Tao Cafe Hawthorne Lane Frisson Green's
Last Friday I picked Vida up from school and decided to try another restaurant nearby. We found parking right across the street from Tao Café a “French-Vietnamese” restaurant on Guerrero. As we were crossing the street with the light a woman drove like a bat out hell around the corner and almost mowed us down. Its frightening to think that most of what goes on in our brain is subconscious—I instinctually pulled Vida out of the way but didn’t realize what was happening until she had pulled away with half the street honking and yelling at her idiocy.
It was before six so there were very few other diners in the restaurant and nobody came out to greet us when we walked in. Finally the busser came out and gave me a “what do you want” rather than “can I help you” look. I said that we wanted to sit down and he heard something like “do you have a bathroom” and motioned to the back. I guess they don’t have a lot of single moms with children coming for dinner. I tried to say that we wanted a table again but he still insisted on pointing out where the bathroom was and as I was obviously starting to get irritated he finally got the picture and showed us to a table. Tao Café was fancier than I had imagined. Vida crawled onto an upholstered chair and was dwarfed by its size. It had gotten some award for best Vietnamese-French restaurant and was Zagat rated but driving by I never saw very many diners inside. The restaurants in this area always seem to struggle. Across the street there have been at least three different failed Italian restaurants—one of many black holes for San Francisco restaurants.
The service got friendlier and more attentive as our server came to take drink orders. I had bribed Vida into the restaurant with a couple of Satsuma mandarins (“I don’t want to go out I want to go home for dinner”) and she was contentedly peeling and eating them. Things got better quickly. We were delivered a plate with a pickled carrot and daikon salad along with shrimp chips. The shrimp chips looked homemade instead of the bizarrely colored chips usually sold at Costco and served in less conscientious restaurants. Vida started making pleasant dinner conversation talking about how we “can’t eat candy everyday” and our friend Ra Ra’s imminent move. Ra Ra has lived in two places since Vida was born and Vida is sentimentally attached to the first apartment where she spent a lot of time as a baby. When we drive by her old place Vida has to comment that she used to live there and ask why she moved. Vida was really interested in why H was moving again. She commented that H was “wasting” her house and kind of smugly said that “we don’t waste houses do we mom”. Then she was worried that we wouldn’t know where she was living and started to cry. I reassured her that H would let us know where she was going to live. For a period of time quite a few people in our lives moved and Vida constantly asked if we could move as well.
The busser continued to provide very strange service. He set down our drinks and glasses but didn’t pour them and failed to remove dishes we were obviously through with. I ordered fried vegetarian spring rolls and Vida was so enthusiastic about them that I had to order another round. I thought the taro in them would freak her out. For a main course we had a sliced chicken breast with gingery caramelized onions and coconut rice. The dish was amazing. I let Vida indulge in the spring rolls and a few bites of the chicken while I savored every bite.
I think I stayed away from Tao Café because of its proximity to the former location of Flying Saucer the uneven and pretentious restaurant unexplainably popular 15 or so years ago. For about 10 years Zuni was one of the only nice restaurants I ever went to and my Flying Saucer experience was a principle motivator for sticking to the tried and true. We were generally treated rudely and when my friend A attempted to order a steak medium rare we were made to feel like culinary oafs.
I rarely took culinary chances and unknown restaurants after that. H and I went to Fringale and Bizou a few times but for me nothing quite measured up to Zuni. I hated to feel responsible for a bad choice so I rarely took chances. Dinner with Vida has changed my view entirely. If we have a bad or somewhat difficult meal it at least makes a good story. This change in attitude has made me more adventurous when I go out for adult meals too.
When my co-worker D left the company last month I was in charge of choosing a restaurant. I wanted to go to Incanto or Greens since they had been successful choices for this group before but I got the feeling that he wanted to go somewhere new and preferably very expensive since the company was paying He wanted four $$$$. I racked my brain and came up with quite a few choices but none of these places had reservations available. I finally decided on the renowned Hawthorne Lane. Hawthorne Lane traces its lineage to Wolfgang Puck’s Postrio meaning it’s famous for being famous. When we got there I was immediately impressed with the design and lighting particularly in the bar but I also noticed that there was very few customers. My more gutsy co-workers ordered drinks and told the bartender to transfer the tab to our table. I immediately knew that since I chose the place I was going to tangentially responsible for an evening of expensive debauchery.
When we got to the table and got menus I was enlightened as to what $$$$ dollar signs really meant—over paying for the prestige of visiting a celebrated restaurant. The food was good but not superior. Hawthorne Lane is known for the Asian influences on its food. My entrée of Shanghai noodles with crab was so salty I could barely eat it. The Asian ‘influence’ seemed to be a substitute for really understanding the balance of flavors essential to great Chinese food. I can’t think of one dish that was memorable but it could also be that I was distracted by the amount of drinks my co-workers were imbibing. The look on my boss’s face when he got the bill pretty much said it all.
Last week another co-worker was preparing to leave the company and we decided that just the two of us would go out to mark the occasion. Since I had been bossing her around for a couple of years I thought the least I could do was insist that she choose the restaurant. P has excellent taste and knowledge about food. I was a little nervous that she would choose something too adventurous for my taste. She chose Frisson, a relatively new restaurant on Battery very close to where I used to work at Square One. When I went to read reviews about it I was under enthused. It was supposed to have a club like atmosphere with a DJ—which didn’t sound like it would meld well with expensive food. The food itself was supposed to be sublime but included the use of “foams” and essential oils. I was sure P would love it but I wasn’t convinced.
The design of Frisson was itself remarkable. We walked into a darkened hallway that opened onto a magical room featuring a domed ceiling dotted with circular pink lights. The dining room had in peach glow further accentuated by round orange banquettes. We started off with amazingly expensive drinks— $12 bucks each. I had a drink with Buddha hand infused citron vodka with almond and a tropical fruit I’ve never heard of. P loved her Calvados drink so much she had two. I was entranced by the simplest of the dishes we ordered including a salad with chopped escarole, radicchio, mint and cheese. The cracked wheat risotto with caramelized chanterelles and broccoli rabe was delicious but I wanted actual risotto instead. After the cocktail and another glass of wine I can’t remember too much more about the meal. I’ll have to ask P what we had for dessert.
Restaurant Total: 162
Kelly's Burgers
I’ve never been a fan of daylight saving time—an hour of extra light bestowed by decree. I like the dark. Daylight saving favors night owls over early risers, but I gained a new appreciation for it last night when Vida and I went to water the garden. Over the past several weeks we have been spending a lot of time there in the early evening so we were shocked when 5:30 rolled around and it was almost too dark to see.
I didn’t have any great ideas for dinner and since it seemed so late I decided that if I found parking easily we would go out. I made my way down Valencia Street and saw plenty of restaurants but no parking. Just as we turned up 16th Street I found a spot across the street from Kelly’s Burgers. I was never particularly thrilled about going to Kelly’s. I’m certain that the some of the same people who run Truly Mediterranean own Kelly’s. It’s odd to see the same cast of characters going between two restaurants less than a block apart. I love the simple aesthetic and efficiency of Truly Mediterranean and Kelly’s looks tacky in comparison. They do falafel so well that I wasn’t convinced that their hamburgers could measure up. Dan Leone from the Bay Guardian reviewed the place recently and having been assured that it wouldn’t be horrible I was more open to the idea.
As we walked into Kelly’s the darkness of the evening quickly became associated in my mind with the darkness of our political destiny. CNN was on announcing the list of states Bush had already won as polls closed in the South. Vida crawled up onto some high orange chairs at the counter and whimpered as I stepped a few feet away to read the menu above the counter. I ordered a jack cheeseburger and a soda with free refills.
I didn’t want to watch the depressing news on the T.V. so I tried to distract myself with the décor that depressed me even more. There were rows of wine bottles on shelves decked out with Halloween decorations. I couldn’t imagine they were there for more than decoration, an attempt to give a hamburger joint an allure of sophistication. But it was equally disconcerting to think of anybody ordering a bottle to drink over a sandwich in a plastic basket. The owner and a hefty friend with a handful of cigarettes lying on the counter were sitting next to us drinking small glass bottles of Coca Cola. They were ribbing the cashier that the Cokes were “just for men” with the obnoxious sexism that some men think is actually complimentary. Its as if they were saying “we could be ignoring you but we’re going to insult you instead and aren’t you happy to have the attention”. In between sodas they went outside to smoke. When they came back in they continued to mumble inanities about “women’s lib” and changing tires. The cashier blithely pointed out that the owner’s collar was up on his sweater and he turns around giving her the “women always sweat the small stuff and real men don’t care about how they look stare”. Between the stupidity of these guys and the election results I was close to losing my appetite.
The hamburger came with the usual oxidized piece of iceburg lettuce, a pale tomato slice and a couple of pickles. The burger itself was thin but large and served on a sesame bun. I tried to interest Vida in eating but just as our meal came some kids a little older than her came in the restaurant. The little girl came and asked Vida her name and from that point on Vida was only interested in doing anything she could to get them to pay attention to her. I could barely get her to eat a few bites of hamburger before she got down off her stool. It wouldn’t have been so trying if the other mother had been friendly but she didn’t even seem to notice that her kids were the ones instigating the chaos.
The hamburger was fine but the highlight of the meal was the wedge cut fries. I could have eaten another basket of them. We went back to the soda machine a few times—not quite what we needed, but very satisfying. I got a new kind each time and then watched Vida be surprised at the change. When Vida started doing strange things with straws, burping and making other outrageous sounds I decided to hit the exit. Kelly’s was fast and pretty tasty but they need to lose the losers at the counter.
Restaurant Total: 154
