Dinner With Vida
Chez Mamam Klein's Deli
Vida and I recently acquired a community garden plot and I have been working feverishly to get it into shape before it’s too late to plant anything. I have been visiting the Potrero Hill community garden for years hoping to one day get a chance to garden in one of the most picturesque garden spots in the city. It has an incredible Western view of the city and the sun seems to perch up on the hill long after it has abandoned the Mission. The history of my particular plot can be seen in its two varieties of grapes on gnarly vines—this area has been gardened continuously for over 40 years and the man who had my plot was apparently one if its first settlers.
Vida has been enjoying wandering the paths of the garden that wind around its eclectically shaped spaces. She walks on the stones and gallops her horses around comfortably as if it is the backyard we have always wanted. On Wednesday after music class we went up to water and see if any seedlings had popped their head out yet. Afterwards we went over to B and R’s house down the block for a visit. Vida needed her Barbie fix. We then made our way towards dinner.
It was getting very late, close to seven, and I had in mind to just get sandwiches at Klein’s Deli. We walked in as they were starting to close down. One of the workers was wiping down the cases with a strong smelling cleaner. Vida pulled on my jacket and whispered that she didn’t want to stay. I wasn’t that thrilled about eating there at that point either, so we got back in the car and drove toward 18th Street. Most of the restaurants in this area seemed too upscale for us. Eliza’s seemed to be the only somewhat casual place on the block. It was a wonderfully warm evening—probably one of the last of the year and there were diners eating outside in front of Chez Maman. We found a parking spot across the street and walked toward its inviting red lights. It was almost too hot to eat inside the restaurant, but the row of stools at the counter was irresistible to Vida. This is probably the narrowest restaurant I have ever eaten in. We sat facing the line and there was as little space between the stove and the counter as between the counter and the wall behind us. The chef seemed cranky and I really couldn’t blame him as he was forced to press against the counter to let the server by with a tray of drinks. The cook assisting him seemed more resigned to the situation and we watched him quietly make salads and crepes.
The more sophisticated food seemed beyond our reach both financially and culinarily so I ordered a Croque Monsieur and French fries. The fries were tossed with salt and parsley and served with a side of aioli. The sandwich had a delicious layer of béchamel between the cheese and the ham. I got Vida to eat a few bites in between her Orangina and French fries. There were no other customers inside the restaurant so I let Vida get up and down from the stool and wander around as long as she stayed out of the waiter’s way. She enjoyed going to the open front door and peering out into the night.
Vida had to use the bathroom so we were directed behind the counter and through the prep and dishwashing area. I was hit by a wave of nostalgia as we negotiated the wet and slippery mats. The tight quarters reminded me of working at Zola’s where all the cooking was done in a space no larger than this tiny back room. Zola’s was considerably cleaner though. You would think that a restaurant that had a bathroom through its kitchen would pay more attention to its condition.
Eating at Chez Mamam was closer to my Woodward’s Garden vision of eating dinner with a kid than any other restaurant we have gone to so far. Maybe it was the warm evening, the European café atmosphere or the geniality of our waiter but it all combined to a great meal. Vida was free to be herself and I could sit at the counter and watch her grow up before my eyes.
Restaurant Total: 153
Charanga Ace Wasabi
Last week after Vida’s music class we walked from Community Music School on 21st and Capp toward Mission Street in search of dinner. Unfortunately I didn’t have any cash so our options were limited. We stumbled across Charanga just as Vida was losing patience. It seemed to be way too nice of a restaurant to spontaneously visit but I didn’t know how long we would have to walk before finding something else. Charanga’s décor was warm and inviting. Vida and I found a few things to talk about as we pondered photos of horses and a particularly vibrant painting of tropical fruit. But, Vida was hardly in a tolerant mood so I reluctantly handed her some paper out of my notebook and my fat black marker. She took a good sniff before drawing on the paper and on to the table. I sheepishly apologized to the server who didn’t seem amused but was nice enough to get Vida some larger pieces of paper. It was early so there weren’t many customers competing for our server’s attention but even then it seemed like a million years before she offered us drinks and took our order. The food was mostly Latin and the portions were the size of tapas. We ordered ceviche served with a mix of salad greens that was tasty and thankfully appealing to Vida. I thought I could get away with ordering Vida rice and beans but she whimpered so loudly that I quickly decided on a pan fried halibut. It was a very small piece of fish served with black beans and a small amount of watercress and jicama. Vida ate almost the entire piece of fish so I had to be content with the beans and salad.
This week we continued the trend of eating moderately at more upscale restaurants rather than just sticking to cheaper places. After soccer on Monday I had hoped to walk from our parking spot on Lombard to one of the many restaurants on Chestnut Street. I quickly discovered that Monday is a bad night to try and eat out in that neighborhood. Most of the restaurants I was attracted to were closed. It was cold and windy as Vida and I wandered into a hamburger restaurant. I knew it was part of a chain but it seemed conceptually closer to Mel’s Drive In than MacDonald’s. As we sat down I peered behind the counter and saw bags of crappy hamburger buns and containers of anemic sliced tomatoes. Before Vida got attached to the place I whisked her out and back on to the cold street. She was pretty unhappy as we kept walking toward an unknown destination. I was close to just going to Cybelle’s Pizza, Barney’s or the Askew Grill even though we had been to other locations of all of these places. I then saw Ace Wasabi’s and quickly directed Vida in the direction of sure to please sushi. I don’t know what I was thinking really--I knew the place would be a yuppie hell but I was getting desperate. My instinct was correct as we found ourselves surrounded by overly tanned and meticulously groomed Marina district residents perched on high stools. I thought I would have an anxiety attack if our server and her boobs got any closer to our table. The looks we were getting weren’t making things any more comfortable. Vida was wearing shorts with tights and a pair of worn out sandals and I wasn’t any more fashionable. We were also forced to listen to 80’s hits at a very high volume—Vida thought it was so loud that we should leave because of it. I calmed her down, got her back up on her stool and quickly bought her silence with soda
I didn’t feel like spending money on booze so I prepared to white knuckle the rest of the meal. Then suddenly the server was handing us bingo cards. I’m sure everyone in San Francisco must already know that Ace Wasabi has bingo games nightly at 6:30 on weekdays but I was pleasantly surprised. We played for a $20 gift certificate. I would have been thrilled to win and instantly have ordered a large sake but when we didn’t I was just as happy for the 10 minutes of amusing distraction. Vida had almost the entire restaurant giggling nervously as she rather loudly echoed the bartender who was calling the numbers.
We started with a fried calamari and rock shrimp appetizer. Vida was really into the calamari and I took care of the shrimp and the bed of salad they were served on. I ordered the usual avocado roll for Vida and a roll for myself that consisted of crispy fried potato bits inside with smoked salmon on the outside. The food was surprisingly good and once she got her breasts off our table the server was a lot more comfortable and able to resign herself to our existence. I don’t think I will be attempting to eat dinner in the Marina again any time soon but Ace Wasabi was worth the hassle.
Restaurant Total: 150
Regent Thai
Last week while up on Church Street I tried to take Vida to Lehr’s German Specialties. We walked from Amberjack Sushi only to find that it wasn’t open on Thursdays. Although Vida didn’t know what our destination was—she just wanted to go for a walk after dinner—I was a little disappointed. For years I went to Lehr’s for Kinder eggs, a foil wrapped chocolate eggshell with amazing toys nestled inside a plastic cylinder. They had to stop selling them years ago when some government agency decided their small parts were a choking hazard. I had heard a rumor that Kinder eggs were back in stock at Lehr’s and wanted to check it out. When Vida was still an infant I had a friend who was visiting Germany bring me back 60 eggs. I went against every kind of parental advice and used both Kinder eggs to persuade her out of her diaper
This Friday I picked Vida up at school just ten minutes before six and rushed up to Church Street before Lehr’s closed at six. We made it just in time to buy a couple of eggs. We then walked to Regent Thai for dinner. Things started off well when the server brought a basket of shrimp chips with a sweet dipping sauce on the side. Vida loves these things and happily munched away while I drank a beer as fast as I could. I was tired. We have suddenly become extremely booked in the afternoons. Vida has soccer on Mondays, music class on Wednesdays, swimming lessons on Sundays and as if I don’t have enough to do I signed up for violin lessons on Fridays.
I’m not sure why I’m doing it. I think it’s an unresolved issue that has come up as I consider Vida’s musical future. Somehow I played the violin from the 2nd grade through high school without actually practicing. I was intimidated by my father’s success on the instrument and convinced that since I would never measure up that I shouldn’t bother. The ironic thing about it was that considering how much effort I put into it (practically none) I wasn’t that bad. I usually played in the first violin section—albeit as far back as you could go-- rather than the true wasteland of the untalented non-practicers the back of the second violin section.
During middle school I went to a summer orchestra camp. Our teacher was Mrs. Durst—the woman who first taught me years before in elementary school. (What I remember most about those years is forgetting my violin on orchestra day and frantically running home to get it.) We were going to have blind tryouts for seating arrangements that summer and as the session began I remember taking a seat next to my friend Heidi Hinn in the second violin section. I fully intended to be the disruptive force that Heidi and I usually were together. But at the same time I admired from afar a girl named Yolanda who despite an obviously troubled family life was a remarkable violin player and her stand mate the talented but stuck up Beatrice. During the first week Mrs. Durst assigned us all numbers and then turned away as we individually shuffled into a practice room to play. I can’t remember what we played exactly or really how I did but I’m certain that I didn’t practice beforehand. She took notes and the next day planned on seating us according to how we had done.
The next day I sat next to Heidi Hinn, fully expecting to stay there in the back of the second section. As she read off the first number for the first violin section I was completely shocked. Mrs. Durst was quite surprised as well as I went to sit first chair, first violin displacing Yolanda to second chair and Beatrice to third. It was my shining moment—I could sound as good as the violinists who really wanted to play. Obviously I didn’t belong in that chair and another tryout was held. For the rest of the summer I stayed in the back of the first violin section throwing notes to Heidi. I never went back to the second violin section. I wasn’t good enough to lead either section but not bad enough to sit in the violin wasteland.
Throughout high school I continued to try and work out my issues with the violin. I practiced on occasion, tried and failed to become a member of the chamber orchestra and generally used my violin lesson as therapy. I didn’t believe in myself and neither did anybody else.
As we sat at dinner I pondered over the violin lesson I had that evening. My very young and inexperienced teacher wasn’t quite sure what to do with me. The 9 year old having the lesson before mine was assigned to think up a name for her violin as her practice assignment for the next week. I don’t think the teacher expected someone who could already play. As I stiffly played music that I had held on to for 20 years she commented that I had to have been pretty good. It was a nice ego boost but also a reminder that if I had actually applied myself maybe I could have been good.
As Vida and I happily ate our chicken fried rice at Regent Thai I thought about the children’s music class that she was taking. Watching them attempt to blow on a shofar, singing and strumming the teacher’s guitar I knew that Vida would have a different experience with music than I had. Maybe for her, music could be liberating instead of an exercise in futility. I guess I picked up the violin again because I wanted to set a good example for Vida. I intend to practice this time around.
Restaurant Total: 148
