San Francisco Food Blog

J. Birdsall

The darkly autumnal duck ravioles with porto-raisin jus.

​The good news: Panam is like a little place in some outer arrondissement of Paris.

The bad news: Panam is like a little place in some outer arrondissement of Paris. You know -- the kind of restaurant with a thick sheen of artifice, but a lack of substance that leaves you feeling: meh.

Michelle Yu

Foie gras torchon: Surrounded by sweetness.

​The mod bistro and lounge (Panam's a nickname for Paris in the local vernacular) opened in the Castro last week in the former Frisee space, downstairs from The Café. If S.F.'s design vernacular of the moment is splinter-y and rusticated, Panam veers off in the direction of Euro flash: chrome, red lights, and sleek paneling. Though a few elements in the dishes we tried had all the depth we'd hoped to find, most of the food felt as self-consciously posh as Panam's lobster-red velveteen banquette.

Duck ravioles with chanterelles and truffle foam ($13) were delicious, thanks to a porto-raisin jus that tasted darkly autumnal. Three discs of foie gras torchon ($16), rimmed with pale yellow duck fat, were fine, though their accompaniments of toasted brioche, Medjool date mash, and raspberry purée skewed too sweet.

Michelle Yu

Chicken grand-mere: Definitely not like granny used to make.

​A boneless cube of seven-hour braised lamb shoulder ($19), a mid-sized entrée, was soft but underseasoned, and its heavily reduced sauce looked rich but lacked depth. Chicken grand-mere ($19) -- grandmother's chicken, a name that had us hoping for something long-cooked and comforting -- turned out to be three roulades of skinless chicken breast, dabbed with mushroom duxelles, propped up in floury gravy.

In all fairness, the kitchen's only been open for a week -- not long enough for rendering final judgment. Still, the food left us feeling like we'd wandered onto the wrong tour bus, and dropped us off in a part of Paris that left us longing for home.

Panam 2367 Market at (17th St.), 556-6200