Restaurant Roundup: Florio & Canteen

Florio
The Scene It was a dark and stormy night, the kind best suited to staying in. The rain was pouring down in sheets and the streets were nearly empty. All the sensible people had long since gone home. From a deserted alley came the faint but unmistakable tap-tap-tap of a woman's heels. The sound grew louder and louder, and soon a couple came into view. They walked quickly, but with purpose in each step. The collars of their overcoats were turned up and they huddled tightly together, sharing a small black umbrella. Occasionally a fierce gust of wind would blow up and slap their faces with cold water; the umbrella could not protect against that, and so they hunched over. Every so often the woman would look back over her shoulder, turning her head stiffly and then quickly back, her pace quickening. Suddenly, a shadowy glow materialized behind them, and I could just make out a pair of headlights. The car approached slowly, its tires crunching over gravel. When it had pulled up next to the couple, it stopped. Through the frantic back-and-forth of the windshield wipers it was impossible to see who was inside, but whoever it was must have called the couple over. The woman looked up at the man, and hesitated, then opened her mouth in reply. A moment passed. Then the car started to move again, slowly made its way through a puddle, then turned left into the darkness. By then, the rain had tapered off to a steady drizzle, and the couple headed in the direction of a red neon sign a few hundred feet away. Candles glowed from within like the faraway lights of ships at sea, and the couple dashed inside, letting a vapor of conversation escape. I caught a glimpse of dark gleaming wood, black and white checkered floors and linen tablecloths. Inside, the couple stashed their umbrella in a can and shook the rain off their coats. The woman looked up at the man and smiled as they took a seat at a round table in the window. They settled in for a long dinner, and I put out my cigarette. Time to call it a night.

The Staff Opened by Doug Biederbeck and Joseph Graham in 1998, Florio is the cozy older sister to the Ferry Plaza's MarketBar, the duo's latest venture. The chef has changed a few times -- I think right now it's Rick Hackett -- but the food has stayed  solidly French bistro-Italian trattoria. On most visits over the years, the waitstaff has been quick with recommendations, friendly but not to the point that they become part of the table's conversation, and happy to bring out extra ketchup or a few tastes of wine to help you choose the right one. The bartender knows his regulars and can keep them well entertained, matching up the lonely onlies for a chat and keeping the inevitable drunk from forking a bite from  your plate.

The Stand-outs The $30 prix fixe is one of the best deals in town, and it's available every night of the week. It changes weekly as near as I can tell. Steak-frites with béarnaise is my favorite; the hanger steak boasted an invigorating sprinkling of fresh rosemary on our last visit, and the the fries are always crisp and lightly salted -- plus, the all-important ketchup is Heinz. Radishes with butter and sea salt make for a frisky starter along with any of a number of whites -- they don't skimp on the wines by the glass. Pastas like the sugar pie pumpkin ravioli with sage and brown butter or tagliatelle Bolognese are well executed classics, and specials like the bone-in ribeye for two make for a romantic meal. 

The So whats? The simple green salad can sometimes be overdressed; when it's not, though, the vinaigrette is one of my local favorites (second only to Garibaldi's). On our last visit, the bread wasn't the Rigo stuff we'd come to expect, and to add insult to injury, instead of butter, they served this horrified purist a garlicky white bean spread. What's classic about that?

Florio, San Francisco, 1915 Fillmore Street, 415.775.4300

Canteen
The Scene A tiny former diner in the semi-downtrodden TenderNob has managed to successfully merge two styles: modernism's fresh clean lines balance a campy bit of 50's nostalgia. A lime green counter runs the length of one side, and four small booths hug the other wall. Bookshelves here and there are crammed with books and give the place an erudite air. A neon arrow points to the chef at work on the line, and if you get a seat close enough you can watch him toss hot sauté pans and, occasionally, drop his tongs (five second rule!) At dinner the crowd is a comfortable, casual mix of friends, couples and solo diners.

The Staff You've got to admire a man who left his post at Rubicon to work the line three meals a day, seven days a week. Dennis Leary's blond curls bob up and down as he cooks, moving this way and that in his narrow "kitchen," turning out scallop ceviche and homemade ginger ice cream. Despite the restaurant's diner history, his food hasn't taken a downturn towards comfort food just yet. Besides Leary, you'll find a prep cook and two servers who do their jobs with a mix of savoir-faire, reciting dishes made up of a dozen ingredients expertly, and sauciness, eavesdropping when the counter talk interests them. (Tip: gay men are likely to get a better table, depending on who's doing the seating that night.)

The Stand-outs The menu changes almost completely every day, so it's hard to make recommendations. On my visit, the well-portioned scallop ceviche, served in a faux halfshell on a bed of rock salt, was delicately flavored and nicely matched with celery, avocado, cilantro and plenty of lime. Haddock came atop an artichoke purée with an earthy heart balanced on the mild white fish; the buttery onion sauce made us swoon. Dessert, a dried cherry and apricot crisp with ginger ice cream, was an intensely flavorful mix of oats, granola and spices galore (cinnamon? nutmeg? ginger?) that synched nicely with the spicy icy treat. The nicest touch? An amuse of smoked salmon wrapped around a pickled red onion slice that looked like a rose petal.

The So whats? The token vegetarian entrée didn't work on any level. Diced root veg (parsnips, turnips, potatoes) and mushrooms (cremini and shitake) were sautéed in butter, then tossed onto a too-large scoop of cloying chestnut purée (it would have been tolerable in a smaller quantity). Goat cheese and cranberries added tang and tartiness meant to temper the sweetness of the vegetables, but instead made the dish tasted like a disparate mish-mash. The portion wasn't a good value for the money, and it wasn't pretty to look at. Vegetable fricassé be gone!

Canteen, San Francisco, 817 Sutter Street, 415.928.8870

Comments

[Sam]

Crikes. I just did my own little restaurant roundup and completely zoned out on the fact I had a great lunch at Canteen a couple of weeks ago. Guess I am going to have to go back and try it again soon. Maybe she would all meet up early for breakfast one day, before work.

[Amy]

Just ate there for breakfast with Karletta. It was excellent. The corned beef has is probably the best I've ever had, they smoke their own corned beef. Who else does that? If you go for breakfast--call me!

[Nerissa]

Soon I'll get to do some restaurant reviews (Other than Shearwater's) ... three weeks now... three weeks now... I can't wait! HURRAH!

Wow... I was really sucked into the story at the beginning of your post. I love the details. I'm such a detail person who loves, say, the description of the sound of falling rain. Or descriptions of the texture of a good french fry as it melts over the tongue. It's those nuances that really let you feel the character of the setting or experience the action simultaneously with the protagonist.

[Catherine]

Sam -- did you mean "we should" rather than "she would?" If so, I'm with Amy -- let's do it!

Nerissa -- if the term "restaurant whore" hadn't been taken by my friend Joy I might qualify (or maybe just in my dreams?). But I'd die if I couldn't eat out once, twice, thrice a week -- I just adore the ambiance and the vibe. As for nuance, I agree -- that is what good food writing is all about!

[sam]

of course i meant that - we can plan it on thursday. Breakfast is one of those times of day when i don't have other engagements, usually.

[Catherine]

Perfecto!