Where to Eat in San Francisco's Mission District

I'm so pleased with how my recent piece for Mix Magazine (THE eat + drink mag in Portland, Oregon) turned out. Curious about where to eat NOW in San Francisco's Mission District? Here's your guide. 

A Girl And Her Pig, and a Lentil & Chickpea Salad

The other day I was talking with my friend Meg about being a "late adopter." We both have brand new i-phones and were discussing why (why?) it had taken us so long to bite the bullet and purchase one of these sleek new machines. It turns out we're also the kind of people that wait before buying a book we know we're going to love and abstain from heading the theater the first weekend a movie we're excited about is released. We decided maybe, just maybe, that there's a bit of stubbornness involved. That we don't want to be told we're going to like something, we want to figure it out for ourselves. 

Such was the case with the new cookbook A Girl and Her Pig.

I rolled my eyes when it arrived. April Bloomfield is on the front, a pig draped around her neck like an elegant feather boa. She's a celebrity chef, known for her restaurants in New York (The Spotted Pig, The Breslin, The John Dory Oyster Bar), and her gutsy menus of Euro/British inspired pub food.

I had brunch at The Breslin in December. What I remember more than the food was the huge (beer pint sized) latte from The Ace Hotel's Stumptown Coffee. (It had been a long, late night.) I've walked by The Spotted Pig a dozen times. It's on one of those crazy corners in the Village that I don't think I could find if pressed, but always manage to stumble upon while wandering. I hear the burger at the Spotted Pig is killer, but I've never had it.

The point, of course, is that the decision that I'm not going to like April Bloomfield's cookbook is based on nothing but stubbornness. Thank goodness for a rainy Friday, a hot bath, and the Dalai Lama.

The book arrived in the mail on one of those days where the sky opens up and spews rain. Around 4PM, instead of going to my favorite yoga class, I sank into a steaming bath with the contents of the day's mail, including A Girl and Her Pig. I didn't care if it got wet because I didn't care about it. It was going to be given away or sold or something.

But then, I kind of liked it. The best part of the book, written with JJ Goode, it that it has a distinctive voice. I don't know what April Bloomfield sounds like when she talks, but sentences like this are written with such a strong voice I can hear and see her:

"I loved Sundays. That was when my nan had us over for roast lunch, often pork with all manner of veg, much of it copiously buttered. (The next morning, we'd make "bubble and squeak" with the leftovers, forming little patties and frying them up, then eating them topped with a fried egg.) And later there was tea, not just the drink,  but the meal: my dad would set out a spread of cakes, like Battenberg and Mr. Kipling Bakewell Tarts, and crisps and sandwiches of strawberry jam or cucumber or ham." 

There's also illustrations that look like they were cut from a 1960s cookbook, an energetic cursive font, and chapter headings that could have been twee (meat without feet; the not-so-nasty-bits; potato and friends) but are charming. Never mind that I'm never, ever going to roast a lamb's head or make a tongue sandwich. I'm inspired!

Enter the Dalai Lama -- or rather the Dalai Lama's brother. Sean drove off early Saturday morning to attend a "teaching" with the DL's bro. (Did you even bother to think if the Dalai Lama has a brother? He does.) And I drove off to have coffee with a friend. I wanted to share the cookbook with her, so I packed it with me. By the end of our date it was raining hard enough that I had an intense urge to hunker down, so I drove directly to the grocery store. In the parking lot I hatched a plan: I was going to make something from A Girl and Her Pig.

I picked, at random, the Lentil and Chickpea Salad with Feta and Tahini. This seemingly simple salad took longer than expected to execute, reminding me that sometimes these celebrity chefs aren't respectful of the home cook's time. But it was worth it. Bloomfield calls it a "jumble of different textures and flavors.... It's completely vegetarian, and yet somehow, when I take a bite the cumin, the funky cheese, and the sesame seeds all conspire to create a flavor that I swear reminds me of roasted lamb."

It is indeed savory, and good enough to eat alone, though we paired it with good sausages. I like to think that's what any self-respecting British celebrity chef would do.

Lentil and Chickpea Salad with Feta and Tahini
Bloomfield says, "you might be tempted to follow a recipe loosely --I know I often am-- but on your first go, please try it my way. Then once you've made it two or three times, feel free to tweak as you like." 

For the lentils:
Scant 1 cup dried Puy or Casteluccio lentils, picked and rinsed over
2 large garlic cloves, halved lengthwise
2 sage sprigs
2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil

For the dressing and salad
2 teaspoons coriander seeds, toasted and ground
1 teaspoon cumin seeds, toasted and ground
1/2 large garlic clove
maldon or another flaky sea salt
2 tablespoons well stirred tahini paste
about 1/4 cup freshly squeezed lemon juice
2 tablespoons plus 2 teaspoons extra virgin olive oil
1 and 3/4 cups drained chickpeas, low sodium if canned
1/2 small preserved lemon, pith and flesh discarded, rind finely diced
1 very small red onion, thinly sliced into half-moons
A handful of small, delicate cilantro sprigs
A scant 1/4 cup feta, preferably goat's milk
1 and 1/2 tablespoons raw sesame seeds, toasted in a dry pan till a shade or two darker

Make the lentils: Put the lentils, garlic, sage, and olive oil in a small pot, along with 2 cups cold water, and set it over medium heat. Let the water come to a simmer (don't let it boil), then turn the heat to low and cook the lentils in a very gentle simmer just until they are tender  -- about 25 minutes. Take the pan off the heat and let the lentils cool, then drain them very well and pick out and discard the sage and garlic. You'll have about 2 cups cooked lentils.

Make the dressing: Mix together the ground coriander and cumin in a small bowl. Mash the garlic clove to a paste with 1 teaspoon salt in a mortar. Combine the mashed garlic, the tahini paste, 3 tablespoons of the lemon juice, 2 tablespoons of the olive oil, 1 teaspoon of the ground spice mixture, and 2 tablespoons water in a bowl. Stir the mixture well. Have a taste and consider adding another teaspoon of lemon.

Assemble the salad: Toss the lentils with the drained chickpeas, preserved lemon rind, and 1 teaspoon salt in a large mixing bowl. Pour in the tahini dressing and toss it all together really well.
Put the onion slices in a medium bowl and break them up with your fingers. Sprinkle in 2 good pinches of salt, then add two teaspoons of lemon juice. Add the 2 remaining teaspoons olive oil and the cilantro and toss gently but well. Crumble in the cheese. Give it another gentle toss.
Scatter a few handfuls of the chickpea-lentil mixture onto a large platter in one layer. Scrape the onion and cheese mixture into the bowl with the rest of the lentils and chickpeas and toss it gently so the ingredients are well distributed but the cilantro stays pert. Scatter this mixture on top of the lentils and chickpeas on the platter. Sprinkle on some of the remaining spice mixture and then the sesame seeds and serve.

Chi-Town

Last night, while out with friends, I was asked about my weekend in Chicago. "Name your low, your high, and your high high," someone said.

My low was by far the combined eight hours I spent in SFO and O'Hare.
My high was seeing family and friends in an almost-new city -- I hadn't been to Chicago in almost ten years!
My high high? The hotel.

I am not the type of girl who cares very much about lodging. When I travel, I'm there to see what goes on outside the hotel front doors, so the interior doesn't matter much to me. I've stayed in many clean but spare quarters and done just fine.

But there is something to be said for modern, elegant, and completely over-the-top accommodations. And The Elysian was divine. We arrived in our room to find beds draped in white linens, a fireplace, and letter pressed memo cards for taking notes -- least you forget something.

The concierge -- how I loved the concierge-- had delivered a welcoming spread fit for a foodie queen: bubbly, a charcuterie plate, and five perfect macarrons. Pop! went the bubbles and the weekend began.

We ate that night at Balsan, the hotel bistro. It felt oh-so big city, even though our meals (salads, tarte flambe, and a burger) leaned more towards down home comfort food.

The next day we lounged in our room and ate hotel delivered breakfast before enjoying a noontime snack at the Signature Lounge on the 95th floor of the John Hancock tower. The view wasn't clear, but if you were brave enough to creep to the edge, you could see Lake Michigan, a crowd of buildings, and tiny yellow taxis darting back and forth.

That night I dinner hopped: I went with family to Gemini Bistro. The wine list was super and I was thrilled to find a bottle of 2007 Brooks Willamette Valley Pinot Noir for the table. I tried not to look at the menu because I was saving myself for my second meal, but the food that arrived looked great and the few duck fat fries I had were crispy, fatty, salty, and delicious. A perfect appetizer.

Next, I hopped in a cab and went to Nightwood. This little restaurant was bustling; it reminded me of bohemian Portland and the spots I used to haunt when I lived there. We had a lovely series of small plates paired with a Rhone red. First there was broccoli rabe with golden raisins, pine nuts and anchovies; next came beets and citrus with burrata, and raviolis stuffed with shredded pork. For dessert there was a crispy buttery sweet-tart rhubarb turnover with a cloud of whipped cream and a few floating strawberries.

Sunday brought simple breakfast, family dinner, and a nightcap at Bernard's Bar in the hotel. Would you hate me if I told you I ordered the 1989 armagnac and when they were out, they gave me a glass of the 1959? It was nutty and caramel laced and fragrant -- a completely heady way to end my last night.

I'm realizing I should have taken photos but sometimes the moments are too good to distract with cameras. I just wanted to dig in.

Dinner at Stellina

My lovely dinner at stellina: the photos are out of order but I don't have time to fix them and I don't think it matters much at all.

Of course I got the menu first, and stewed over it quite a bit, all while drinking a glass of De Stefanis Barbara d'Alba 2007. This chewy dark red was just what I wanted.
And in the end, I decided to order just what I'd been thinking about the entire drive to Pt Reyes: beans and greens. Simmered rosemary cannellini beans with braised chard. It sounded so simply and healthy and warm and good.
It was perfect!

Sometime soon I hope to go back to Stellina for something more elaborate, but for this Friday night I loved being able to sit alone in a busy restaurant, watching everything buzz around me, and eat something that I could have cooked at home but didn't have to.
For dessert I ordered a glass of Degiorgis Moscato d'Asti, 2007 from Piedmont and a toasted almond biscotti. Again, so perfect -- I love simple food.

Holy Focaccia

In the past few years I have gotten pretty jaded about eating and drinking. I am extremely fortunate to have lived in fantastic big cities with talked about restaurants. I am even luckier to get to go to these restaurants, not just read the reviews or longingly stand outside looking into fogged up restaurant windows. Because of this is is becoming increasingly rare that I have a "food moment."

What is a food moment? By my definition it is when you taste something so good you are dumbfounded. There aren't words to describe it. You go to bed thinking about it, you wake up wondering, "was it really that good?"

These are the meals or dishes that years later you still think about: the duck and fig salad at Chez Panisse, the summer farro salad at Higgins, the pork belly at Gotham Tavern... These are food moments. Yum.

And guess what? I had three food moments in nearly as many weeks in San Francisco. And all from the same food! This is almost unheard of -- how often do you get to go back somewhere and have it be just as good as it was before? Rarely.

And this is why I am so excited about our newest discovery: a restaurant in the mission called Farina.

The first time we went we ordered a green salad, the focaccia, and the handkerchief pasta with pesto. The second time we went we ordered the green salad, the focaccia, and the handkerchief pasta. The third time we went we ordered the green salad, the focaccia, and the handkerchief pasta. Are you sensing a pattern?

I have not been to Italy anytime recently but these dishes are to die for. The focaccia is unlike anything I've ever eaten: extremely thin and crackling hot, the light layers are filled with a slippery cream sauce and lots of rich melted cheese. Piled on top is a bit of arugula and prosciutto. You can cut it or rip it or tear it but eat it fast. This won't be hard.

It is a rich dish. If the dreamy pasta were not on the menu I would probably stop there. But the dreamy pasta is so amazing: layers of squares of pasta loosely piled on a plate and topped with the thinnest, creamiest, pesto sauce. It is out of this world, wake up in the middle of the night thinking about it good.

It is a trip to Italy, but much cheaper, and you still get to sleep in your own bed. A staycation, if you will, for the economy ravaged West Coast set. Bon appetito!!