away from Los Angeles to get away from the type of people who frequent Dolce. It was a sea of Paris Hilton clones and their clueless, sunglasses-at-night-wearin’ boyfriends. Everywhere I turned, I was assaulted by bad cologne, bleached hair, and breast implants.
Second, the bitchy bartenders. I walked up to the bar and ordered an 1800 margarita from one of several female bartenders. She tried to act sexy, oblivious to the fact that I'm gay and was immune to her dubious “charms,” and made a ridiculous comment about 1800 not being very good tequila. I love tequila, and I’m well aware that there are many, many tequilas much better than Cuervo 1800, but anyone who knows anything about fine spirits knows that you don’t waste the best alcohol on a mixed drink. Being a bartender, she should have known this. She was probably just trying to up-sell me, but she ended up coming off as stupid and inexperienced.
Third, the awful music. All cheese, all trance, all night long.
If you’re thinking of going to Dolce, don’t. And if it sounds like the kind of place you would like, move to L.A. It’ll leave more room in San Francisco for those of us with good taste.
P.S. Someone needs to inform Dolce's interior designer (if they have one) that the concept of using a bed as seating at a nightclub has been done to death, for the past 10 years. At least back then it was novel; now it’s just cliche.
No stars
Dolce
I won't bother with the address
(Originally written 08/31/2006)
--------------------------------
Dolce is kind of like that friend we all have. You know, the one who thinks he’s “in” because he’s donning what he deems to be the latest-and-greatest in fashion, but who just ends up coming off as trying far too desperately to be cool.
I was invited to Dolce for the 25th birthday of a friend of a friend. From the moment I arrived at the velvet-roped front entrance, I knew I was going to have an awful experience. (Actually, I should have known I was going to have an awful experience when I learned it was located on Broadway in North Beach.)
Why?
First and foremost, the crowd. I moved away from Los Angeles to get away from the type of people who frequent Dolce. It was a sea of Paris Hilton clones and their clueless, sunglasses-at-night-wearin’ boyfriends. Everywhere I turned, I was assaulted by bad cologne, bleached hair, and breast implants.
Second, the bitchy bartenders. I walked up to the bar and ordered an 1800 margarita from one of several female bartenders. She tried to act sexy, oblivious to the fact that I'm gay and was immune to her dubious “charms,” and made a ridiculous comment about 1800 not being very good tequila. I love tequila, and I’m well aware that there are many, many tequilas much better than Cuervo 1800, but anyone who knows anything about fine spirits knows that you don’t waste the best alcohol on a mixed drink. Being a bartender, she should have known this. She was probably just trying to up-sell me, but she ended up coming off as stupid and inexperienced.
Third, the awful music. All cheese, all trance, all night long.
If you’re thinking of going to Dolce, don’t. And if it sounds like the kind of place you would like, move to L.A. It’ll leave more room in San Francisco for those of us with good taste.
P.S. Someone needs to inform Dolce's interior designer (if they have one) that the concept of using a bed as seating at a nightclub has been done to death, for the past 10 years. At least back then it was novel; now it’s just cliche.
No stars
Dolce
I won't bother with the address
(Originally written 08/31/2006)
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Restaurants: Maverick
I really, really wanted to like Maverick. (I really did.) But I didn't.
I first came across Maverick while walking through the neighborhood one day about a year and a half ago. I remember thinking “hmmmm... nice space, promising menu.” After that, though, Maverick pretty much vanished from my consciousness. (My attention span is admittedly short, and there are a lot restaurants in this city competing for attention in my fickle Gemini brain.) I was invited there for brunch this past weekend, though, and was looking forward to finally experiencing that which was just a distant memory.
Walking in to Maverick on that Sunday morning (especially after overindulging a bit the night before) was a bit like walking into a Looney Tunes episode featuring Yosemite Sam trying to off Bugs Bunny with a cast-iron skillet – frenetic, jarring and ear-splittingly loud. As I mentioned before, the space is nice, but it could do with a few soft surfaces to reduce the din. We were seated at a table near the front of the restaurant near the window. It was a nice location, but the sun was beating down on the glass, making our section of the room extremely warm, even with the shades down. (It was only after our meal was over did I realize that they have several ceiling fans in the room, only one of which was turned on.)
Our friends had already been seated for 20 minutes and were enjoying the Maverick Blackberry Mimosa with house-made Washington blackberry syrup when my date and I arrived. I did not order one of the mimosas for myself but had a taste of someone else’s; it was delicious. Things were looking up. Immediately upon opening the menu, my eyes fell upon the homemade donut holes, at which point a battle raged between the devil on my left shoulder and the angel on my right shoulder while I debated whether or not to order them. Thankfully, the decision was made for me; 2 orders were already on their way to the table. (But wait, our table had already been seated for 20 minutes and the donut holes hadn't arrived yet? Hmmmm....)
When the donut holes finally did arrive, they were heavenly; hot, crispy, tender and dusted liberally with cinnamon sugar. I was very glad there were only 2 per person, because I could have easily eaten an entire order. (They were especially good dipped in Maverick's strong, full-bodied coffee.)
There were three Breakfast Plates on the menu that looked intriguing: the Cajun Scramble (eggs, andouille sausage and scallions served with grits and a biscuit), the Texan Migas (scrambled eggs, tortilla strips, tomato, roasted chilis, pico de gallo, home fries), and the Torta (a sandwich of bacon, eggs, cheese and home fries). After going back and forth about 5 times, I settled on the Cajun Scramble. I wish I hadn’t. When something is billed as “Cajun” on a menu, I expect the flavors to be bold. This scramble was just boring. The eggs were overcooked, and if there were, in fact, scallions in the scramble, they were used with such restraint that they were virtually undetectable. The grits had a nice flavor and were creamy enough but had developed a tough skin, hinting that they might have been sitting under a heat lamp for a while before arriving at our table. The biscuit was disappointing as well. In my dreams, biscuits are light, buttery and flaky; Mavericks were tough, dense, and lacking in salt (and consequently, flavor). Fortunately, everyone at the table who didn't have the Cajun Scramble had good things to say about what they ordered: the Eggs Benedict, Torta, and Biscuits and Gravy. (Apparently the biscuits fared better when covered with something that tempered their texture and added some flavor.)
Normally, I would absolutely give a restaurant a second try after an experience like this. After all, most establishments have an off day or a dish that doesn’t work and subsequently gets taken off the menu. But the service was so excruciatingly slow that I don’t think I could handle another brunch at Maverick. I’m fine with leisurely service, especially on a Sunday morning, but I don’t like having to ask for my beverages several times. I also don’t like going from feeling mildly hungry to having a full-blown Linda Blair head-spinning-around blood sugar mood swing while waiting for my meal. To be fair, the staff at Maverick was very, very nice, but they were clearly overwhelmed. They’ve been open more than long enough to have worked the kinks out of any staffing problems, so I thought at first maybe they were just short-staffed that day. From what other people at my table told me, though, ours was not an isolated experience. (They had had the same experience a few weeks earlier.)
It's a shame, because the Pecan Crusted French Toast looked dreamy.
★ ★
Maverick
3316 17th Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 863-3061
(Originally written 01/29/2007)
I first came across Maverick while walking through the neighborhood one day about a year and a half ago. I remember thinking “hmmmm... nice space, promising menu.” After that, though, Maverick pretty much vanished from my consciousness. (My attention span is admittedly short, and there are a lot restaurants in this city competing for attention in my fickle Gemini brain.) I was invited there for brunch this past weekend, though, and was looking forward to finally experiencing that which was just a distant memory.
Walking in to Maverick on that Sunday morning (especially after overindulging a bit the night before) was a bit like walking into a Looney Tunes episode featuring Yosemite Sam trying to off Bugs Bunny with a cast-iron skillet – frenetic, jarring and ear-splittingly loud. As I mentioned before, the space is nice, but it could do with a few soft surfaces to reduce the din. We were seated at a table near the front of the restaurant near the window. It was a nice location, but the sun was beating down on the glass, making our section of the room extremely warm, even with the shades down. (It was only after our meal was over did I realize that they have several ceiling fans in the room, only one of which was turned on.)
Our friends had already been seated for 20 minutes and were enjoying the Maverick Blackberry Mimosa with house-made Washington blackberry syrup when my date and I arrived. I did not order one of the mimosas for myself but had a taste of someone else’s; it was delicious. Things were looking up. Immediately upon opening the menu, my eyes fell upon the homemade donut holes, at which point a battle raged between the devil on my left shoulder and the angel on my right shoulder while I debated whether or not to order them. Thankfully, the decision was made for me; 2 orders were already on their way to the table. (But wait, our table had already been seated for 20 minutes and the donut holes hadn't arrived yet? Hmmmm....)
When the donut holes finally did arrive, they were heavenly; hot, crispy, tender and dusted liberally with cinnamon sugar. I was very glad there were only 2 per person, because I could have easily eaten an entire order. (They were especially good dipped in Maverick's strong, full-bodied coffee.)
There were three Breakfast Plates on the menu that looked intriguing: the Cajun Scramble (eggs, andouille sausage and scallions served with grits and a biscuit), the Texan Migas (scrambled eggs, tortilla strips, tomato, roasted chilis, pico de gallo, home fries), and the Torta (a sandwich of bacon, eggs, cheese and home fries). After going back and forth about 5 times, I settled on the Cajun Scramble. I wish I hadn’t. When something is billed as “Cajun” on a menu, I expect the flavors to be bold. This scramble was just boring. The eggs were overcooked, and if there were, in fact, scallions in the scramble, they were used with such restraint that they were virtually undetectable. The grits had a nice flavor and were creamy enough but had developed a tough skin, hinting that they might have been sitting under a heat lamp for a while before arriving at our table. The biscuit was disappointing as well. In my dreams, biscuits are light, buttery and flaky; Mavericks were tough, dense, and lacking in salt (and consequently, flavor). Fortunately, everyone at the table who didn't have the Cajun Scramble had good things to say about what they ordered: the Eggs Benedict, Torta, and Biscuits and Gravy. (Apparently the biscuits fared better when covered with something that tempered their texture and added some flavor.)
Normally, I would absolutely give a restaurant a second try after an experience like this. After all, most establishments have an off day or a dish that doesn’t work and subsequently gets taken off the menu. But the service was so excruciatingly slow that I don’t think I could handle another brunch at Maverick. I’m fine with leisurely service, especially on a Sunday morning, but I don’t like having to ask for my beverages several times. I also don’t like going from feeling mildly hungry to having a full-blown Linda Blair head-spinning-around blood sugar mood swing while waiting for my meal. To be fair, the staff at Maverick was very, very nice, but they were clearly overwhelmed. They’ve been open more than long enough to have worked the kinks out of any staffing problems, so I thought at first maybe they were just short-staffed that day. From what other people at my table told me, though, ours was not an isolated experience. (They had had the same experience a few weeks earlier.)
It's a shame, because the Pecan Crusted French Toast looked dreamy.
★ ★
Maverick
3316 17th Street
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 863-3061
(Originally written 01/29/2007)
Restaurants: B Restaurant & Bar
It’s always nice to have a pleasant experience at a restaurant I stumble across accidentally.
Some friends and I went to B to have drinks for a birthday. I had never heard of it before, nor did I know where it was. I was impressed the moment I walked in to the restaurant, which is perched on top of Yerba Buena Gardens. B’s interior is sophisticated, modern and elegant while also managing to be warm and inviting. It's a hard combination to turn out, but B does it with ease. Sitting by candlelight surrounded by the restaurant’s glass walls with downtown SF sparkling in the background was a decidedly glamorous experience.
After tipping back a few of B’s cocktail specials (more details below), we were naturally hungry. The menu looked promising, so we decided to stay and eat. I’m glad we did. I started out with the roasted beet and blue cheese salad, which was very good. There were many interesting choices on the menu for my main course, but the one that jumped out at me was the burger. This is partly because I just so happened to feel like eating a burger that night (a rare occurrence for me) and partly because said burger was topped with fried feta, fried basil leaves and a roasted tomato sauce. It was totally over the top and utterly delicious. The accompanying potato and bacon salad was a tasty, if very decadent, complement.
The table shared three desserts: a milk chocolate mousse with strawberries, a cabernet sorbet with apples and meringue, and a bread pudding with root beer reduction. Other people at my table liked the mousse; I didn’t. I like dark chocolate, and the mousse simply wasn’t chocolaty enough for me. The cabernet sorbet was a very interesting flavor/texture combination – the icy sorbet, the crisp apples, and the crunchy meringue. Overall, I liked it very much. The bread pudding with vanilla ice cream and root beer reduction could have been truly spectacular; the flavors were beautiful together, but the texture had problems. It arrived at the table with the reduction in a miniature root beer mug. (Nice touch.) Once the reduction was poured over the pudding and ice cream, though, it hardened and stuck to everything – plate, spoons, teeth. Still, the flavors went so well together that I went back for numerous bites and just dealt with the stickiness. Really, though, the chef should play with this recipe a bit, because fully realized, it would be one of the best desserts I’ve had in quite a while.
The cocktail menu was fun. I ordered several “Thunder Kats” – tequila and grapefruit juice served up with a cilantro salt rim. It was tasty and strong, but I would have loved to have tasted more cilantro on the rim. The real standout, though, was the dill Gibson. The gin, dill and cocktail onions were quite a combo.
Our server was very friendly and knowledgeable, and the host was very accommodating, especially considering our last-minute party of 9.
★ ★ ★
B Restaurant & Bar
Yerba Buena Gardens - Upper Terrace
720 Howard St
San Francisco, CA 94103
(415) 495-9800
(Originally written 01/24/2007)
Some friends and I went to B to have drinks for a birthday. I had never heard of it before, nor did I know where it was. I was impressed the moment I walked in to the restaurant, which is perched on top of Yerba Buena Gardens. B’s interior is sophisticated, modern and elegant while also managing to be warm and inviting. It's a hard combination to turn out, but B does it with ease. Sitting by candlelight surrounded by the restaurant’s glass walls with downtown SF sparkling in the background was a decidedly glamorous experience.
After tipping back a few of B’s cocktail specials (more details below), we were naturally hungry. The menu looked promising, so we decided to stay and eat. I’m glad we did. I started out with the roasted beet and blue cheese salad, which was very good. There were many interesting choices on the menu for my main course, but the one that jumped out at me was the burger. This is partly because I just so happened to feel like eating a burger that night (a rare occurrence for me) and partly because said burger was topped with fried feta, fried basil leaves and a roasted tomato sauce. It was totally over the top and utterly delicious. The accompanying potato and bacon salad was a tasty, if very decadent, complement.
The table shared three desserts: a milk chocolate mousse with strawberries, a cabernet sorbet with apples and meringue, and a bread pudding with root beer reduction. Other people at my table liked the mousse; I didn’t. I like dark chocolate, and the mousse simply wasn’t chocolaty enough for me. The cabernet sorbet was a very interesting flavor/texture combination – the icy sorbet, the crisp apples, and the crunchy meringue. Overall, I liked it very much. The bread pudding with vanilla ice cream and root beer reduction could have been truly spectacular; the flavors were beautiful together, but the texture had problems. It arrived at the table with the reduction in a miniature root beer mug. (Nice touch.) Once the reduction was poured over the pudding and ice cream, though, it hardened and stuck to everything – plate, spoons, teeth. Still, the flavors went so well together that I went back for numerous bites and just dealt with the stickiness. Really, though, the chef should play with this recipe a bit, because fully realized, it would be one of the best desserts I’ve had in quite a while.
The cocktail menu was fun. I ordered several “Thunder Kats” – tequila and grapefruit juice served up with a cilantro salt rim. It was tasty and strong, but I would have loved to have tasted more cilantro on the rim. The real standout, though, was the dill Gibson. The gin, dill and cocktail onions were quite a combo.
Our server was very friendly and knowledgeable, and the host was very accommodating, especially considering our last-minute party of 9.
★ ★ ★
B Restaurant & Bar
Yerba Buena Gardens - Upper Terrace
720 Howard St
San Francisco, CA 94103
(415) 495-9800
(Originally written 01/24/2007)
Monday, January 21, 2008
Bars: Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge
Fun, kitschy and very, very dangerous.
I've been to the Forbidden Island a few times with some friends who live in Alameda. (They were ecstatic that something interesting had finally arrived on the island.) Each visit has been a very fun experience. They've really paid attention to detail, from the thatched-hut-covered booths to the cocktail waitresses’ Polynesian-esque costumes to the Forbidden Island stirrers that adorn every cocktail.
And speaking of the cocktails, they’re strong – really strong, and deceptively so. After a Zombie and a Headhunter, both of which went down like fruit punch, I made the mistake of ordering another Headhunter. I should have known I was in trouble when our cocktail waitress set the drink down in front of me with one eyebrow raised and walked away uttering “okaaaay” under her breath in a I-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing tone of voice. Needless to say, I had an excruciating hangover the next day.
I’m also happy to say that it looks like the Forbidden Island has been discovered by Alameda's gay community. Last time I was there, a table of 6 or 7 guys sat down next to us and had a grand old time. You know a place has made it on the map when we've arrived.
My only complaints:
- Their back patio is grossly under-utilized and seems to close early
- The place always seems to smell like Pine-Sol
Some complain about the line to get in. I'm not sure there's much the bar can do about that. If they exceed capacity, they can get cited by the fire department. I just avoid the place at those times. I personally don't wait in line to get into ANY bar or club, let alone one in Alameda.
★ ★ ★
Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge
1304 Lincoln Avenue
Alameda, CA 94501
(510) 749-0332
(Originally written 9/28/06)
I've been to the Forbidden Island a few times with some friends who live in Alameda. (They were ecstatic that something interesting had finally arrived on the island.) Each visit has been a very fun experience. They've really paid attention to detail, from the thatched-hut-covered booths to the cocktail waitresses’ Polynesian-esque costumes to the Forbidden Island stirrers that adorn every cocktail.
And speaking of the cocktails, they’re strong – really strong, and deceptively so. After a Zombie and a Headhunter, both of which went down like fruit punch, I made the mistake of ordering another Headhunter. I should have known I was in trouble when our cocktail waitress set the drink down in front of me with one eyebrow raised and walked away uttering “okaaaay” under her breath in a I-hope-you-know-what-you’re-doing tone of voice. Needless to say, I had an excruciating hangover the next day.
I’m also happy to say that it looks like the Forbidden Island has been discovered by Alameda's gay community. Last time I was there, a table of 6 or 7 guys sat down next to us and had a grand old time. You know a place has made it on the map when we've arrived.
My only complaints:
- Their back patio is grossly under-utilized and seems to close early
- The place always seems to smell like Pine-Sol
Some complain about the line to get in. I'm not sure there's much the bar can do about that. If they exceed capacity, they can get cited by the fire department. I just avoid the place at those times. I personally don't wait in line to get into ANY bar or club, let alone one in Alameda.
★ ★ ★
Forbidden Island Tiki Lounge
1304 Lincoln Avenue
Alameda, CA 94501
(510) 749-0332
(Originally written 9/28/06)
Saturday, January 19, 2008
Restaurants: Range
Range, Range, Range. That’s all I’ve been hearing since the place opened. My friend Jeffrey (the one who turned me on the the superb Bar Tartine) raved about it. People at my office, wide-eyed and giddy, plan cocktails there. I can’t walk down the street without hearing some goddamned foodie extolling its virtues. Hype bugs me, and I’ll generally avoid something that’s over-hyped even though I know I’ll probably love it. But I eventually cave in and surrender -- body and soul -- only to join the idolatrous legions at whom I initially scoffed.
So I’ll cop to it: I loved Range. Loved it.
Our 30-minute wait was mitigated by our stint at Range’s bar. (We didn’t have reservations.) I love a restaurant with a full bar, and Range has one hell of a bar, complete with a vintage blood bank refrigerator center stage. The cocktails were inventive and delicious, and the bartender was smolderingly sexy.
Once we got to our table, we started with the escarole salad with figs, Parmesan and bacon. The salty bacon and cheese balanced the sweet figs and bitter escarole perfectly. The only thing disappointing about this dish is that it was split between my dinner companion and me. Had I known how good it would be, I’d have ordered my own.
For my main course, I had the sauteed cod with butter beans, pancetta, broccoli rabe and parsley puree. The cod itself was excellent, but the butter beans stole the show. The combination of flavors and textures, finished with the green note of the parsley puree, was pretty much perfect. I wish Range offered these butter beans as a side dish; I would order them on all future visits.
My dinner companion ordered the roasted chicken with marinated beet, walnut and cornbread salad with lemon herb jus. Like me, he’s not wild about chicken on the bone. (It’s an animal carcass thing I’ve never been able to fully get over.) He threw caution to the wind, though, and ordered it anyway. Good move. The chicken was tender and juicy, and from the moment I tasted the beet/walnut/cornbread salad, I knew I’d become obsessed with recreating it in my own kitchen. (Mark my words; I will.) A cornbread salad -- or any bread salad for that matter -- is a very tricky balancing act; the line between dry and soggy is treacherously thin. This one, though, performed beautifully. Every element held its own, yet melded seamlessly with its cohorts. I imagine it was the lemon herb jus that pulled it all together. Gorgeous.
Like a bird captivated by a shiny object, I spied a server carrying a most amazing-looking dessert earlier in the evening. It turned out to be the mulberry ice cream puffs with peaches: crispy caramel-crusted choux pastry puffs filled with mulberry ice cream, served with sliced peaches and whipped cream. The mulberry ice cream on its own was pretty fabulous, but the other ingredients catapulted it way over the top. If you dine at Range, and this dessert is on the menu, it’s a must try.
Overall the service was very good, and our server’s recommendations were excellent. We did have to wait quite a while between our salad and main courses, though. This was probably due to the table of ten Australians sitting next to us who were chattering and guffawing at a decibel level that was rattling the light fixtures. Large parties are always difficult to accommodate, so I’ll give Range the benefit of the doubt. Besides, everything else was so wonderful that the longer-than-average wait between courses seems paltry.
So there. I love Range. And I feel much better for having gotten that off my chest.
★ ★ ★ ★
Range
842 Valencia St
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 282-8283
(Originally written 8/15/07)
So I’ll cop to it: I loved Range. Loved it.
Our 30-minute wait was mitigated by our stint at Range’s bar. (We didn’t have reservations.) I love a restaurant with a full bar, and Range has one hell of a bar, complete with a vintage blood bank refrigerator center stage. The cocktails were inventive and delicious, and the bartender was smolderingly sexy.
Once we got to our table, we started with the escarole salad with figs, Parmesan and bacon. The salty bacon and cheese balanced the sweet figs and bitter escarole perfectly. The only thing disappointing about this dish is that it was split between my dinner companion and me. Had I known how good it would be, I’d have ordered my own.
For my main course, I had the sauteed cod with butter beans, pancetta, broccoli rabe and parsley puree. The cod itself was excellent, but the butter beans stole the show. The combination of flavors and textures, finished with the green note of the parsley puree, was pretty much perfect. I wish Range offered these butter beans as a side dish; I would order them on all future visits.
My dinner companion ordered the roasted chicken with marinated beet, walnut and cornbread salad with lemon herb jus. Like me, he’s not wild about chicken on the bone. (It’s an animal carcass thing I’ve never been able to fully get over.) He threw caution to the wind, though, and ordered it anyway. Good move. The chicken was tender and juicy, and from the moment I tasted the beet/walnut/cornbread salad, I knew I’d become obsessed with recreating it in my own kitchen. (Mark my words; I will.) A cornbread salad -- or any bread salad for that matter -- is a very tricky balancing act; the line between dry and soggy is treacherously thin. This one, though, performed beautifully. Every element held its own, yet melded seamlessly with its cohorts. I imagine it was the lemon herb jus that pulled it all together. Gorgeous.
Like a bird captivated by a shiny object, I spied a server carrying a most amazing-looking dessert earlier in the evening. It turned out to be the mulberry ice cream puffs with peaches: crispy caramel-crusted choux pastry puffs filled with mulberry ice cream, served with sliced peaches and whipped cream. The mulberry ice cream on its own was pretty fabulous, but the other ingredients catapulted it way over the top. If you dine at Range, and this dessert is on the menu, it’s a must try.
Overall the service was very good, and our server’s recommendations were excellent. We did have to wait quite a while between our salad and main courses, though. This was probably due to the table of ten Australians sitting next to us who were chattering and guffawing at a decibel level that was rattling the light fixtures. Large parties are always difficult to accommodate, so I’ll give Range the benefit of the doubt. Besides, everything else was so wonderful that the longer-than-average wait between courses seems paltry.
So there. I love Range. And I feel much better for having gotten that off my chest.
★ ★ ★ ★
Range
842 Valencia St
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 282-8283
(Originally written 8/15/07)
Restaurants: Tres Agaves
So many detractors have whined about Tres Agaves’ food not being “authentic” that I decided to do a little research to see if the restaurant has ever actually claimed that their cooking is authentically Mexican. After combing through their web site, the only relevant passage I could find is as follows:
“We serve wholesome, soulful, renditions of Jaliscan and other Central Highland classics.”
For those not familiar with the definition of the word “rendition,” I offer the following:
rendition [ren-dish-uhn]
1. the act of rendering.
2. a translation.
3. an interpretation.
Get it? An interpretation. So to anyone bitching about how their Abuelita would be turning over in her grave blah blah blah, I say this: Get over it. The food here is pretty damned good. And anyone who compares Tres Agaves to Chevy’s either a) has a personal beef with Tres Agaves’ management, or b) isn’t qualified to be writing food reviews. The comparison is simply ridiculous.
That said, the Tres Agaves is by no means perfect. The interior, though appealing and interesting, can get deafeningly loud. The crowd can be obnoxiously Neanderthal, but this can be avoided by simply staying away during televised sporting events. And the service, though not bad, is not spectacular either. The food, though, is so good that I have no problem overlooking all of this.
Carnitas are one of my favorite Mexican dishes, and Tres Agaves’ rendition is one of the best I’ve had. Tender, flavorful, perfect. The Carne en su Jugo -- Jaliscan-style slow-cooked beef in a broth with bacon, cilantro, onions & lime -- is also a standout and hints of what pastrami might taste like were its culinary origins south of the border.
Sides are served family-style in communal bowls and are a welcome departure from the usual: Ensalada de Repollo (cabbage, mango & serrano chile salad), Frijoles Refritos con Chorizo, Arroz del Dia, and homemade corn tortillas. I’ve always been very squeamish of chorizo because of its ingredients, so it was only by accident that I tried the Frijoles Refritos con Chorizo. It was a happy accident, and though I’m still spooked by this Mexican mystery meat, I feign blissful ignorance with this particular dish.
The chips, salsa and guacamole are all pretty terrific, too. The only slight disappointment is the salmon ceviche. On its own, it’s a bit too acidic and bitter. Tortilla chips, though, help balance it, and should be an integral part of the dish, rather than something that the customer is left to discover on his/her own.
Margaritas, as expected, are top-notch. I highly recommend the Hacienda Margarita made with Herradura Reposado. I wish the servers would offer the option of salt, though, since I’m a bit absent-minded; I never remember this until my cocktail arrives.
Mexican I’m not, so I can’t judge if Tres Agaves’ cuisine is authentic, whatever that means. I can, however, unequivocally state that Tres Agaves serves up its own excellent interpretation of Mexican food. But you shouldn’t take my word for it. Judge for yourself.
★ ★ ★
Tres Agaves
130 Townsend Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
(415) 227-0500
(Originally written 7/15/07)
“We serve wholesome, soulful, renditions of Jaliscan and other Central Highland classics.”
For those not familiar with the definition of the word “rendition,” I offer the following:
rendition [ren-dish-uhn]
1. the act of rendering.
2. a translation.
3. an interpretation.
Get it? An interpretation. So to anyone bitching about how their Abuelita would be turning over in her grave blah blah blah, I say this: Get over it. The food here is pretty damned good. And anyone who compares Tres Agaves to Chevy’s either a) has a personal beef with Tres Agaves’ management, or b) isn’t qualified to be writing food reviews. The comparison is simply ridiculous.
That said, the Tres Agaves is by no means perfect. The interior, though appealing and interesting, can get deafeningly loud. The crowd can be obnoxiously Neanderthal, but this can be avoided by simply staying away during televised sporting events. And the service, though not bad, is not spectacular either. The food, though, is so good that I have no problem overlooking all of this.
Carnitas are one of my favorite Mexican dishes, and Tres Agaves’ rendition is one of the best I’ve had. Tender, flavorful, perfect. The Carne en su Jugo -- Jaliscan-style slow-cooked beef in a broth with bacon, cilantro, onions & lime -- is also a standout and hints of what pastrami might taste like were its culinary origins south of the border.
Sides are served family-style in communal bowls and are a welcome departure from the usual: Ensalada de Repollo (cabbage, mango & serrano chile salad), Frijoles Refritos con Chorizo, Arroz del Dia, and homemade corn tortillas. I’ve always been very squeamish of chorizo because of its ingredients, so it was only by accident that I tried the Frijoles Refritos con Chorizo. It was a happy accident, and though I’m still spooked by this Mexican mystery meat, I feign blissful ignorance with this particular dish.
The chips, salsa and guacamole are all pretty terrific, too. The only slight disappointment is the salmon ceviche. On its own, it’s a bit too acidic and bitter. Tortilla chips, though, help balance it, and should be an integral part of the dish, rather than something that the customer is left to discover on his/her own.
Margaritas, as expected, are top-notch. I highly recommend the Hacienda Margarita made with Herradura Reposado. I wish the servers would offer the option of salt, though, since I’m a bit absent-minded; I never remember this until my cocktail arrives.
Mexican I’m not, so I can’t judge if Tres Agaves’ cuisine is authentic, whatever that means. I can, however, unequivocally state that Tres Agaves serves up its own excellent interpretation of Mexican food. But you shouldn’t take my word for it. Judge for yourself.
★ ★ ★
Tres Agaves
130 Townsend Street
San Francisco, CA 94107
(415) 227-0500
(Originally written 7/15/07)
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