Recently in Eating in San Francisco Category

When Stephen and I moved to San Francisco, our choice of neighborhood was dictated largely by where we could afford. As recent college graduates with no jobs lined up, we ended up in the Outer Richmond. We have an apartment we love with a rent reasonable enough not to require giving up eating in order to afford it. That's a good thing, because what we lack in clubs and shopping here in the Richmond, we more than make up with food.

We've got great sushi, Korean barbecue, dim sum, a wee tiny place with unbelievable thin-crust pizzas, some of the best roasted crab with garlic noodles in the city, a bistro so classically French you'd think you need your passport, and an intimate Italian place where the owner will serve you the most tender gnocchi you've ever had. They run the gamut from dingy noodle houses to refined destinations, and our favorite of the latter type is Aziza.

At Aziza, chef Mourad Lahlou has melded Moroccan flavors and techniques with California ingredients and style; the results are simply enchanting. Aziza has become a favorite date spot for Stephen and me. The dé cor is dim and sexy with rich colors and just a hint of exotic flair, essentially an ideal location for long looks and holding hands over the table.

When Stephen and I came to look at the apartment we now live in, I barely glanced at the tiny hole-in-the wall restaurant across the street. I caught a glimpse out of the corner of my eye and thought something to the effect of, "Huh, dingy." When we asked about the neighborhood, our future landlord mentioned that there was a place to get the best dumplings she'd eaten since she was last in Shanghai. It barely flickered through my mind that she was referring to the restaurant I'd seen before, that tiny establishment then called Shanghai Dumpling Shop.

After we'd moved in and explored, we realized that she could have meant no other place. Our first tentative foray into their menu ranks as one of our most treasured Bay Area surprises. The dumplings are indeed fantastic. So fantastic, some of the devotees like to keep them a secret. We can't help but feel possessive of this neighborhood jewel, tucked into the Outer Richmond, far from Chinatown and yet so much closer to China itself.

The joke is best illustrated by Prince Akeem of Zamunda, in Coming to America, who makes the innocent assumption that a city named Queens is the place to find his own true love. But instead, he meets devil worshippers, cross-dressers, freaky twins, gold-diggers, scary sex fiends, and self-obsessed starlets.

Because it's a kind of international, long-running joke that places named the Grotto, the Dive, the Shack, the Hole--will in fact surprise you with a well chosen wine list, a snooty waiter, vaguely themed small plates, and trendy bathroom decor. On the other hand, establishments with variants on all Regal names--the Palace of Blank, the Queen's Garden of Blank, King Blank's--will in fact turn out to be grotty, dives, shacks and holes in the wall, open 24 hours, cash-only, never any TP in the small unisex loo, maybe Chinese, could be Indian, where you get to watch T.V. at the same time as you eat, sort of joints. With absolutely nothing Royal about them.

But every rule has its exceptions. And just because the parking lot is deserted apart from a couple non-threatening hooded hooligans on too small bicycles, isn't to say staff won't be friendly and generous, and their doughnuts delicious.

Whether Herodotus is the father of history, or the father of lies, is completely irrelevant. I remain deeply attached to the image of the Egyptian Plover bird--its black crown, white head, and gaudy orange belly--hopping around and performing simple dentistry in the open mouth of a crocodile. It's a sweet picture: a deadly croc half way up the shore, it's great mouth open, in desperate need of a good flossing, and a little bird being welcomed in to pick off the decaying bits of meat. Because it's not a trick, the crocodile is not waiting for the right moment to snap the bird shut in its jaws. It's symbiosis. It's mutualism--the croc gets his teeth cleaned, his body combed for insects and parasites, and the bird gets a snack as well as protection from other predators. Everyone is happy.

I remember asking my cousin about this--the Asia-Pacific migratory water bird conservationist and educator--referring him of course, to a clear illustration by Quentin Blake, only to be given a confusing answer which I didn't really understand. Which brings me back to believing, wholeheartedly, in adorable situations in which smaller animals help out larger animals and trick evolution into gambling on them together, despite their weaknesses.

Stephen and I don't have many days off together, and when we do, we usually spend them pursuing such wildly romantic activities like the laundry and cleaning the bathroom. We've both been working our butts off lately and decided we need a day of total pleasure. With that in mind, we spent all of the afternoon (not to mention most of our money) tasting our way around the Ferry Building this afternoon.

I ought to mention that I utterly love the Ferry Building. If I'm a good girl, when I die and go to heaven, it will be just like the Ferry Building. It feels like a sacred space with its vaulted ceiling and worshipful devotion to a single subject. When I first stepped foot inside, it put into perspective many of the reasons I moved to Northern California in the first place. So it was an obvious choice for a few hours of delicious indulgence.

We started out with cheeseburgers at Taylor's Automatic Refresher. The Boy and I are devoted to the art of the cheeseburger, and this one was a quality example. It had a juicy, full-flavored patty that wasn't too finely ground or greasy and a really excellent, eggy, almost brioche-style bun. Only the addition of onions would have made it trancendent. We skipped the tempting fries and milkshakes because pacing is crucial if one is committed to an entire afternoon of eating.

Next we strolled down to the Ferry Plaza Wine Merchant for a flight of three unusual staff favorite wines. We tasted the Sawyer sauvignon blanc from Rutherford, Napa that, as the lovely lady who poured for us pointed out, was reminiscent of pesto. We moved on to the Flying Goat Cellars pinot noir from the Dierberg Vineyard in the Santa Maria Valley smack in the middle of Sideways country that tasted like currants and was super silky with very low tannins. We finished with the Craggy Range Winery Merlot from the Gimblett Gravels Vineyard that started out like caramel, moved into tobacco and finished with bright fruit.

After all this thoughtful tasting, Stephen and I were ready for a snack. At the Hog Island Oyster Company, Charles shucked us (sorry, that just sounds wrong) an assortment of truly excellent oysters. They were served with a yummy variation on the classic mignonette sauce. In addition to the wine vinegar, shallots, and pepper, this one had minced cilantro.

Mignonette is my favorite oyster condiment. The sharpness both tempers the saltiness of the oysters and enhances it. In this case, the cilantro added a freshnness and herbal perfume to the expected taste of the sea.

Because clearly something so salty required a compliment in something sweet, we moved on to Miette, a bakery specializing in cakes made in the French tradition made with local and organic ingredients. Stephen had the classic cupcake; it was super-moist chocolate cake with pillowy marshmallow frosting. Feeling festive, I chose a gingerbread cupcake made with dark stout beer and topped with cream cheese frosting.

By this point, Stephen and I were stuffed as full as plump, fresh sausages and as relaxed as melted chocolate. Our last stop was to Boulette's Larder. Even though our tummy's were full then, we knew it would only be a few hours before dinner time. Boulette's is a fabulous combination of restaurant, takeout place, and exotic food store. You can have lunch, buy dinner, and pick up some pimenton de la vera and rendered duck fat all at one place. We bought pork cooked with French lentils and some Moroccan greens cooked with olives and preserved lemon that came highly recommended by Aileen, the lovely woman behind the counter. Both were ready to be heated up whenever we got hungry again.

And thus ended our lovely day. Stephen and I drove home contented. We didn't think about laundry once.