Fair Weather Vegan

FWV Shorts: Kitchenette, Lulu Taqueria

Depending on your perspective, the abundance of secret hipster hangouts is part of San Francisco's charm or yet another sign of its exclusionary cooler-than-thouitude.  Having taken a route through one of the city's few working class black neighborhoods to reach Kitchenette, the lunch counter housed in a Dogpatch loading dock, I was acutely aware of the spectacle of BMWs pulling up to disgorge well-dressed white inhabitants set to grab expensive sandwiches at this spot one generally learns about through one's social network.  The only black customer I saw wore a shirt and tie and drove an Audi, and I wondered if he'd ever visited the neighborhood just a few blocks away.  The fact that this "spontaneous organic cover nourishment" is located itself in a seriously transitional district is probably the only reason most patrons ever visit the Dogpatch.  They come for the city's obsession: food.  Vegetarian dining can be deathly dull, but Kitchenette's Friday fare was one of the most imaginative sandwiches I've had in a while, an intriguing mix of "slow-cooked cauliflower, broccoli, and pecorino cheese" provided the savory contrast with sharp hits of olive and sweet bits of pepper, all presented on a crusty baguette.  Non-veggies could be treated to Marin pastrami.  Desserts are small but refreshingly cheap and might include an organic brownie which tasted like it was made with Vahlrona chocolate.  Kitchenette serves a limited daily menu weekdays from 11:30 until it runs out of food or 1:30, whichever comes first. 

Kitchenette's industrial 'bench in the parking lot' ambiance couldn't have been more in contrast with another common Bay Area destination, the upscale outdoor mall, although both are surrounded by fancy cars.  Thursday saw me tackling one of my favorite local specialties, the Mission-style burrito.  Sadly I was not in the Mission at the time, and all foreign burritos must be viewed with a certain amount of suspicion, especially if they're being served in a place like Town and Country center in Palo Alto.  Lulu's Taqueria, which also operates a successful Menlo Park branch, maintains a small storefront there.  Trying to find something to fill my stomach and warm my hands before what promised to be a brisk evening of soccer, I took a gamble on that all-time great, the chile relleno burrito.  I really wanted a chimichanga but normally those only have chicken in them, and what better way to test the place than to choose a burrito I know well?   Lulu's does your initial prep in the back kitchen, then adds toppings at the counter, which means I didn't get to see the relleno being produced, heated or sauced.  They also broke the rules of wrapping, with a flimsy inner coat of paper and a poorly constructed layer of foil, both of which came apart almost immediately, as if they expected patrons to eat their burritos with a fork (for shame!).  That said, my first cranky impression that I'd paid ten plus dollars for a terrible burrito was unfounded.  I'd paid ten plus dollars for an inferior burrito to my local version, with much less robust and flavorful beans and rice, too much cilantro, and an undercooked chile, as well as no sour cream to speak of, but since my local version is the city's best the bar is high.  It was a perfectly adequate quick dinner, but since only South Bay denizens would refer to Lulu's as reasonably priced, it didn't give great value for the money.  I'm not writing the taqueria off yet until I try the chimichangas, which do in fact come in a cheese version, but thus far for quick, cheap meals it's not the best local bet. 

Bay Area Pizza Update

FL: Where's this pizza from?

Start-Up Dude: Ramona's.  It's New York style.

FL: It's really good, and I like it.  But no, it's not.

Start-Up Dude: You know, you're right.  

I must have passed Ramona's a hundred times because it's right off California avenue, but I never went in.  While not New York pizza (it's too thick and the cheese consistency isn't the same glorious greasy mess), Ramona's makes a pretty decent slice.  I especially enjoyed the mushroom-pineapple combo, a pleasant mix of savory and periodic bites of sweet.  Other party-goers raved about the Greek, which included feta and spinach.  It was a bit sharp for my taste and I wasn't sure the ingredients hung together that well, but that may just be the opinion of a topping wimp.  

Back up in the city, one wonders why those who least deserve to have a stellar pizza place always get one.  Patxi's has just opened a new location in the Marina/Cow Hollow district, neighborhood voted most likely to be cheered as it floats away during the Big One.  The first SF location is in the expensive part of Hayes Valley.  Pizza to the people, we say!  I will admit that the area is gorgeous at night right now, courtesy of the twinkly lights, but it comes with such baggage and such a high bill that it's someplace many San Franciscans don't even think of making a destination. 

Papalote: Probably Not The City's Best Veggie Burrito

They've got the city's best salsa.  And I can't make the final comparison until I've sampled the famous tofu mole version.  But their super bean & rice leaves much to be desired.  Refried black beans are just inferior to the everyday version, and I had to send out a search party to find the guacamole. 

A Secret That Should Remain That Way

Cross-posted at WSB. 

Oh, Raygan Swan, what a quintessential Hoosier you are, from your name to the slightly stilted literalism of your prose.  You battle the stereotypically male atmosphere of Nascar.com with stereotypically female concerns like the drivers' partners, children, and off-track interests.  I enjoy those pieces.  But please don't take any more turns into that less attractive Hoosier trait, deep parochialism.  Just the other day you published a video piece entitled something like "Indiana's Best Kept Secret: Pizza King." 

Now, I am not sure from which native town Ms. Swan hales, but in my corner of the state there was an era in which getting a Burger King was the height of our culinary expectations.  We have never had more than one nice sit-down restaurant at a time and between the closing of one and the opening of another it was fast food or nothing.  We generally chose to eat at home or in the cities forty to sixty minutes away, and my parents still regale with me with tales of the time when there weren't even good restaurants there.  For awhile in my childhood, there were only two pizza options in downtown East Jesus: the unambitious and slightly weird Little Cesars and Pizza King.  My New Yorker progenitors never set food inside Pizza King.  The site is now a bar, but I remember it as a pizza place being dark and almost subterranean, with an aura of mystery and unfulfilled promise.  Perhaps this is because it was the site of many children's birthday parties to which I didn't go.  I seem to recall there was some reason kids liked it; perhaps they had special games or a pinball machine.  But it was a destination restaurant only for people under ten. 

There are a number of things I would call Indiana's best food secrets, most of them treif and none of them thin, greasy pizza slices.  For instance it's a mystery to me why the breaded pork tenderloin hasn't caught on elsewhere.  Everyone outside the immediate Midwest confuses the coney dog with the chili dog (I'm looking at you, Sonic).  For the record, the coney dog has nothing to do with Coney Island, is served in Indiana and Michigan, and features a sweet meat sauce.  A chili dog has savory chili on it, and is much inferior.   We even have our own special brand of barbecue, for which people line up every year when the Norvell truck comes around. 

My home town now contains three Mexican restaurants, including one specializing in Veracruz cuisine, so don't tell me the current wave of immigration is a negative force in American life (you wouldn't have told me that anyway, because I'd have punched you).  It never did get decent pizza, though.  Hoosiers are best at foods they know well, particularly the kind of things they raise themselves.  That's provided those things are the hogs and not the soybeans, which are only exported.  They are especially bad at Italian food even now.  Pizza King eventually became the bar, and a Pizza Hut was the most popular game in town for many years.  My parents favor a place called Johnny Provolone's (no, really), primarily because the slices are so small that my grandmother, who has the appetite of an anorexic bird, will eat more than one.  I developed a shameful affinity for Papa John's, so much so that I still miss it even in this land of superior pizza at every turn.  Raygan Swan is probably nostalgic in the same way for the pizza she grew up with.  But she's generally such a good influence on the Nascar readers, I wish she'd recommend something that did a little more credit to our state. 

You Can Take Elisa Out Of New Orleans...

Last week marking the anniversary of the Day of Great Celebration, Elisa and I ventured onto one of the city's most anti-scenic bus routes to investigate what Not For Tourists had assured me was a hidden gem.  Inside what the Bay Area likes to euphemistically call a 'club,' by which it means a dive bar, specifically inside Jack's Club, is a small window from which issues New Orleans Food.  Although Elisa has no intention of ever residing in her home town, that doesn't stop her from pining for po boys.  Her hope was that the place's name being 'Where Yats,' it was possible there were actual natives within who could help an expatriate out. 

We quickly determined that all dive bars should include a kitchen in back, since there's nothing like bar business of determined yet non-drunk regulars at 11 a.m.  With the door propped open and serious eaters looking forward to their lunches, even the most undistinguished space has a friendly air.  We were later to learn that another group was also using it as birthday space, a good sign.  And the woman behind the counter warmed to me after I told my roommate in no uncertain terms to shut it when she attempted to pay.  Like many San Francisco institutions, Where Yats is cash only so stop at an ATM first. 

A po boy is a hoagie featuring fried things.  Elisa ordered a New Orleans classic, the half-and-half, which is a footlong roll filled with oysters and shrimp, which she proceeded to mix and cover with hot sauce.  I ordered a six-incher with, what else, catfish, and a side of mac-and-cheese.  Longtime readers will remember that this is one of my apocalypse meal options, and while I wouldn't be 100% satisfied to have this version precede universal destruction, you could do a lot worse.  The catfish was of pretty good quality and tender, but request the po boy 'dressed,' with lettuce, tomato, pickles, and mayo, to counteract a slight dryness in the breading.  Mac connoisseurs should be aware that this version is of a  kind which might be deemed American Traditional and could well be made with some sticky cheesefood option like Velveeta (could also have been a very, very mild cheddar), so order something to drink to accompany your meal.   Most importantly, Elisa felt right at home with her half-and-half and started rhapsodizing about the traditional way to finish such a meal, which is apparently with a very fine shaved ice confection called, I believe, a snow ball.  Although sadly there are no emporia for such things in our vicinity, and the conversation set off a craving in me for a Dar-i-licious grape slushie, I was happy to have helped provide a little taste of home. 

Kate's Kitchen: Some Parts of the Past Need To Be Forgotten, Y'all

The Lower Haight is known for restaurants sans pretension.  Kate's takes this mission seriously, with a down-home feel and friendly staff.  Like our party, you will probably be charmed initially by a reproduction map of the United States that dominates most of the left wall.  It looks to be WPA-era, and illustrates various states with drawings of notable culture or principal crop.  Much of California is heavily covered by forest.  But draw your eyes south and you come upon the lovely heritage of racial caricature: the deep Southern states are represented by typical Happy Darkie imagery: two black folk, one dancing and one playing an instrument; a chunk of Georgia is identified solely by puffs of cotton.  Canadians will be mildly unhappy with their depiction as a mountie-dominated wilderness, but that's not much compared to the blatant minstrelsy in Alabama and Mississipi.  There are a couple of reasons  that the owners of this place would choose to ignore some of the iconography in their main piece of art: "It's from a long time ago!" To which I reply, not all art from a long time ago is racist, and you are not an art museum.  You have no requirement to hang stuff regardless of its objectionable content.  Another is that they simply didn't notice or acknowledge the racism, despite the fact that Indians aren't treated that well in the piece either.  Or they hoped that patrons would think the thing was kitschy and cute (which parts of it are) and not think too seriously about what it actually depicts.  Or they're black and it didn't bother them so why should it bother anyone else?  But even if no one has ever complained since they don't want to be accused of being too sensitive/obsessed by race/whatever the silencing criticism is today, it's still a questionable choice to deliberately reproduce something that contains pernicious racial imagery. 

But what about the food, FL?  I am always cautious in writing about a place at which I don't try the house specialties, which at Kate's are the hush puppies and the French toast.  But I couldn't pass up another place in town, the third by my count, which serves veggie biscuits and gravy.  Learn of my surprise when what arrived at first sniff seemed to be cream of mushroom soup.  Although the prevailing mood has been to replace the sausage in the gravy with parsley and green onion, Kate's has chosen instead to replace them with mushrooms.  The gravy doesn't have the consistency of mushroom soup, thank god, but it was fairly thick and seemed better suited to something served at dinner.  The biscuits were larger than normal and provided a good value for the dollar, but undistinguished.  Also, unlike most other places in the Western world, Kate's doesn't provide a B&G special that includes sides, so you are pretty well stuck unless you share some of your fellows' food.  I got to do that because my mother was unimpressed with her breakfast sandwich.  It's not their fault that she doesn't like Kaiser rolls, but she also found it bland.  I thought it was decent plain fare and meat eaters would probably enjoy it with the house-made sausage.  Home fries had big pieces of potato but again could be described as 'just sort of there.'  My father loved his omelette, and we all thought well of the service. 

Bottom line: if I lived in the neighborhood, Kate's would be a good place to have an everyday, reasonably-priced breakfast.  As far as I can tell it's not a destination meal.  

Quick Hits: La Oaxaquena

This hidden gem in the Mission's greasy spoon district (around the corner from Burmese diner Yamo) deserves your attention.  Cram in with the amazing pastry selection and be treated by some of the nicest staff in the city.  You may even get a free piece of fresh-made cake.  Oaxaca is famous for its mole: try it in the house tamales and be sure to order it wrapped in a banana leaf rather than the normal corn husks.  The chicken flautas had Mr. Fabulous, our resident Chicano, waxing rhapsodic over real Mexican home cooking.  You'll also leave San Francisco behind when you see the prices.  An outsized tamale is 2.50, and the entire tab for two ran us under $20.  Highly recommended. 

What's The Most Cost-Effective Takeout?

I love ethnic takeout.  It may be a function of childhood deprivation.  Until I was around ten there was no ethnic food in my hometown at all.  First there was mediocre Chinese, and then a Mexican restaurant opened that has to be the envy of all its kind since it tapped into a Midwestern market no one expected and has since been jammed every single night for fifteen years.  There are now three Mexican restaurants and two Mexican grocery stores in town, and the Chinese place is doing a brisk business selling decent sushi once a week.  I did get takeout every so often during our summers in New York, but that was regulated by my mother's low tolerance for ethnic food, which I've blogged about before in a somewhat hyperbolic way (sorry mom). 

Point being I am making up for lost time now: my apartment has sod-all counter space and I can't really make a decent paneer palak at home.  But as someone who spends a moderate amount of time thinking about her budget, I often wonder what's the best bang for the buck in terms of takeout. PS- Did you know that many takeout containers can be composted in San Francisco?  If they're made out of paper they're good to go. 

My highly unscientific survey based on the stuff I like to eat can be found below the fold, plus a bleg for your input. 

Hidden Coffee Shops of the Mission

The Mission is really many neighborhoods co-existing: hipsters, working-class Latinos, junkies, and dykes all united by their hatred of the Marina.  Most visitors to the district continue west from the 16th Street BART station toward Valencia and Guerrero, but reverse your direction and you'll find San Francisco's answer to New York's new-style Meatpacking District.  A right off of sixteenth will find you in a place of commerce and craft, with garages and small factories rubbing elbows with the occasional new apartment building or restored rowhouse.  It's also increasingly becoming home to a set of 'find 'em if you know 'em' restaurants and bars.  Slow Club, reviewed here some time ago, is actually one of the less inconspicuous examples.  A few coffee emporia are real neighborhood insiders and will make you feel immeasurably cool in their discovery. 

Coffee Bar, at the corner of Mariposa and Bryant, is invisible behind a wood fence until you're almost upon it, tucked into a nondescript office building.  Because of the free wi-fi and ample outlets, out-of-the-way location, huge space and couches, Coffee Bar's air hums with the intensity of grad students who are going to finish their dissertations this year, damn it.  It was also my home when I was studying for quals, and so I write about it with a pathetic familiarity.  Rent for hours of stretching out with my laptop meant frequent trips to the counter for coffee and food.  The mocha is a stellar example of the form, but local-made chai is an acquired taste.  It's chai for the black tea-lover, with only a hint of masala spices and a sharp quality.  Took me a long time to warm to it but then I got hooked.  The croissants are fine as an accompaniment.  The pressed mozzarella sandwich is the veggie star of the menu, heavy on the tomato and basil like an inverted pizza, but the tuna sandwich could use some anti-bland for the price.  Sun exposure right into the windows for most of the day can heat the interior to uncomfortable levels, and on occasion the lefthand couch is occupied by the employees of some sort of Landmark-esque group who haven't grasped the concept of appropriateness in conversation, so you may want to bring headphones if you plan to occupy that side of the room.  You can always can grab your coffee and sit outside on the patio, but it doesn't have the comfort level or the electricity. 

The shop's smaller, friendlier twin can be found in an industrial block on Folsom street.  Like Coffee Bar, Stable is all modernist cool with blonde wood and metal accents, but the pocket size and charming staff give it a more neighborly feel.  I dropped by because I heard they stocked Batter Bakery pastries (also available at Blue Fog), and picked up a cinammon scone to go.  A transcription of my inner monologue as I headed back up 17th street: "Oh yeah, scones are dry, maybe I should wait until I get home and put some butter...MMM!"  Pure buttery finish with a pleasant dusting of cinammon throughout, Batter's work has not been oversold.   The lavender sea salt shortbread has been causing Yelpers to swoon since the place opened up a few months ago and it's already been paid the ultimate compliment: some have been reluctant to write about it for fear it would be discovered by even more people.  I hesitated to write this post myself, viz. Coffee Bar, for many months now.  Fortunately I know that as long as the more-travelled parts of the district are more convenient and the curb appeal of the coffee shops remains limited, there's not going to be a run on the bank.  But these places are definitely worth the search. 

Pub Night, The Phoenix

"There were supposed to be tomatoes up in this piece, but I don't mind."
                                                        Your blogger, on her mac and cheese

The tomatoes were finally located, finely diced and adding an intriguing concomitant to the only mac and cheese ever made solely with bechamel. 

"Forget that, I have those shoes.  I would raid your closet, bitch."
         Elisa, on the inappropriateness of Prince's newfound homophobia

Your blogger notes that the frequent appearance of that epithet at pub night is ironic.  Actually, two weeks ago she was so caught up in the aura that she, who never uses it, was heard to mutter "bitch, where is my pecan pie?"  She then regretted both the utterance and the 'pie' when it arrived.

"That's really refreshing!"
                     Mr. Fabulous
"It's like apple-flavored beer."
                     Your blogger

Mr. Fab already being slightly sloshed and your blogger being slightly disappointed, for the first time in her life, that she is the designated driver, they each try a sip of Mark's pint of Magner's, an Irish hard cider. 

"None of you look like you smoke."
                       Guy seeking a light outside the pub, 11:45 p.m.