San Francisco Food Blog

J. Birdsall

The Quinoa 'N Kale salad: Surprisingly, it works.

​Call it a work in progress. Urban Picnic is in week two of a soft opening likely to last at least another. Then again, Picnic is nothing less than a dramatic reconcepting by owner Trang Nguyen, who for the past year operating dessert café Chill in the same in the same FiDi space. Poleng Lounge chef Tim Luym is Picnic's menu architect, only apparently the changeover has required more tweaking (and perhaps staff training) than expected. Poleng cooks are working Urban Picnic's line for the moment, and equipment is in flux. On Monday, something that looked like a freezer was being hoisted through the front door -- in the middle of lunch.

J. Birdsall

No telling when the soft opening will end.

​The food suggests Luym's challenge as a consultant: devise salads and sandwiches with personality, and that also speak to the lowest common denominator of lunchtime customers who crave turkey breast on white.

The lemongrass chicken sandwich on baguette ($7) was a banh mi in two worlds, recognizably Viet (lightly pickled shredded carrots, cilantro, jalapeño slices), but with a whiff of hoagie, too. Another sandwich -- turkey honey guacamole ($8.50) -- seemed like a concept that'd drifted from the original. Roast slices of composite turkey breast mingled with small clumps of roasted jalapeño and super-thin red onion slices. But the guacamole turned out to be avocado slices drizzled with honey. The effect was only slightly strange, and the sandwich was barely different from scores of turkey-avo specimens for sale across the FiDi.

throw a./Yelp

Lovely for linner.

​In Tortaland, size rarely matters, though it is often noted. When we deign to tackle even a relatively tidy, reasonably sized specimen, we're usually reminded of Roald Dahl's The BFG -- how the sweet-hearted title character, by far the smallest giant in Giant Country, still stood 24 feet tall, towering over buildings, lamp-posts, and trees. That said, the aptly named La Torta Gorda serves what is not only arguably the best torta on 24th Street, but most assuredly one of the very biggest, at least with regard to surface area. It's nice when quantity and quality go hand in sauce-smeared hand.

Some tortas are certainly more amply stuffed with fillings, but La Torta Gorda's -- laid out on broad slabs of bread with layers of refried beans, mayonnaise, cheese, and jalapeño peppers -- stack up with sheet pans and the shields of Roman legionnaires. Our go-to is pollo, either grilled in thin strips, or as a Milanesa, crusty and deep-fried. We usually eat half for late Saturday breakfast, and the other half for linner, which is, of course, that mid- to late-afternoon repast designed to tide one over until cocktails. Or whenever the sidewalk tacos from Vallarta start to smell really good.

La Torta Gorda 2833 24th St. (at Bryant), 642-9600

J. Birdsall

The tuna and tapenade panino: The canned pole-and-line-caught albacore is from San Diego.

​Here's the thing: We tried a trio of box lunches from Bar Bambino (2931 16th St. at Mission) soon after they debuted in late September. Frankly, we hated them. The three sandwiches (though they're not grilled, Bar Bambino calls them panini) were too bready, the fillings either dry, oily, or otherwise lackluster. And the accompanying salad? A clump of greens with a side of vinaigrette. A disappointment -- the kitchen wasn't nearly ready.

J. Birdsall

No mistaking which box contained the porchetta sandwich.

​Today we went back for an anonymous revisit. Only this time, the boxes (all $12) won us over. A tuna salad and tapenade panino was vivid and salty, moist without being gunked up with mayo. The sourdough roll had chew (all the rolls are from Firebrand Artisan Breads in Oakland, which bakes in a wood-fired oven), and the multi-bean salad was a mosaic of honest specimens (corona, ceci, and borlotti, though they vary a bit from day to day). The tuna is canned, by the way -- pole-and-line caught albacore from a handful of San Diego fishing families under the name American Tuna.

The porchetta panino delivered vividness of a different sort. The plush, anisey slices came plastered with sinus-clearing mustard, sherry-spiked caramelized onions, and pieces of dark-tasting fried ones. Both boxes came with shortbread cookies flecked with TCHO cocoa nibs and Italian soda.

Bar Bambino's boxes are available Tue-Sat, 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Free delivery for 10 or more. Otherwise, you'll pretty much have to pick up.

a w./Yelp

The fried chicken sandwich: At some point, this was flapping around.

​As we learned last week, Mission Burger at Duc Loi Supermarket (2200 Mission at 18th St.) has swapped a fried chicken sandwich ($8) for its vegan burger -- a deservedly well-loved delectable a good many non-vegans are sad to see depart. Unfortunately, between the time-consuming process by which the crunchy patties were crafted, and the ire of a solitary vegan over a single and exceedingly minor case of fishy cross-contamination, the burger dudes seem happy to send that light, crunchy puck of kale and mushrooms drifting off into the sunset. We stopped by on Saturday to appraise the replacement.

A few ladies were tearing into saucy-looking specimens when we arrived, bellowing wordless incantations of glee between bites. Nominal vegetarians, they were also grilling the cook with regard to the old meatless standby's premature extinction. He relinquished no ground, describing the whole vegan burger endeavor as "too prohibitive" for the work he and his comrades were doing, and suggesting cheerfully that mourners should "get over it."

A perfect response, we thought, as we packed away a foil-wrapped parcel to haul home. We remembered something a good friend -- incidentally, also a good cook -- said a long time ago, back when our vegetarianism was in the grips of a death knell, a once-firm consumption-shaped identity fizzling fainter and fainter with each carnivorous undertaking. We were still wary of pork then, hesitant to throw down for ribs to cook at a backyard barbecue. "Don't get chicken!" he'd exclaimed as we'd walked towards the store, flabbergasted we were even entertaining the idea. "Chicken's a vegetable!"

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

G. Miguel

Yeah, it's big.

​Following a Hall of Fame-size career in the NBA, Golden State Warriors legend Nate
Thurmond opened Big Nate's Barbeque in SOMA more than a decade ago, serving up a simple menu of Southern barbecue that hasn't really changed since then. The meat selection is straightforward: Memphis pork, beef links, beef brisket, chicken, and pork ribs. Side dishes include greens, country beans, potato salad, and coleslaw. The beef brisket ($8.95 for a half order -- half orders here are Thurmond-size) was drenched in mildly sweet barbecue sauce, and the beef was incredibly tender. But the sauce was a bit overwhelming -- it masked a lot of the natural flavor of the beef, which was lacking in smokiness. Devoid of tartness, the bland coleslaw seemed like an afterthought.

G. Miguel

The beef brisket: Bland and drenched.

​Thankfully, the Memphis pork ($8.95 for a half order) was smoky, with just enough fat in the meat to keep it juicy and tender. We had it with the spicy barbecue sauce, which started out subtle but by the end of the meal had built to a wicked heat, a welcome surprise. The potato salad had good texture, with large chunks of potato and a bit of crispness courtesy of celery and pickles.

But maybe what we like best of all about Nate's is the free delivery on weekends, which is a great option if you don't want to step away from all the sporting action on TV.

Big Nate's Barbeque 1665 Folsom (at 13th St.), 861-4242

justinsfpics/Flickr

Look away, sheep lovers: Namu's lamb chops with Thai basil pesto.

​We figured we should have ordered Namu's recently floated Korean fried chicken when we saw a platter of it drop on a nearby table. But just as we were second-guessing our selections, a heavyset British guy prepared to place his own table's order. Scowling and jowly -- a dead ringer for Chris Hitchens, actually -- he leaned over and loudly asked the couple engaged with the chicken's dismemberment what they thought of it. "Is it good? It's good, right?" he asked again and again. "It's pretty good," said the man eating chicken, shrugging, a flap of crusty skin hanging from the half-eaten drumstick in his hand. His dining companion nodded lightly in agreement. Hitch snorted and ordered something else.

"Pretty good" sums up Namu pretty well. In most dishes, individual elements sang sweet, clear notes, but a coherent, delicious melody did not always take shape. The panko-crunchy halibut "sticks" with cheddar cheese ($11) didn't need kimchi remoulade. Something acidic and clean -- vinegar, maybe -- would have been a better foil for fried fish and melted cheese. Shiitake dumplings ($9) sat in an intense, magnificent mushroom dashi broth but suffered from thick skins. Considering how much love they've gotten lately, we expected more from the Korean "tacos" ($7 for two). They came with a tomato salsa and the same kimchi remoulade that graced the platter of fish sticks. Less dainty than they've looked in pictures, the mounds on nori squares dripped more pink than an In-N-Out burger with extra sauce. There could have been Soyrizo underneath all that goop and we'd scarcely have known. Still, uni shiso tempura ($14) was simultaneously subtle yet assertive, and the lamb chop with Thai basil pesto, sambal, and arugula salad ($13) was delicious enough to banish -- at least momentarily -- the lingering guilt felt by even this life-long lover of sheep.

In all, we ate well, though not well enough to justify what we'd spent. In these still quite troubled economic times, people like us with bank accounts significantly smaller than our stomachs demand high returns on what, for us, are relative splurges. When you're sacrificing other pleasures -- new shoes, a stack of vinyl, or a nice pair of sunglasses -- for food, $100 is a lot to spend on a single non-special occasion dinner for two, especially when the same expense can provide eats for weeks in the form of a big trip to the grocery store, 20 burritos, 50 tacos, or, for the truly desperate, a few hundred packages of ultra-cheap ramen. The bar is higher now, and under the circumstances, "pretty good" isn't quite good enough.

Namu 439 Balboa (at Sixth Ave.), 386-8332

Jonas T./Yelp

More reliable than a space heater?

​Seven years ago, a fire ravaged the original Chava's on 18th and Shotwell. The restaurant's chilaquiles, fresh tortillas, and machaca con huevos had many devotees -- including, if one perky Yelp-er is to be believed, Cheech Marin, who supposedly raved about Chava's back when he used to shoot Nash Bridges on location. We learned about Chava's in 2003, not long after the fire. We were bleary, exhausted, and aching, trying desperately to fight off an entrenched virus. An acquaintance swore by its caldo de pollo as a cold season curative, so we shuffled ten blocks and found out the restaurant had been shuttered.

Chava's has been back for several years. The current location -- Mission Street between 24th and 25th -- is livelier but possibly problematic. With La Taqueria posted up on the same stretch of pavement, potential customers may be lured away -- which is a shame, because Chava's is no taqueria. Last week, sick once more, and despondent that a certain local chain of Chinese restaurants wouldn't deliver a $15 order, we stopped in to pick up some soup. As we waited, a woman selling flores whisked past our table, cackling into her cell phone between pitches. A man in a half-buttoned blue cowboy shirt and a gigantic white hat ate birria and sipped a glass of Inglenook Chardonnay at the counter.

The cashier gave us chips, salsa, and guacamole, and -- after 15 minutes -- a large sack of various parcels to take home. We walked back to the apartment and excavated: one quart-sized plastic carton containing tomato-flecked broth; cylinders of unpeeled carrot; potato hunks; squash; about a third of a chicken's worth of meat and bones; one small cup of rich, seasoned rice; three foil-wrapped corn tortillas, warm and fluffy; one foil packet of chopped raw onion, lemon wedges, and cilantro; and a really tiny cup of a potent-smelling rust-colored compôte. The onions softened in the broth; the lemon cut through the salt and gave the chile heat a tangy new dimension. After a few tentative dabs, we poured in all of the compôte. Thirty minutes later, we limped toward bed, our head bathed in a soft nimbus of radiating warmth. The rice, most of the chicken, and a tortilla headed to the fridge -- only to re-emerge eight hours later, for breakfast.

Chava's 2839 Mission (at 24th St.), 282-0283

J. Birdsall

For Chicagoans, a big old whiff of home.

​In Chicago, where, outside of restaurants with $30 entrees, the quality of lunch is calculated partly by its girth, the Italian beef sandwich draws epic love. Soft-cooked, thinly sliced pot roast meat -- chuck, maybe -- packed into rolls just as soft, especially ordered "wet," which means soaked in the meat's jus. Comes with a scatter of giardiniera; ask for it "hot," and it comes with pickled chiles. There's no way to eat without getting your chin wet, eventually itchy, and without the roll dissolving into a patchy kind of panade in your fingers.

J. Birdsall

Two expats keep the home fires burning.

​For a little over a year now, Chicago expats Yvonne Long and Natalie McMahon have been serving up simulacra of this iconic sandwich at Da Beef, a hot dog cart planted next to Oil Can Henry's quick lube (300 Seventh St. at Folsom). The rolls are from Chicago bakery Gonnella -- for that matter, so's the giardiniera, which they get via a distributor in Petaluma (ditto all the fixings for Da Beef's Chicago-style dog, including the Vienna Beef wiener).

J. Birdsall

The Chicago-style dog is dead on.

​Being honest? Da Beef's Italian beef sandwich ($7) looks like the real deal, and a mouthful into the giardiniera, tastes like it, too. Sadly, the beef itself lacks flavor. Three bites in, you think it's you, as if your tastebuds just aren't engaging; five bites in, you realize it's the meat itself, pale and washed out, and with fatally wan jus. Still, for anyone homesick for Mr. Beef on Orleans on the Near North Side, Da Beef's copy might do. At least for a minute or two. Anyway, the Chicago-style hot dog ($4, including relish stained cartoon-frog green, tomato, pickle spear, and celery salt) is awesome.

Eating in Translation/Flickr

Ahmohk: Salty Cambodian fish mousse.

​If you order only one thing at Angkor Borei, the 22-year-old Cambodian restaurant at the foot of Bernal Heights (3471 Mission at 30th St.), let it be ahmohk ($9.50), a salty, almost frothy fish mousse steamed in a banana leaf basket. If you order only two things, let the second be prahok ($8.65), a mound of salty, stewed ground pork with a scattering of raw vegetables -- carrots, cauliflower, etc. -- laid out for the dipping. It's like a ragu trapped in a bagna cauda, and it's amazing. If you get three things at Angkor Borei, open the menu, close your eyes, and point. We're not sure how it stacks up with Cambodian food in Cambodia, but one thing is for sure: Everything we've had here has been fresh and fantastic. On a recent visit, we tried blanket prawns, advertised as prawns wrapped in bacon and rice paper, then fried. Amazingly, we could not actually see any sign of bacon but, somehow, with every chomp and crunch, sensed its smoke. Now, we're seriously impressed. When it comes to bacon, power of suggestion is a rare feat.

nerd.love

Kimbap sushi, a meaty take on maki.

​Long before Kung Fu Tacos began selling Asian-fusion tacos out of a truck in the Financial District, John from John's Snack and Deli was serving Korean fusion from an unassuming convenience store in the same 'hood. At first glance, John's looks like a tiny market with little more to offer beyond Lotto tickets, gum, and cigarettes, but behind the counter lies a small kitchen that serves mom-inspired Korean dishes. Some days, John's mom is actually behind the counter, preparing food for the lunch lines that form daily.

nerd.love/Flickr

The BBQ chicken taco.

​Regular offerings include kimchi burritos, tacos, and kimbap sushi. The kimchi burrito ($5.95) is stuffed with bulgogi beef (you can substitute chicken or pork), sautéed kimchi, lettuce, salsa, onions, cilantro, and rice. It's wrapped tightly in its tortilla, packed densely so you get a little of everything in each bite. The bulgogi is slightly sweet and the kimchi only mildly spicy, while cilantro adds a nice clean finish to each juicy bite. Tacos ($2.95) offer up the same ingredients (minus rice), tucked into small, soft tortillas. Kimbap sushi ($3.75) is a maki-like roll of kimchi, sausage, or Spam -- we did say the dishes were mom style.

Specials change daily, and might include kimchi fried rice, japchae noodles, or soups. To find out what's on for the week, check the Web site. If there's something you want but isn't listed, John says he'll try to accommodate your request if he can. Service is fast and friendly, but try to avoid the peak lunch rush between noon and 1 p.m.

John's Snack and Deli 40 Battery (at Pine), 434-4634. Mon-Thu, 6 a.m.-6 p.m.; Fri, 6 a.m.-4 p.m.

M. Ladd

It's a math joke. Get it?

​In case you just blew in from Fresno, or swore off reading any local food blog in the past two weeks? Pi Bar opened yesterday. This blogger can report it is a relief to have a sit-down spot in the 'hood for pi and draft brews - it's open from 3 p.m. to midnight daily, and is serving up New York-style pizza with what Pi calls a "West Coast imperative" that focuses on fresh and local. Salads (Ceasar, spinach, or tomato), sub sandwiches, and pastas (lemon tagliatelle) all show up on the menu. Nerdy math references sneak in throughout: The menu has a $3.14 single slice of cheese pizza (that's π, get it?), and the Man Booker-prize winning book Life of Pi is propped up high on the dark wood bar.

M. Ladd

It's a good idea to keep it simple.

​Like we said, there is food at Pi Bar, but beer fans will feel comfy saddling up to the long bar to get any of the various tap brews. On today's tasting, SFoodie was offered a generous taste of Coney Island Mermaid Pilsner, which is brewed in N.Y. as well as S.F. The staff is warm and capable, and it is clear that many -- if not most -- of the guests that come through the door are already on a first-name basis with someone at Pi Bar.

M. Ladd

Only slight droop.

​Hand-thrown thin crust pizzas come in 15 or 21 inches ($15/$22), and you can add toppings at $2 to $5 a pop. With thin crust, it's a great idea to keep things simple: one topping - house-made Italian sausage, meatball, pepperoni, anchovies, 'shrooms, peppers -- will do ya. In the 3-6 p.m. magical happy hour window, a hearty slice special plus draft beer (changing daily; today it was Death & Taxes) is $6.28. There's just enough meaty pepperoni on a whole pi, and the cheese hits a highly lickable dairy note that tells you it's high quality stuff. Pi's slices are thin, pleasingly crisp, and not too heavy. A slice held aloft in SFoodie's unscientific stiffness test did pretty well - we noticed only slight droop.

Is Pi Bar a game-changer for the neighborhood? Well, maybe in the sense that there's no other place this nice near 24th Street BART that stays open till midnight. And the quality of the pie itself? In its own way, maybe as good as the very different, bubble-crust style at Beretta. Definitely worth checking out.

Pi Bar 1432 Valencia (at 25th St.), 970-9670

earinc/Flickr

Don't let the dust-covered cans fool you.

​The first time we walked into Rhea's, we were buying a can of beer. That was about six years ago. A genial, chuckling Korean dude with eyeballs as bloodshot as a swirling barber's pole checked us out.

Now there's a baby in the family, or a toddler, more specifically -- if the pictures posted to Yelp can be trusted -- and a legit deli counter covering a good third of the store's real estate. With Pal's holding down the other end of the Mission, the sneaky gourmet deli buried beneath mounds of breakfast cereal, tortilla chips, dust-covered cans, and bottles of Barefoot is becoming a savvy corner-store standard. Rhea's does it justice.

james c./Yelp

Korean steak on Tartine bread.

​The pork katsu sandwich ($6.95) both read and tasted as if a high-functioning stoner had been charged with its creation -- and had thrown together parts that sounded complementary in theory, but together, smushed between bun halves in sweet sandwich synthesis, gave way to a wild melee of flavors, with focus and balance caught squarely in the cross fire. The effect was not bad -- spicy aïoli, drippy cabbage, and assorted unknowns hugging a filet of once-crisp pork -- just an overload -- and gooey. Next time, we'll plead for lighter applications. The slick of creamy, crimson sauce sloshing out of the sandwich was like animal-style on steroids. The Acme bun it came on barely held together for the five-minute walk home. If we'd subbed in slices of Tartine bread, the waxed paper wrapping would have resembled a crime scene. We're not complaining exactly, just feeling kind of dazed and guilty -- as if we should be brushing our teeth every five minutes.

J. Birdsall

The fennel-scented porchetta panino.

​The Mission's Bar Bambino (2931 16th St. at Mission) started offering boxed lunches last week -- a panino (generic Italian for "sandwich," not a melty cheesewich), side salad, dolce (a sweet), and Italian soda, for $12. On Friday, SFoodie placed a phone order, engineered a pick-up, and CarShared a route to Dolores Park, where we busted out a damp-grass picnic in flesh-baring heat.

J. Birdsall

Lunches have a kind of utilitarian cool.

​Granted, the kitchen was only a few days into panino-making, but the three we tasted -- while, sure, showed off prime ingredients in cool paper-and-string wrappings - left us less than satisfied. A panino with porchetta, onion relish, and grainy mustard showed off plus, tender meat suffused with fennel-seed perfume. A filling of tuna, capers, and lemon aioli, however, was shaggy and dry, frankly. And a sandwich layered with goat cheese, grilled zucchini, and whole basil leaves suffered from slightly oily veggies. All three came on the same floury ciabatta.

The salad of the day turned out to be a handful of mixed greens, with a side of aggressively tangy balsamic vinaigrette. The one untarnished delight: shortbread cookies peppered with cocoa nibs and flecks of dried cherry.

Will we give Bar Bambino another go? Sure, in a few weeks, when the kitchen gets the hang of things. Or not. By then, we should be in the grip of an October heat wave, and the flesh quotient in Dolores Park might make even a so-so picnic seem at least a little delicious.

M. Brody

The standard-issue mezze sampler.

​Entering the recently opened Petrino on Kearny, we glimpsed a sleek bar area and dining room kitted out in rich dark wood. Until the host whisked us down a flight of stairs and to a window-lined space at the back, we didn't realize that the restaurant overlooked the festive outdoor patio that is Belden Place.

M. Brody

At least the people-watching is tasty.

​The restaurant calls itself Mediterranean, which translates as Middle Eastern and Greek dishes (hummus, avgolemono soup, gyro wraps, souvlaki skewers, moussaka) and a few basic pastas (linguini with meat sauce or vegetables).

The Mediterranean mezze sampler ($11.95 for two, $18.95 for four) offered standard-issue hummus, melitzanosalata (not very garlicky mashed eggplant, roasted bell peppers, and tomato), and tzatziki, served with two herb-tinged falafels, two mussel shells heaped with lemony rice, olives, and nicely tangy cubes of feta. (Dolmas, mentioned on the menu, never made it to the plate.) A lamb and beef gyro wrap ($6.95) was also run of the mill, served with a so-called garden salad of iceberg lettuce.

mswine/Flickr

Coconut chicken noodle soup.

​Yellow Pa Taut is the city's other Burmese restaurant. It's quirky and remote, socked away on a gastronomically unsung side of town, some might even say the wrong side altogether: The front doors swing open less than 100 feet from the Hall of Justice and its neighboring stretch of run-down bail bondsman offices. Jurors, lawyers, and police officers mob the joint for weekday lunches. At other times, the server and cook -- inevitably blasting house music and checking up on Facebook between trips to the sparsely populated tables -- may outnumber the customers.

Last weekend, we enjoyed our second visit, tearing through a meal that, like many sequels, was bigger and even badder than the inspiring inaugural experience -- a quick bite a year or so ago. Over-ordering is a personal problem we're not afraid to cop to. When mid-afternoon rolls around and we haven't yet eaten anything of substance, we err compulsively on the side of excess. We picked out four dishes and left with a large sack brimming with take-out containers.

The lap patthouk, or tea leaf salad, was an orchestra of edible percussion: hard roasted peanuts, crunchy fried yellow split peas, some other larger, greener legume or pulse, chewy little shrimp-like things, and slippery greens tossed in citrus and spice -- a rattling spread of off-the-wall textures. Matmos could make a whole album sampling the munching of this salad alone. There was also kyat the palatha, wedges of slightly undercooked paratha accompanied by a bowl of salty, rich chicken curry for dipping, se gyet khauk se', oily noodle ribbons and slices of pork saturated with the intense, nutty flavor of perfectly browned garlic whisked from the heat at just the right second, and finally, a goat curry, the weekend special. The curry was chocolate black, thin and murky, pooling around dark hunks of bone-riddled meat like Precambrian swamp water lapping against moss-slicked stones. Reddish oil flamed in a ring around the edge of the sauce, sloshing ominously up the sides of the bowl with each dip of the spoon. Carved into smaller pieces, the goat was dark red on the inside, stringy yet soft and devilishly gamy. We gnawed, slurped, and thought of oil spills and (weirdly) Macbeth. There was something more than slightly evil about it -- as if it were the product of a dark rite. Antacids -- the feeble pedestrian "good" magic -- were no match.

We get a little scared when we open the fridge and see the leftovers still burbling away through a cylinder of fogged-up plastic. It was really good. We're going to eat it, we swear -- one of these days.

Yellow Pa Taut 15 Boardman Place (at Bryant), 701-8188

zipfly/Flickr

Who are we to disagree with Ed Levine, for chrissake?

​We're not sure why we turned down Delfina for this. Dinner was a thoughtful treat, extended impulsively out of sympathy for a rough 24 hours culminating in 10 excruciating minutes with the most alarmingly awful customer service professional the Apple Store on Stockton has likely ever produced. Delfina was offered, but we took Gialina (2842 Diamond at Kern) instead, anticipating new pleasures in an acclaimed restaurant we'd surprisingly never been to before.

This is not to say Gialina is a waste of money, time, and hunger. It is not, though given our particular selections, it doesn't belong in the upper reaches of San Francisco's ever-expanding pantheon of excellent neighborhood-y artisanal pizza-and-starter joints. Maybe we ordered the wrong things. The fried padron peppers with goat cheese were a letdown. Maybe what we were expecting -- tiny, salty, bitter peppers in cracked tempura-y shells -- reveals our daftness. The peppers were uncloaked in batter, blistered black, and bitter, with a faint metallic quality the great wads of goat cheese failed to offset in any subtle fashion. We like bitterness -- it's under-appreciated -- but these little guys were just begging for salt or something harmoniously acidic. Good salt would have been nice, but it was not on our table, and we were too self-conscious to ask for it. On to the organic Charentais melon with speck and balsamic condimento. The speck strips were chewy and strong -- like the freshest and headiest of Smithfield hams, but the melon was underripe and so cold it made our teeth hurt. To our mind, unless we're eating ice cream, a food served cold should certainly be cool, but never so cold as to mask its flavors and assault the chewer. We're no experts though -- maybe it was supposed to be that way.

Experts both local and far-flung -- Ed Levine, Alan Richman, and, of course, Michael Bauer -- have showered praise on Gialina's pies. We only had one, insufficient for a full assessment, of course, but in this case a reliable indication they, not the appetizers, are the focus here. We swarmed gleefully over the heirloom tomato pizza with bacon, mozzarella, arugula, and basil, crunching arugula stems, forking-and-knifing our way through the juicy slabs of multi-hued tomatoes. We burrowed down to the rich, salty cheese-and-pig layer below, the melty cooked part fused to the top of the crust. This was good pizza, but no better and, in many cases, less endearing than pies we've jammed at Pizzeria Delfina, a restaurant with tastier food in every other respect to boot. We know: Our sample size is small; the jury will surely forever be out. For now though, we're just calling it as we've crunched it this summer: Pizzeria Delfina > Gialina > Beretta*.

*We say this only because we're talking about pizza, and Beretta's aren't amazing. Beretta is really more of a magical cocktail place that happens to have very good small plates.

Little Skillet 330 Ritch (near Townsend), 777-2777.
Street food? These days, anything you can snarf while seated on a curb is smokin' hot. That's why today, the third day Little Skillet has been open, the line snaked down alleyesque Ritch Street in far eastern SOMA. Think Farmer Brown: Same owners, grinding out neo-soul cooking through a takeout window. SFoodie's verdict? The waffle was more stiff than delicate, but the fried chicken next to it was juicy, ever-so-slightly pink at the thigh bone, and had crisp breading that stayed put. A pulled pork po' boy suffered from a too-thick bun, filled with a clump of soft meat fibers and vinegary slaw. House-made chips tasted as if the guy doing the frying was hoping he didn't have to change the oil, but, well -- he had to. Angel biscuits (the beaten kind) were nicely springy, but the best came last: a hefty, deliciously clammy red velvet cupcake iced with the most understated cream cheese icing you ever swiped a finger through. We predict Little Skillet (now open weekdays, 11 a.m.-2 p.m.) will soon shine, once the new-kid-on-the-alley frenzy wears off. Though we doubt the line out front will ever shrink.

Janine Kahn

Tucked among the Mission's rampant taquerias, it's possible to find authentic regional Mexican food.

An appealing new spot advertises its roots in its name: La Oaxaquena. Its tidy storefront, with tiny blue formica-topped tables and wooden chairs -- there are a few more seats perched at a counter in the back -- is nicely decorated with textiles, pottery, and folk art from its namesake home in Southern Mexico.

Janine Kahn

The Oaxacan specialties featured on the menu include the enormous tlayuda, a crunchy giant tostada topped with quesillo cheese imported from Oaxaca, chopped lettuce, and your choice of a dozen different toppings ($12.50 with meat, $10 without), including Milanesa (chopped breaded pork), carne asada, jamon, longaniza sausage with potatoes, chorizo, and three different kinds of chicken: stewed (tinga), spicy (asado), and cooked with tequila. We tried cecina, a tasty cured spicy pork. It's big enough to feed two or three, or four as part of a meal.

More reliable than Google Maps: Directions to Fish

Fish 350 Harbor near Gate Five Rd., Sausalito, 331-3474.
It's May, that happy season of blooming honeysuckle and brilliant sunshine, the perfect time to hop a ferryboat to Sausalito and enjoy the year's most intoxicating weather. Just make sure to keep yourself properly fueled during your day in the country. The North Bay's best seafood venue has to be Fish, where the chowder is fragrant with Madeira, linguica, and freshly shucked clams, the fish and chips are all about crispness, lightness, and the rich, meaty flavor of Alaskan halibut, and the Saigon salmon sandwich is ribboned with cilantro, jalapeño, and gingery scallons.

Fish's dedication to organic and sustainable seafood of exceptional quality is reflected in its top-flight ceviche, poke, fish tacos, and oysters both barbecued and on the half shell, not to mention the crab roll, the tuna melt, the fried oyster po' boy, the linguini with clams... Maybe the best way to approach Fish is to check the blackboard to see what the restaurant's trawler pulled in that morning. Order whatever strikes your fancy, grilled on an oak plank and served on an Acme torpedo roll with a little bit of tangy housemade tartar sauce and a pile of gloriously crunchy shoestring potatoes on the side.

You can sit out on the deck overlooking the bay, there's Guinness and Anchor Steam on tap, and if you feel like doing your own grilling, the attached market sells the freshest fish you'll find anywhere. Cash only. Caveat: Despite its rustic counter-service picnic-table setting, Fish's prices tend towards the exorbitant.

The Frank Dog: Kinda weenie

Let's Be Frank 3318 Steiner (near Lombard), 674-6755.
If the fate of the world hangs on a wiener, put us down for a dozen. But a Saturday visit to week-old Let's Be Frank left us sweating Earth's future.

The Marina hot dog joint is the first storefront venue for LBF, whose carts already ply SF and LA, a project of Larry Bain and Sue Moore. Mad props to Bain and Moore for reinventing the frankfurter along Slow Food lines, but the results contain a fatal flaw: the star ingredients just don't satisfy. Sure, the casing around the grass-fed-beef Frank Dog ($5.50) had delightful pop, but its murky filling lacked the creamy texture and swagger of garlic and spices that makes a frankfurter a frankfurter. A Brat Dog ($5.50), made with heritage pork, likewise tasted flat-out weenie. And sorry, guys, girth totally matters. The sausages' diameter skewed more Slim Jim than Ball Park -- they seemed lost in their voluminous (and slightly rubbery) Acme buns.

Ordinarily we'd say Fine, Americans eat too damn much protein anyway. But something as iconic as a hot dog has to be convincingly hot doggy, or we're just not buying -- even when principle tells us it's the right thing to do.