food, and other musings

Best Views in the City

"Have you seen the moon?" Mr. Food Musings asked me one night a few weeks ago. I put down my glass of merlot (Miles be damned!) to peer around the gauzy white tent we were sitting beneath. I couldn't see a thing. "I can't see a thing," I admitted. And with that, Mr. FM grabbed my hand and led me around the corner. And there it was, a big fat yellow moon hanging so low in the sky it almost nicked the housetops in Bernal Heights. "Can you believe this view?" he asked, a note of awe creeping into his voice. Mr. FM is a sucker for a beautiful view.

We were having drinks at Medjool with some friends. Located right next to the Mission's favorite eatery-cum-cinema stands this Middle Eastern-slash-Mediterranean restaurant. I would never have guessed that a place stuck in the Mission would have such striking views, but from the rooftop (where you can get drinks and nibbles, if you have cash in your pocket -- they don't take credit cards) you have an unsurpassed, 360 degree view of the City.

Tables are set along the roof's edge, as well as underneath the aforementioned tent. Heat lamps keep you warm in the early evening when the wind is likely to whip around, but once it dies down you can take off your jackets and sip in style. A grill in one corner turns out kebabs -- chicken with almond-pomegranate sauce, or mushrooms, onions, tomatoes and squash stacked on a skewer and drizzled with yogurt sauce, or even lamb (which we didn't try). Hummus comes with warm pita triangles (as it should) or there's mushroom bruschetta on small rounds of bread. The food is fine, nothing out of this world, and possibly not a reflection on the restaurant downstairs, which has a much more extensive menu.

They're open for brunch, and the next time I have friends in town or it's a nice sunny Sunday, I know where I'm heading. If you miss the entrance to the roof, look again. Though advertised by a sign, its separate entrance is coyly hidden just to the left of the main door.

Medjool, San Francisco, 2522 Mission Street, 415-550-9055

Recipes: Green Beans, Two Ways

Last weekend produced two amazing green bean recipes. The first, which you see pictured here, is my own recipe for summer salad. I first made a variation of it about two years ago, minus the green beans, but Saturday night I was looking for a side dish to serve with King Crab legs that was full of healthy veggies and decided to add green beans to my tomato, corn and basil standard. The beans are crisp and sweet, and they pair well with pesto, so they seemed like a natural fit. The trio went well with the crab legs and as I sat there watching Mr. Food Musings suck the sweet meat from the legs, I thought, "Grrr, baby. What a carnivore!"

The second recipe is courtesy of Cook's Illustrated. Mr. FM's mom made it Friday night when we went down for dinner. If you think the ribs disappeared fast, wait till you put this on the table. Garlic, lemon, parmesan, bread crumbs -- what's not to love?

Catherine's Summer Salad
Yield: 4-6 depending on appetites and what else you serve. If you're just having crab, count on only 4 servings.

What better way to praise Summer's harvest than to combine fresh corn (get Silver Queen if you can, the variety that ruled the South and my heart for many years) with sweet cherry tomatoes, crisp green beans and the garden's best basil? Since nothing can spoil, it's perfect for an al freso picnic potluck. You want all the ingredients to be at room temperature, if not cool, so cook the corn and green beans an hour or so ahead and allow them to cool down before serving. I don't measure anything when I make this so use the measurements as nothing more than a guide. The only caution is with the vinegar, which you don't even need to use if you don't want to. If you do, though, use a light touch. Too much will overpower the vegetables' natural sweetness and spoil the dish.

2 ears of white corn, cooked and cut from the cob
1 1/2 cups cherry tomatoes, halved (I strongly suggest you use Sweet 100s, or another tomato known to be sweet)
1 1/2 cups French green beans, steamed
2 TBSP olive oil, the fruitier the better
2 tsp champagne vinegar (or white wine or red wine or nothing at all)
1/4 cup fresh basil leaves, cut thinly into strips with kitchen shears (the "poor man's" chiffonade)
salt and pepper to taste

In a large bowl, combine all ingredients. Toss and serve at room temperature or slightly chilled.

Garlic-Lemon Green Beans with Toasted Bread Crumbs
Yield: 8

At its debut, this dish was destined to become a Food Musings Family classic. Bread crumbs can be substituted for the fresh bread. I suggest you use French green beans, which are slender and delicate. But it's just a preference; any fresh green bean will do. Keep this recipe around till the holidays and serve it at Thanksgiving or Christmas alongside your turkeys. Trust me, the kids will like it too: L. and S. both asked for second helpings.

2 slices sandwich bread, torn into pieces (about 1 cup)
3 TBSP unsalted butter
salt and pepper
2 TBSP grated Parmesan
6 medium garlic cloves, minced (2 TBSP)
2 tsp flour
1/8 tsp crushed red pepper
1 tsp minced fresh thyme
1/2 lb. French green beans, trimmed
1 cup chicken broth
1 TBSP fresh lemon juice

1. If using fresh bread, process into crumbs in food processor. Heat 1 TBSP butter in a non-stick skillet over medium-high heat. Once melted, add bread crumbs and cook, stirring frequently, till golden brown, 3-5 minutes. Transfer to medium bowl and add 1/4 tsp salt, 1/8 tsp pepper and Parmesan.
2. Wipe out skillet. Add remaining 2 TBSP butter, garlic, and 1/4 tsp salt. Cook over medium heat, stirring constantly, till garlic is golden, 3-5 minutes. Stir in flour, crushed red pepper and thyme, then toss in green beans. Add broth and increase heat to medium-high. Cover and cook till beans are partly tender but still a bit crisp, about 4 minutes. Uncover and cook, stirring occasionally, until beans are tender and sauce has thickened slightly, about 4 minutes. Remove from heat and stir in lemon juice, and add more salt and pepper if necessary. Transfer to serving dish and top with bread crumbs.

Win! Win! Win! 5 Gift Certificates

Umm...those are St. Louis-style pork ribs you see, slathered in a spicy-sweet BBQ sauce. The nice folks over at Smoky Market sent me a huge shipment the other day, full of ribs and sauce, baked beans, smoked salmon fillets, cole slaw dressing and much more. Luckily for them, the ribs were finger-lickin' good (if I may steal a line from the Colonel) and when Mr. Food Musings and I took them down to his folks for dinner with the nieces, L. (at left) and S. (at right) they were devoured in 5 minutes flat. All we had to do was take them out of their container, baste with BBQ sauce and heat them at 300 degrees for 15 minutes.

If you would like to try anything from Smoky Market, I have five $18 gift certificates that I'm giving away. Just be among the first five to post a comment. Include your email address and tell me a little something about your favorite BBQ -- it can be a sauce recipe, a memory of grilling with your pa, a fabulous joint where you ate in Memphis after visiting Graceland, anything.

This was all that was left after we got done...

Q&A with Pizzeria Delfina's Craig Stoll

To San Franciscans, Delfina needs no introduction. Practically a landmark by now, this 7-year old casual Cal-Italian lives the Slow Food movement's philosophy: cook locally with seasonal ingredients. Craig Stoll, the chef/owner, does just that, very simply, and very well.

Last Tuesday he and his wife, Annie, opened Pizzeria Delfina in the Mission, right next door to Delfina, something he's been wanting to do for five years. It's the latest in a veritable explosion of trendy thin-crust pizza places in the Bay Area area, from A16 to Little Star to Pizzaiolo. And it's poised to be one of the best.

Before the pizzeria opened, while it was still a mess of construction debris, I spoke to Craig to ask him about pizza in the Bay Area, stretching fresh mozzarella, what cooking Italian means, and the rocker that best embodies the pizzeria's spirit. Craig is as passionate as you'd expect a successful chef to be, but it goes beyond passion to giddiness when he talks about things that get him jazzed, like an organic flour he found. He reminded me of the proverbial kid in a candy store. His love for what he does comes across in each word, each pause.

Why a pizzeria? I’ve been spouting off about this for 5 years now. At [that] time there was a big lack of [pizza] here in San Francisco.

What do you think of the sudden explosion of pizza in San Francisco? I think it's a collective realization: "I’m looking for this great pizza that reminds me of New York or Italy," and you hear enough bitching and finally people [pay attention].

Is the state of pizza in the Bay Area improving? Could it top New York? Who cares? We are who we are. I think [San Francisco] has got to stop trying to compare itself to LA or New York or anywhere else.

Tell me about the menu. It’s Neapolitan-inspired pizzas. I took my crew to Italy in March and we worked in Naples in a couple of different pizzerias. I spent a full week there a few years ago eating pizza morning, noon and night. [The menu] is really straightforward: a Margherita with fresh stretched mozzarella...

Wait, wait, wait...what does "fresh-stretched mozzarella" mean? We buy mozzarella curd, pour hot water over the chopped-up curd and stretch and pull it and form it into balls or braids or whatever. Mozzarella is a cheese that’s meant to be eaten the day it’s made. We don’t use mozzarella di bufala because it’s shipped halfway across the world. We buy the curd from a local mozzarella manufacturer. It's [on the Delfina menu too]. We stretch it at 5:20 pm, right before we open. It’s tender and delicious.

Okay, back to the pizza. Okay, housemade fennel sausage, peppers and onions. A clam pie, with tomatoes, oregano, hot peppers, no cheese. One with broccoli rabe and Bellwether Farms ricotta cheese. A Neapolitan with anchovies, capers, olives, no cheese. We'll have six pies and two daily specials. The two daily ones will be where we get it out of our system: mussels and green garlic, porcini and dandelion or asparagus and fontina, stuff like that that’s a little more creative. Some of our stuff is kind of New York-inspired even though the pizza themselves are Neapolitan-inspired, like the clam pie. The first time I ever fell in love with clam pizza was in Lombardi’s in New York. The sausage, onions, peppers is New York. I had to get it off my chest. Everybody wants to put lamb sausage and scallions on it, you know?

Talk to me about the rest of the menu. We'll have two desserts, cannoli and baba au rhum to start. Antipasti that change daily will be reflective of the seasons, platters and bowls of it on the counter. A salad, probably a tri colore (that's arugula, raddichio and endive) with ham dressing. A bowl of fresh dressed mozzzrella doused in olive oil over arugula. A wild nettle frittata, chickpea and calamari salad, fresh cured anchovies, grilled summer squash, broccoli rabe cooked down with pine nuts and capers. (Craig asks me to hold while he talks to someone who's walked into the office. I hear him speaking Spanish and it reminds me of that article I read in the Washington Post about all the Central American immigrants who basically run the country's top kitchens.) We'll have a daily special that's “della padella” (from the pan). Every day will have its own entrée in a little cast-iron skillet. One day it’ll be eggplant parmigiana, or meatballs in ragu, mussels and clams with hot peppers.

Let's talk about the wines. I've read they're all reasonably priced. Yeah, twenty Italian wines under $45. Not all will be by the glass, but a good amount. I have this really cool custom wine unit. It keeps the reds at 57 degrees.

Any crust secrets? Pretty much what we learned to do [in Naples]. We went back and forth. We had a starter going and jumped through all these hoops to make a fermented dough, like a sourdough, but in the end we decided we like it better with a fresh yeast. We make it the night before or in the morning so it has a long slow rise. We use beautiful flour; we were going to use Tipo 0 from Italy but Charlie from Pizzaiolo tipped me off to organic flour milled in Oakland. It’s not shipped halfway around the world. I'm a little more conscious of resources.

It sounds like you've deliberately chosen locally-sourced ingredients for the pizzeria. Our food always will [have a local focus]. Italian food is about cooking with local products, with very regional and distinct cuisines. Cooking with local ingredients is more in the spirit of Italian food than importing Italian ingredients. I’m not using San Marzano tomatoes, I’m using California tomatoes –- they’re great. It’s not a conscious angle on the place, it’s just the way we cook already [at Delfina].

Tell me about the decor. It’s tiny. It’s really nice, though. Sleek, I would say, a lot of tiles, which is something we saw in every pizzeria in Naples. White tile flooring wraps up to a white tile wainscoting, tile in the kitchen. The pizza boxes will be [on display] on box racks to kill some of the echo. The boxes look like an Italian street sign. There'll be really cool music. Rock and roll.

Rock and roll means a lot of things. Are you talking Elvis? Bruce Springsteen? You'll have to wait and see.

Do you use an iPod for the music? Yeah, it’ll be on an iPod.

Can't you give me a hint on the music, Craig? Okay. If Delfina is John Coltrane, then Pizzeria Delfina is Iggy Pop.

'Nuff said.

Pizzeria Delfina, San Francisco, 3611 18th Street, 415-437-6800

Koloa Farmer's Market

Every Monday in Koloa on the south shore of Kauai, there's a farmer's market in Anne Knudson park. Of all the things I wanted to do while in Hawaii, this was the one real food adventure I had planned.

We walked down to the beach first to catch the morning sun, and returned to the condo sandy and smelling of the sea, our skin caked with salt, just in time to head off to the market, which opens at noon. The whole family went -- Mom, Dad, Little Sister and The Boyfriend, Little Brother and bien sur Mr. Food Musings.

I had promised them fresh fish and tropical flowers. We pulled into the parking lot and trudged across the pavement. The midday sun radiated fierce waves of heat that bounced off the blacktop and onto our skin. Thankfully, the very first vendor at the market was selling fresh coconuts. He'd lop off the top with a long sharp knife (which the men in the group identified as a type of machete), stick in a straw and collect his buck fifty. When you were done, you could bring them back for him to whack into chunks and scoop out the meat. The coconuts weren't brown and hairy, but pale green, smooth, very heavy. The coconut milk was a revelation, not for its flavor but for how little it tasted like coconut milk I've had. It was thin and nearly clear and not very sweet. We each got one and walked around the small market sipping on our authentic hunks of Hawaiiana, smiling, sweating, proud and full of aloha spirit. In other words, silly-looking tourists.

Little Brother was after mangoes for his mango lassi, and we found some immediately. Reddish-gold, this variety was firm to the touch, but the woman selling them swore they were ripe. "We pick these from a mango tree on the island and they don't have to soften to ripen," she swore. At $2.25 apiece, I wasn't dying to take the risk. I walked away to think about it.

We bought some pineapples, large ones and babies. Small, delicate Japanese eggplant begged to be roasted and served with pasta one night, and limes were so cute and round that Mom came away with ten. "They were practically giving them away," she explained with a guilty smile.

Little Sister came running up. "I found some beautiful red tomatoes, and the biggest okra I've ever seen!" she gushed. We scooped those up, as well as some dark purplish-green African basil. A deep sniff produced strong licorice notes, and I threw it in the bag for the pasta sauce.

I realized then that there was no fresh fish. I was disappointed, but soldiered on looking for flowers in bright fuschias and reds. A selection of pink orchids and coral red anthuriums went into the bag.

My shopping list exhausted, I meandered back to the mangoes. I stood there silently peering at them. Next to me was a woman who looked to be in her 60s or 70s. A bright red strapless muu-muu hugged her ample bosom and her sagging flesh spilled out over the edges. She wore comically large sunglasses and as she studiously placed mango after mango into her bag, looked up at me. "This is what I spend my gin and cigarette money on," she rasped. "Can't beat 'em." And then she laughed a deep down, throaty laugh. I was sold. I piled four or five into our bag and walked back to give the coconut man my drained shell.

Recipe: Dinner Party in 30 Minutes or Less

My friend R. is in town this week from San Diego, and she came by the apartment the other night for an impromptu dinner party with Mr. Food Musings and me. I always sweat it a little bit when I have someone over for dinner, even if it's an old, dear friend. I feel the pressure to wow people with my food, especially since I started the blog, and that's a problem since I tend towards humble fare. I'm also tortured by the endless possibilities -- something from the four new cookbooks I just bought? Something from someone else's blog? An old family favorite I've yet to try my hand at? A dish I've made a thousand times and know my guest already loves? It's enough to make a girl give up and call her favorite Thai restaurant for delivery.

Thankfully, ever since my friend E. served this to me and Mr. FM a year ago, this recipe for sea bass has been my go-to. It satisfies all the requirements for a last-minute weeknight dinner: fast, easy, healthy and stunningly delicious. Your guests will feel pampered and you'll be able to enjoy the meal, not having wasted precious energy preparing it.

Asian-style Sea Bass

Yield: 4

This is another Weight Watchers recipe but trust me, no one will ever know. I've added a few flavors that it seemed to be screaming for, namely garlic and cilantro, and some asparagus on the side (toss with olive oil, salt and pepper and roast 12-15 minutes in a 425 degree oven).

It would be irresponsible of me to post a recipe about Chilean sea bass without discussing the controversy surrounding it. The fish (which is really a Patagonian toothfish) is unfortunately overfished and therefore endangered. Within the last few years, you started hearing rumblings that you shouldn't buy it, but thereafter my local market posted a sign prominently at the fish counter reassuring customers that the Chilean sea bass they sell is sustainably fished. I've recently learned that this may not be true. A friend, S., is doing some research on Chilean sea bass and found that 80% of it is caught illegally by poachers. Some of that is then sold to reputable markets and restaurants as legally caught fish. It's nearly impossible to know, therefore, if the fish you're buying is putting its fishie brethren at risk for extinction, or not. Rather than further endangering this fish, unfortunately the best thing to do is to use something else. S. recommends escolar or butter fish, since they both capture that buttery flavor we all love in sea bass. If you can't find those, in a pinch you can use halibut, which doesn't have the same flavor but is a firm, flaky white fish. Not to preach, but unless you can be 100% sure the fish you're buying is sustainably fished, you should consider staying away. Even if you are sure your fish is legal, you might abstain anyway, since reducing demand for Chilean sea bass discourages stores and restaurants from offering it. Think globally, act locally?

1 lb. sea bass, escolar or butter fish

2 garlic cloves, minced

1 TBSP fresh ginger, peeled and minced

3 scallions, chopped

2 TBSP soy sauce

2 tsp sesame oil

2 cups cooked rice

1/4 cup fresh chopped cilantro

1. Cut the sea bass into 4 equal portions. Remember, it’s more important for the portions to be the same thickness than the same size – it will ensure they cook at the same rate.
2. Divide sea bass between two sheets of aluminum foil. Divide garlic, ginger and scallions in half and sprinkle over top of the fish. Drizzle ½ TBSP of soy sauce and 1 tsp of sesame oil over each packet of fish, then seal aluminum foil into tight packages.
3. Bring an inch of water to boil in a large pan. Add sealed packets of fish, cover, and reduce to simmer. Simmer 15 minutes or until fish flakes easily. Cooking time could vary from 10-20 minutes depending on thickness, so check occasionally by removing one packet from the water, unwrapping the aluminum foil and sticking a fork in it. (Make sure you serve yourself the piece that's been hacked into.)
4. Once cooked, drizzle remaining 1 TBSP soy sauce equally over 4 pieces of fish. Garnish with cilantro and serve atop rice.

Bourbon Street Sundaes

Yield: 4

Ice cream (or, in Mr. FM's words, "the food of the gods") was the inspiration for this equally quick and easy sundae. It comes from a cookbook that's out of print, and which I love dearly. The sauce takes about 10 minutes to make and zero skill, and there's a dash of bourbon which takes me back to my southern roots. Not that any of us ever drank bourbon at family events. Or any other time. But so what? Teetotalers beware: the alcohol is added after cooking and does not burn off.

1/2 cup brown sugar

1 TBSP cornstarch

1/4 cup skim milk

1 TBSP bourbon (I use Knob Creek)

1 tsp butter

2 TBSP pecans, chopped

vanilla ice cream for 4

1. In a medium sauce pan over medium-high heat, whisk brown sugar and cornstarch till mixed. Slowly drizzle in milk, whisking constantly, until mixture boils. Stir one minute longer until thickened and remove from heat.
2. Stir in bourbon, butter and pecans. Once butter is melted, place four scoops of vanilla ice cream in separate bowls and drizzle with sauce. Garnish with a plump whole pecan (and a shot of bourbon, if you're so inclined) and dig in.

Raw Bar

If you're not in the mood to stand in line on tired feet at Hog Island, or it's evening and Swan Oyster Depot is closed, another good raw bar to try is the one at Yabbie's Coastal Kitchen. Situated on the polished stretch of Polk Street in Russian Hill, Yabbie's is a seafood restaurant with a big choice of ocean eats. We dropped in Monday night for a last-minute dinner with Mr. Food Musings' folks and his nieces, L. and S., who were visiting from Colorado. Though I've eaten there a few times, this was the first time I realized how vast their selection of raw seafood treats is. Sit at the raw bar or get yourselves a table, tie on a bib (or not) and go to town.

Oysters, from Hog Islands to Kumamotos to Hama Hamas, were unbelievably creamy and fresh. We even convinced L. and S. to try 'em (L. chewed hers thoughtfully, smiled and took another one. S. spit hers out and hid it with the shell. Oh well, one out of two ain't bad!) Mignonette, my personal favorite, was on offer as well as cocktail sauce and fresh horseradish for the fearless.

The sashimi was a tri-fecta of smooth, tender, fresh fish: Hawaiian ahi tuna and salmon, which are always on the menu, and the halibut that was on special that evening. Shrimp ceviche came served in an edible bowl that looked like a deep-fried wonton shell, and jumbo shrimp cocktail were dunked head-down in a martini glass of cocktail sauce. Bright green zucchini and cucumber sat beneath the sauce in a sort of chunky gazpacho.

Mr. FM's dad cracked away at his Dungeness crab but he could have had the Maine lobster. S. happily plucked off the shells of her peel and eat shrimp, dipping each into cocktail sauce before popping them in her mouth.

Mussels and Littleneck and Manila clams rounded out the simpler selections, while spicy tuna poke (with raw ahi), lobster cocktail with orange and avocado, and oyster sake shooters might tempt you if you're looking for some added pizzazz.

Yabbie's Coastal Kitchen, San Francisco, 2237 Polk Street, 415-474-4088

Recipe: Mango Lassi

Little Brother's biggest contribution to the family feast in Kauai was the fresh mango lassi he blended one morning. We'd bought some big, beautiful reddish-yellow mangoes at the farmer's market, and the vendor explained -- much to my surprise -- that they could and should be eaten hard, unlike most mangoes you buy on the mainland which soften as they ripen. In this refreshing drink, traditionally served in India, the bright orange mango flesh is tempered to a pale peach color by the addition of yogurt and ice and it becomes a healthy, delicious smoothie perfect for starting out your morning or cooling off after a day at the beach. When Mom wondered aloud if it could be improved with a splash of rum, I knew she'd caught the island spirit! Da-da-da-da-da-da, da-da-da-da-da-ole!

Little Brother's Mango Lassi
Yield: 4-6

3 ripe mangoes
1 1/2 cups plain non-fat yogurt
3 TBSP brown sugar
a few handfuls of ice

1. Peel and chop the mangoes into chunks. (Note: If, in a momentary lapse of reason possibly resulting from the vast number of mai tais you consumed the night before, you forget that mango peel is tough and, if not inedible, certainly not pleasurable to munch on, and you cut up the mangoes without peeling them, do not despair! Merely remove the chunks from the blender and peel them piece by piece, all the while noting in a tone of voice sufficient to communicate your worldliness and vast knowledge that during your travels throughout southeast Asia, you stumbled upon a rare mango fruit with gorgeous soft skin that is always eaten and never peeled off. If those around you should roll their eyes skeptically, merely cluck your tongue as if to say, "Well you've never been there, now have you, so you wouldn't know!" Then sigh loudly, and continue to "humor" the ignoramuses by peeling the fruit.)
2. Dump all ingredients into blender, blend and drink.

Restaurant Roundup: Bocadillos and Nectar

Entropy is my sworn enemy, and Order my one true love. (Well, okay, Mr. Food Musings, don't pout, maybe it's my second true love.) And so I find myself a day back from holiday and bursting with tales of soft green coconuts, salty macadamia nuts, barely sweet fresh pineapple, flaky white fish like ono and opah just pulled from the sea, reddish-yellow mangoes that don't have to soften before eating, and coconut caramel ice cream -- but I must bow down to my God, Chronological Order, and write first about things I ate in San Francisco in the weeks before Mr. FM and I sailed away to the Garden Isle.

Bocadillos
The Scene Like the tapas on the menu, Bocadillos is a casual spot meant to be enjoyed at any moment of the day or night for short or long stretches of time. Walls the color of red peppers, pale wood communal tables down the center and metal chairs each contribute something different to the mix: the walls, a cozy warmth; the tables, an invitation to share your food and your night; the chairs, a spare esthetic echoed by the simple fare. A no reservations policy encourages you to swing by whenever the mood strikes.
The Staff Gerald Hirigoyen, formerly of Fringale and, more recently, Piperade fame marries his native Basque cuisine with traditional Spanish tapas (called pintxos in Basque country). The restaurant's name refers to miniature sandwiches, several of which grace the menu each night and prove that Hirigoyen has done his homeland proud. His chef de cuisine, however, is the one you're most likely to find in the kitchen.
The Stand outs Make sure you order at least one of the namesake bocadillos like the hearty Catalan sausage with arugula and manchego cheese, sliced in two for sharing. Boquerones (a type of anchovy), olives, artichokes and marinated mushrooms come artfully skewered on a wooden stick, their salty, puckery flavors comingling just as beautifully. Baby back ribs are glazed in honey and sherry and make for a sticky treat, and the quail with so-called Moorish flavors was a seductive dish indeed. Don't miss the chocolate cake -- yes, it's ubiquitous, but it had two serious foodies (one professional, one amateur) fighting for every bite.
The So whats? In two visits I never ate something I didn't think was done well, but not every morsel is an exercise in gustatory astonishment. I avoided the section cutely titled "Innard Circle" (though that's a personal preference). Some plates like vegetables, olives or cheese are to be commended for their simplicity, though the corresponding price tag may seem a bit much.

Bocadillos, San Francisco, 710 Montgomery Street, 415-982-2622

Nectar
The Scene This Marina wine bar cum retail wine shop cum restaurant is a study in sleek modern with splashes of color, calling to mind the West Elm catalog sitting on my coffee table. But there's something to it: the dark wood floors, plush purple chairs and white walls obviously appeal to the mainly 20- and 30-something clientele. Cubic stools line the short side of the bar and, though upholstered in what looked to be hair, were comfortable through a long night. If you get a table, prepare to lean forward so you can hear your dining companion over the din.
The Staff The two men behind the bar traded off making passionate, nearly zealous, recommendations about wine and food. All were taken, and all were fabulous. We appreciated their genuine interest, and maybe they appreciated ours as well, for we were rewarded with a gratis glass of dessert wine before the night was over. Chef Armando Litiatco changes the menu frequently and pairings are suggested for each dish.
The Stand outs We went for wine...and, thank goodness, stayed for dinner. Flights provide three generous tastings with fun-filled themes like bad-assed reds or anything but chard. Two we had and liked were the 2003 Karl Lagler Gruner Veltliner from Austria and the 2002 Pena Tajada Crianza, a tempranillo from Spain. Grilled asparagus, soft-shell crab, lamb three ways (each better than the last) and escabeche of sole are dishes I know I oohed-and-aahed over, though the two glasses of wine I drank before eating them clouded my recollection of how each was dressed. I remember that they were divine enough that not a bite was left on any plate, and I swore as I walked out at closing time that I'd be back soon.
The So whats? Hmmm. Maybe the two overly drunk men who came in at the end of the night and tortured us with their pathetic attempts to win over any unchaperoned gal in the place? Yes, that was the only downfall.

Nectar, San Francisco, 3330 Steiner, 415-345-1377

I'm Back!

Hawaii was a dream. We surfed glassy waves, laid on hot sandy beaches, snorkeled in lagoons teeming with fish all white and cobalt and gold and crimson and velvety brown. We hiked part of the Na Pali Coast to a hidden beach, sailed alongside frolicking Pacific Bottlenose dolphins, and took a helicopter tour of Waimea Canyon.

As it just so happens, we also did a fair bit of cooking and eating. Though Hawaii is not much of a food lover's paradise, there are great meals to be had, and some stunningly fresh fish. I'm also a bit behind on telling you about some stuff I've been eating in San Francisco. As I get back in my blogging groove over the next few days, look for posts about...
~ drinking fresh milk from a just cracked coconut at the Koloa farmer's market
~ meals at Roy's and Tidepools, two restaurants that do French/Asian/Hawaiian fusion using local ingredients
~ cooking en famille
~ Little Brother's recipe for mango lassi
~ write-ups of San Francisco's Bocadillos and Nectar
~ a Q&A with Craig Stoll, the chef/owner of newly opened Pizzeria Delfina