Sons & Daughters Doesn’t Suck

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The other day really sucked. Colossal, epic, universe is fucking with you kind of suck. Mind-numbing, are you serious, can it get any worse – yes it can suckity suck suck. Yet, looking back, I can’t help but feel like it turned out to be pretty good.

It started with the fog. Did you guys see that? Pea soup, snow-blind fog at 8am. My view is what energizes me each morning. At the worst I can see boats in the dry dock – massive creatures my son claims are “bigger than whales”. Not today! Cold, clammy and dense.

Now I love every second I spend with my son. He is the light of my world. I am guilty of being totally gay for my 5-year old boy, stealing wet kisses from his shayna punim every chance I get. He can do no wrong by me and I spoil him like crazy with divorced-dad-guilt….But the thought of another playdate at the Academy of Sciences (like the 5th time in 2 months) just wasn’t screaming fun to me that day. There’s the albino alligator, look! jellyfish, oh here’s the rainforest. Again.

I know, I suck. We are so lucky to have such an amazing museum nearby and to share it with my boy is a treasure. So, as a result of my discontent, I got karmic bitchslapped. 4:00pm we’re about to get in the car to go home and I discover my key fob has fallen off my Schneider bundle (huge points for getting the reference). Done poof, gone. Enter the mind of the 5-year old existential crisis. Quivering lip: “Daddy. If we can’t get into the car, does that mean we can’t go home and we’re homeless?” No son, we just need to go to mommy’s house and get the spare I left. “But if the cab doesn’t come, how will we get there?”.

An hour later and dozens of more questions we’ve journeyed from GGP to Potrero and back in a vomit-inducing cab ride (it was the Gypsy Kings music as much as the driving). During which, at some point, I receive text message from the sitter that she cannot come tonight. Really? Really? Mistake in her plans, so my plans are toast. I was supposed to have dinner at Sons & Daughters, a place I had already cancelled twice. I’m really not supposed to eat there.

Still during all of this, I am calm. I keep my center. I don’t lose my cool, in fact, I welcome the challenges. How can I learn from this? What am I gaining? I shit you not! The Zealot is growing up people. I’m thinking about how the little man and I are getting some amazing mind-fuck-bonding going on. We’re answering real questions. We’re getting ok with the world. And from out of the blue, a family of fairy princesses and princes decided to invite my booger to sleep over, thus solving the sitter conundrum. Right with it all. Karma restored.

So, I’m back on track and the world is pretty wide open to me. I arrive early and walk around Union Square. And I cannot stop thinking that I never go to Union Square. But how festive! Yes, I must take the boy. Ice skating. Shopping. I feel like a tourist. When we sit down to eat it turns out that my companion also had a pretty shitty day. So we’re both in the need of a drink and an experience please. In fact, I receive an “order for me” and “yes, I’d love to share” – which are two of the greatest phrases an Epicurean Zealot can hear. Why thank you, I will.

So we get the tasting menu x 2, different paths with four courses, plus amouses, totaling a bazillion dishes with wine pairings x 2. Now, mind you, I know nothing about this place. I keep up on the scene, but it escaped me. Maybe it’s the generic name. Maybe it’s the humble pedigrees of the two chefs. Maybe because it’s in Union Square (though Opentable insists this is Nob Hill). So, I consider this order a risk, having been disappointed by Commonwealth on a few occasions and, while loving Frances, not feeling the backflip-enducing praise it gets. But give it your best shot fellas.

And so it was. Course after course after course. Without a misstep. You heard me. Everything was perfect. From a celery root soup with maitake, trumpets, enoki & cauliflower mushrooms to an abalone with burdock root and castelvetrano olive (say it three times – I made the waiter) to the finest wagyu zabuton steak I could imagine. We had foie and sablefish and none of the savory courses were less than outstanding. My only complaint was that the desserts didn’t live up. The chocolate was ok and the foie seems contrived. But it was excusable in the grand scheme.

Frame of reference: I just returned from a 10 day sojourn to Basque Spain to eat. I ate. A lot. In really really good places. This region is the epicenter of modern food. And I tell you… that the best meal I’ve had in months was at Sons & Daughters. In San Francisco. My hometown. As we left the restaurant the cold didn’t seem to matter. Strolling Union Square was even more charming with the glow of 8 wine pairings and a belly full of foie. The suckfest day was a distant memory and my faith in San Francisco dining rejuvinated. Turned out to be a pretty good night afterall.

The Social Media Narcissist

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This may seem out of place on a food blog. You might also think that I have some sort of axe to grind. But honestly I wrote this blurb back in May and never found a forum to properly place the message. Last night I shared dinner with a fellow blogger who enjoyed this so much, I promised to share it with my audience (and hers, granting full permission to repurpose as she sees fit). I believe this is an outline of a treatise that deserves a lot more attention. Most importantly, it came in a lucid moment and succinctly summarizes my views on the current state of social media. Enjoy:

Blogs are interesting. I have no real pressure to publish regularly, other than satisfying my readers or my own urge to purge my food-obsessed mind. But if I stop for a while, or indefinitely, life goes on. I’m one of thousands who have an urge to publicly expose themselves in some narcissistic “look at me and what I know” blog mentality. In fact, perhaps I’m one of millions. But who really cares?

Social networking takes that narcissism to new heights. Facebook is the ultimate narcissist tool. At first it was neat to reconnect with people I’ve not seen, nor heard from in twenty or more years. There’s never been a tool in the history of mankind that allowed such connections to be reforged and maintained. My head would explode with excitement every time I made a new connection – there’s Bob Greenspun, look it’s Kelly Bryers, wow here’s Sarah Glaymon!

Narcissus

But after a while it became clear that having access to these people made no real impact in my life. Did I care that Janeen Muth’s son’s birthday was today? Was my life affected by Beth Segal’s night out? Do I really need to know that Milton Glenn was cooking Bourbon Shrimp? No disrespect people, but the answer is a resounding NO.

Moreover, did anyone really care about my opinions on atheism, politics or even food for that matter? Maybe. Certainly some people enjoy reading the blog and the associated posts on my Facebook page. But what’s more interesting is why I would choose to share such opinions. Why I am posturing my opinions in front of all of these people? Clearly I am putting a lot of thought into what I write (especially with status updates), with an ultimate goal of influencing the opinions people hold of me. We all are! We’re fucking narcissists.

What you say in your blog, facebook, twitter, etc. is intentionally geared at perpetuating the story you’ve created in your head about your life to the masses. I went to this concert and you know about it so you can see that I am cool (which is clearly up for subjective interpretation because one man’s cool is radically different from another’s – like Bruce Springsteen is to The Flaming Lips). Look carefully at your friend’s facebook updates, mine included, and you can piece together the puzzle of who they want you to think they are.

Moreover I believe that language, in general, is manipulative. Everything we say is designed to influence the people with whom we communicate. Listen to yourself objectively with this in mind and you will see that it is a rare word that leaves your mouth that isn’t furthering the perception we want to hold of ourselves and create for others. The beauty of social media is that we have finally found a forum to spread the images across wide geography, generations, cultural divides and even time, as we reconnect with our past that would have never connected otherwise.

Quick Review: 25 Lusk

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$13 meeellion dollars. For reals, yo. Pimp-ass fools spent $13m on a restaurant. So much for the recession.

Last night I had the opportunity to dine at the spanking new 25 Lusk. The restaurant is housed in a former brick-n-timber smokehouse and is tres sexy. I’ve read a lot about this place, mostly regarding the design and the team of partners that include an Emeril alumn and some seriously rich dudes.

25 Lusk Smokerooms

Photo: Jennifer Yin - Courtesy of Eater SF

First let me talk about the space. The place is clearly designed. To the hilt. Every detail is covered, with interesting sight lines and textural contrasts, insane lighting and nooks-n-crannies to get lost. There will definitely be a cocktail crowd here and they plan to serve the full menu in the smokehouse / bar area (which has low ceilings, a lot of exposed concrete, reinforced steel and conduit). There are various lounge settings with ski-house looking floating fireplaces. I wish that this place would attract the food obsessed and laid-back sorts, but I fear the douche factor could take over easily. This space has FIDI ‘play-ah’ written all over it.

25 Lusk Fireplace

Photo: Jennifer Yin - Courtesy of Eater SF

Upstairs the vibe is more open. There is an amazing private dining room encased in glass that will certainly attract celebs and the SF elite. The main dining area is lovely, but it didn’t give me a wow moment like downstairs. That’s a lot of money for ‘meh’. And, while the bathrooms are lovely, I think the material choices were based on form and not function. The stone floors show the drops of water as you reach for your towel and the sinks get trashed after a few washings. The men’s urinal seems to have some technology that creates an artistic pattern out the impact of your stream. I could have peed all night.

25 Lusk Interior

Photo: Jennifer Yin - Courtesy of Eater SF

The menu is currently limited to a dozen or so items and each thing we had was good to exceptional. Standout was a cauliflower creme brulée. It’s the real deal and surprisingly incorporated truffles with success. The arugula salad was salty and uninspired but the pork cheek terrine more than made up for it. It was a little crispy on the outside and moist in the middle with a hint of sweet. A lovely cube of well-handled animal flesh. The only main we tried was the braised short ribs. There was a nice fat ratio and the sauce was a sublime wine demi that brought me back for dipping. Other mains looked solid – not a lot of risks here.

Cocktails continue the trend of innovation, and outshining the food. A lineup of playful, yet well-crafted drinks should make for some happy houring. The dessert menu didn’t scream, so we passed. I’m wondering if they’ll step it up when the menu kicks in full gear. I think desserts could really shine in this environment.

In general I think 25 Lusk is destined to establish itself in our dining landscape. While they play it safe on the menu, the food plays well off the decor. My concern is how could they possibly live up to the money they invested. They opened on Saturday and I suppose word is still getting around, as the place was fairly empty on Monday night. I’m guessing nobody is in this to make money.

Artisan & Audiophile

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Una Pizza Napoletana is open. This is good news for San Francisco, bad news for New York City (you can have Nate Appleman, we’ll take Anthony). Yet, considering how many Neapolitan style places have popped up in the past few years you’d expect enthusiasm to be fairly low. We’ve got Flour + Water, Boot & Shoe, Zero Zero, Tony’s Pizza Neapolitana (please read my review) – not to mention the tried and true Pizette, Pizzaiolo, Delfina, Pico, Piccino, A16….Still, there was feverish anticipation of “the one” and I suspect there will continue to be a cult-like following for these pies.

Una Pizza Napoletana

Story goes… Anthony Mangieri had a coveted outpost in New York and decided to pull up the tent stakes and head west. He is lauded as a prodigy and obsesses over the details on a very simple line up of true Neapolitan pizza making (for details check out the wiki). His reputation is pretty pristine and I heard the term ‘artisan’ thrown around a few times last night.

Again, we hit wiki for clarification:

An artisan (from Italian: artigiano) is a skilled manual worker who makes items that may be functional or strictly decorative, including furniture, clothing, jewelry, household items, and tools. The term can also be used as an adjective to refer to the craft of hand making food products, such as bread, beverages and cheese.

That seems very appropriate for Anthony, as you will decipher from my experience.

Anthony Mangieri Una Pizza Napoletana

The corner of 11th and Howard has an appropriate amount of funk for a destination restaurant. People who eat here won’t live here. There is a line. It will create controversy, but who cares. Stand in the line and wait till a table opens. Talk to your date (but don’t read every yelp review of the place out loud to her like the phlegmy guy behind me). Yes, they should just have a list so you can go get a drink. I don’t think Anthony is stubborn enough to force this forever. There was an  attractive hostess greeting people, chatting about the pizza, the history, the process. Unfortunately, she’s just helping out temporarily (and she’s taken, boys). I suspect they’ll figure this out over time and get someone to manage the flow.

The design is very clean, very simple. Soaring high ceilings with beams as the sole contrast. Nothing to distract. A small collection of tables and a lot of open space. My guess is that the layout reflects the speed at which an artisanal product can be produced properly. He could have more tables in here, but he probably couldn’t keep up (or would he want to).

Anthony hovers over a simple station with a few bowls of his ingredients and  a stack of trays of his pillowy dough (Note that when the dough runs out so does your luck). It’s a clean station for a single-minded task. This guy makes pizzas. 4 kinds. All fairly similar. No meat – no veggies – no soup for you! I kept wanting to liken this guy to the Soup Nazi – but when you speak with Anthony he is so damn nice and smiley that the comparison ends at his work station and limited offerings.

 

Una Pizza Napoletana Oven

Photo Courtesy of Grub Street

 

So for two people we ordered three pies, expecting to take home leftovers (we didn’t). We tried the Marinara, the Margherita and the Bianca. Now here’s where I go off a little… For the past 7 years I owned a high-end audio, video and home automation business. As a result, I often come in contact with types deemed as “audiophiles”. Truthfully, I hate the fucking term. It’s so elitist and pretentious and almost always self-prescribed and inaccurate. But what it boils down to is someone who has a sensitive enough ear to be able to hear the subtle differences between way-too expensive equipment, with the ultimate goal of perfecting sound reproduction. What always impresses me about true audiophiles is their ability to do this, free from a side-by-side comparison. It’s as if there is a reference standard imprinted on their brain, which they can recall at any time to compare.

As a food critic and chef, I would say I have a fairly refined palate, trained over many years of tasting the things I love over and over and over. There are a few items where I actually may approach the reference standard. Pizza is one of them. What I am getting at here is that like an audiophile, I can recall the landscape of pizza I’ve tasted throughout my life and generate an opinion of the requisite components (dough, sauce, cheese). I sat down this morning to do a side-by-side comparison in my head. And then I realized how pretentious and elitist it was (the phlegmy guy behind me was doing it out loud, in line). Sure I could compare this pizza to all the others but I’ve decided to give that up. Here’s my take on UPN on its own:

The dough is the star. Anthony uses a process of natural leavening (you can actually see a video of his entire process here) which produces the perfect balance of crisp on the outside, chewy in the middle. He’s also not afraid of salt. This is simply the way dough should be. Combine it with the smoke, ash, burns from his obsessively-maintained oven and you have something exceptional. The cheese and sauce are also very spot-on – not too sweet, just the right fat content.

All three pies were great, though I’d probably pass on the Marinara in favor of the Filetti. Generally I like a Marinara pizza on its own or along with a salad. But standing next to the other pizzas, it was a little lost. The cherry tomatoes on the Filettis we saw looked fantastic. The bianca started out as the surprise shining star. Fresh out of the oven there were hints of garlic, salt. The richness of the buffalo mozzarella popped in combination.

Una Pizza Napoletana Pizza Margherita

Moreover, I had an epiphany while eating the Margherita. It came after the pizza had a few minutes to settle. I often dive in while it is hot from the oven – cheese sliding around – roof of my mouth on fire. Yet, I confirmed last night that when a great pizza has time to settle a little (not too much for the cheese to harden and congeal), it actually gets better. The sauce intrudes slightly on the dough. The cheese distributes its fat and oils, the salt permeates everything. Try your pizza (just Margherita) after 8 minutes or so and you’ll see what I mean.

Una Pizza is a great place if you want to worship at the temple of pizza. Italians do this all of the time. Pizza is often consumed in the evening, by itself, over wine and conversation. The big meal is at lunch and takes hours with many courses. At UPN you get pizza, wine, beer – basta. And the pizza is near-perfect. I would wait in line any day to share with my good friends something that clearly contains so much artisanal skill, devotion to traditions, process and (yes the zealot is going to get cheesy) love.

New Skool!

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For years I’ve driven up and down Potrero Hill, De Haro St. to be exact. Up to 22nd St. to my home. Down to Division St. for work. Back and forth, day after day. For the past two years there has been a curious sign on a showroom building at the corner of Alameda St. “restaurant space available”. It was an odd location, but seemed to have a patio and from what I know of this neighborhood, a lot of potential. We’ve got Adobe, Advent, Zynga and every designer worth his salt within 4 blocks. And, we’re dying for a real restaurant. I’ve dreamed often about selling my business and opening up something in that spot, who-knows-what, because I sensed this was a gem.

Skool Sign

Grand Pu Bah tried, but it proved to be niche rather than the next Slanted Door. Pizza Nostra, from the Chez Papa gang, was a step up, but still didn’t have the ‘it’ factor. There’s a ton of adequate places nearby, from Patisserie Phillipe, Chez Papa, Sunflower, Aperto, Umi Sushi – but nothing would turn the heads of your garden-variety foodie. They’re just neighborhood joints. Enter Skool.

The “space available” turns out to be a sexy spot for the next hot restaurant. I had lunch there today and got a lowdown from the owner. Apparently the landlord had a vision when he built the building years ago. He was willing to wait for the right people to come along to realize his vision. He built out the space with a designer’s eye and the attention to detail is clear. The place just feels good.

The people he chose were the couple behind Blowfish, Andy Mirabell and his fiancée Olia Kedik. Moreover, they teamed up with another couple, Toshihiro and Hiroko Nagano in the kitchen. There’s a definite young- entrepreneur vibe about the space, as the busy themselves to make your experience exceptional and to connect with their potential regulars.

Skool Aji Sandwich

Well, spank my ass and call me Sally, but I’m sold. The menu is loaded with healthy fish-forward options. There is a clear sophistication behind the cuisine and enough to keep me occupied enough to become a regular. I’ve only had the Aji sandwich with a side of fries and a cup of carrot-ginger soup, but I’m ready to go back for more. There’s a coffee-marinated steak sandwich, flatbreads and a bunch of creative fish mains. I’ll work my way through and offer a proper review top to bottom later.

What really has me sold is the idea of maximizing the sunshine of Potrero out on the patio, once they finalized their liquor license. Even on the rare foggy day the inside bar is a really appealing place to swill and they plan on some fab cocktails, designed by a Rye alum (I didn’t get her name). Can you sayz happy hour?

Currently only open for lunch. Opening for dinner on July 9 Phone 415-255-8800 | Address 1725 Alameda Street, San Francisco, CA 94103 | Skype SkoolSF | Twitter SkoolSF | Facebook SkoolSF

Quick Review: Thermidor

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Cool concept. Walking in to Thermidor, located in the ever-expanding culinary bastion of Mint Plaza, feels like stepping onto the set of Mad Men. The hostess was dolled up in a dress with a bow and could easily pass for a Don Draper conquest. The wood-panel decor nails the mid-century-modern vibe that has dominated the design world in recent years. This is the latest concept venture of Spork’s Bruce Binn and Neil Jorgenson.

The food continues the theme with unwavering dedication. Though I barely touched the 60′s, I still recall dishes like pommes Dauphine, celery Victor, scallops Newburg and sole amandine. I was excited to see chicken Keiv, one of my favorite indulgences from childhood, and Lobster Thermidor, the namesake and specialty of the house.

While the food was good, I think they are missing the boat at Thermidor. Most of the dishes we tried came out very traditional versus the modern interpretations I was expecting. It seems they are taking the theme somewhat too literally for my preference. I would have like to have seen them reinvent the form (perhaps unleash the Voltaggio Brothers on the menu?). Deconstruct!

The Pommes were fried potatoes, pretty straighforward. The Caesar salad was creamy, despite my inquiry and assurance that it was traditional style. The standout app was a potato chip with smoked fish, roe and créme fraiche. The mains didn’t go much further than advertised, though the Sole Almondine did have a nice gnocchi accompaniment. The Lobster Thermidor was tasty enough, but again, lacking innovation and a painfully small portion at $32.

The cocktail menu actually delivers on the concept. Brooke Arthur has updated classics in a way that should inspire the kitchen. I’d come here for a drink anytime, and maybe jump over to 54 Mint (the authentic Italian place across the plaza) for dinner.

The Dinner Party Guest

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I don’t get invited to enough dinner parties. I backed myself into this corner. I believe it’s mostly because I am a food snob and a vocal one at that. I mean who would want to cook for someone that has such high expectations for every meal he eats AND might just write about it online? And frankly, my friends are justified for their sensitivity. I judge. I notice subtleties. I criticize, even if it is in my own head. Who would want that pressure?

Still, I have a dark, and very pedestrian, side to my culinary experience. I eat Spaghettios. I love Stouffer’s Creamed Chipped Beef. I have a soft spot for all things crap (in fact I have a post queued up called “Eat Shit”). So, while I wear my judges hat in many realms, I try to spare my friends the expectation of performing for a critic. If you’re reading this, I’ll be expecting an inbox filled with invites…

A few months ago I was invited to a dinner by a relatively new friend we shall now call from this point forward “the Contessa”. While technically not a Contessa by Italian aristocracy (I think), she has regal qualities, an impeccable social standing, refined tastes and a certain air of luxuriousness that follows her every move. She owns a Napa estate that makes Olive Oil for celebrity chefs. She pals around with the SF Opera elite. You wouldn’t necessarily put us together…until we start talking about food. The Contessa and I are soul mates in our zealotry for everything about food, and especially Italian. So, when the invitation came to join her at a home of some friends for dinner, I didn’t have to think twice.

Frankly, my life is so chaotic these days that I didn’t pay much attention to the specifics of the invite. I knew they were friends and somehow into food but I didn’t delve into the specifics. It was enough that the Contessa wanted me there. We’d play it by ear. My calendar invite read “Ciao Adam happy New Year!!! Tiziana wish to have confirmation you and me will go to her Piemontese dinner.”

When we arrived at the lovely loft in Mint Plaza we met our hosts Tiziana and John. It turns out that she is a photographer, who specializes in food. He is an importer of Italian culinary delights (Un Po Pazzo – click on this link to visit), particularly from the Piedmont region. Tiziana is from Piedmont and I immediately knew we were in for a treat. When an Italian is cooking with confidence I’m putty in their hands. The traditions run so deep and food is so engrained in their culture that I am almost embarrassed to claim that I cook Italian food. The mastery and skill of Italian regional chefs, including amateurs and home chefs, makes my dabbling seem Mickey Mouse.

I could see as I entered that Tiziana was organized and had put an effort into this meal, but I joked that it was probably effortless for her, even if it took her days. We started with a simple platter of the finest cheese known to man, in my opinion, Parmigiano-Reggiano. But this wasn’t just plain old Reggiano. No, it was Vacche Rosse, a special variety of the lauded formaggio made exclusively under a traditional process including prime red cows. The taste was subtly different than your average PR. It was a little more mellow, like a nice aged Cab, with a more crumbly texture (it was aged 4-years versus the 2-3 year we typically eat). I wolfed down a bunch along with some homemade foccacia that was lovely.

I watched Tiziana working her salad, which included seasonal greens topped with some poached shellfish, including squid and shrimp. She mixed in some of the fish liquid with the dressing which added a hint of seaspray to the dressing, marrying the fish and the salad. I never thought to do that, but loved the result. Otherwise, your salad would just have a topping of fish, without any real tie to the entirety of the dish. Brava!

Next came the Agnolotti del Plin. Interestingly enough, the first time I tried this dish was the night before at Flour + Water. When it rains it pours! This traditional Piemontese dish is a pasta (Agnolotti) that is pinched (del Plin) to seal it. In both cases it was stuffed with a veal, chard, pork filling and served in a light butter sauce. Flour + Water did a great job. It was light and lovely. Their pasta was incredibly delicate, which I love, but I never would have guessed it was a little too soft, by comparison. But Tiziana had the home field advantage here and brought out subtleties that you’d be hard-pressed to find in a restaurant. The sauce was simple and sparing, just enough to kiss the pasta but not overpower it. The filling bursted with flavor, surrounded by a silk blanket of pasta that retained a little bite of al dente. Brava again!

If that wasn’t enough, our next course was a brisket served with a deep, dark barolo sauce and a light vegetable melange. Her skill at cutting a brunoise was apparent and the lightly-herbed vegetables played a nice counter to the rich meat. As for the sauce, I can confidently say that I have never made such a lovely elixir myself. I find this type of sauce to be elusive for my culinary talents and I made a decision to try to add a few to my repertoire. It was rich and buttery and meaty and rich and barolo-y. I couldn’t get enough.

I must comment that John was no slouch with his additions to the meal. He paired wines impeccably, all from Piemonte. The cheese was from his import company (I’m planning to buy some hunks if anyone wants to split the wheel up). He shared some tomatoes that he claims are far superior to your average DOP San Marzanos I swear by.  And his stories of his life’s careers and capers were incredibly interesting.

Dessert was another regional treat called Bonèt, a custard with ground almond cookies. Paired with a perfect dessert wine (which I will count on John posting in the comments) the night ended on a high note.

As we walked out into the crisp night air I thought about a few things. First, I was wowed by a great meal. How lucky to share such treats with the Contessa and her friends. I cannot wait until I have the chance to visit her Napa estate or, better yet, meet up in Italy for the real thing. And…I love going to dinner parties. It’s not just the food, but the company and the opportunity to talk in small groups. And for the rare opportunity I have to score an invite, I don’t have to do the cooking.