Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 10: The Last Meal

After the intensity of the Frida show, the whole group was completely wrung out and needed not only some food, but liquid refreshment. Fast.

Tom and Judy had done their research and found a Brazilian churrascaria named Espetus just down the street. And these two know Brazil intimately, since Tom had taught at a university there some years ago and both speak some Portuguese, Tom being fluent. Can you see where this is going?

Now, churrascaria (pron. shuh-ras-car-EE-a) is roughly translated as "steakhouse" but, my friends, it is much, much more than that. We walked in and were seated at a table where we ordered a beer with a caipirinha, which is something like a margarita without the salt and made with a Brazilian spirit called cachaça.

Next we were ushered to the salad bar, again an understatement, since it was not only a smorgasbord (not to mix metaphors) of brilliant salads but also featured the foundation of Brazilian cuisine, pinto beans, black beans and rice with a topping of a granular farinha that had been cooked with pork fat. The salads ranged from a potato salad made with carrots and mayonnaise to a tabbouli-like grain and parsley salad to a corn salad to one resembling cole slaw.

Plates full, we returned to the table where we were met with a man dressed in a gaucho costume wielding not only a very long, very sharp knife, but a two-foot-long skewer full of meat. As he cut thin slices off the meat, we were instructed to pick up the tongs next our plates and grasp the wafers as they peeled off and then put them on our plates.

This was repeated with men bearing skewers of pork loin, steaks, pork chops, sausages, chicken hearts and more meat than you can shake a...well, shake a skewer at until Tom picked up the coaster on the table and turned it from the green side to the red side. Suddenly all the gauchos disappeared. Genius! Turn it to green, they're back, then red...well, it would have worked except they kept coming by to speak Portuguese with Tom.

And the desserts were awesome, one a papaya mousse with an orgasmic cassis sorbet, the other a passion fruit sorbet in a caramel crust that was sublime. What a meal, and a truly unique experience we couldn't have had anywhere else. Thanks, Tom and Judy!

Details: Espetus Churrascaria, 1686 Market St. Phone 415-552-8792.

Note: Tom writes: "The name of the place, 'Espetus,' is the original Latin word for the Portuguese name for the skewer: espeto (pronounced, roughly, ehs-PET-oo). Saying that word, you will recognize a phonetic resemblance to the English cognate: spit, as in the spit (or skewer) on which the meat is skewered (not spitted)."

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Paying Our Respects, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Home Away from Home, Off on the Right Foot, Choosing Chinese, The Ferry and the Hog and The Point of It All. 

Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 9: The Point of It All

The genesis of this road trip, as I mentioned in Part 1, was when I heard that a large exhibition of the work of Mexican artist Frida Kahlo was going to make an appearance at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. When I mentioned this to our friends Tom and Judy, who live not far from SF, we decided to go to the show together. Which worked for us because Tom happens to be a professor of Latin American history and could give us a historical blow-by-blow of the pieces.

Suffice it to say that both the scope and depth of the work that was shown was mind-boggling. And very complete. As someone who's been reading and studying her work for years, there were pieces there I'd never seen before, and some, like the painting "A Few Little Nips," that was painted after Frida discovered her husband, painter Diego Rivera, had an affair with her younger sister, that I'd seen but hadn't realized the full impact of the work.

It's size, which is may 10" wide by 8" high, is set in a simple wood frame that is covered with what are supposed to be bloody fingerprints (photo, left). It illustrates a sensational murder of the time, around 1935, when a husband murdered his wife, his excuse being that it was just a few little nips.

But in books they'd shown only the painting itself, not the bloody, gouged frame, which adds a huge dimension of meaning and impact to the work. And is the reason to go see an artist's original works whenever you can.

Details: Frida Kahlo at the San Francisco Museum of Art, through Sun., Sept. 28. Tickets $20.50. San Francisco Museum of Modern Art, 151 Third Street between Mission and Howard Sts., San Francisco, CA. Phone 415-357-4000.

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Paying Our Respects, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Home Away from Home, Off on the Right Foot, Choosing Chinese, The Ferry and the Hog and The Last Meal. 

Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 8: The Ferry and the Hog

The Ferry Building in San Francisco has been on my radar for years, ever since the 1989 earthquake damaged the Embarcadero Freeway that had separated downtown from its waterfront. In a stunning feat of civic will and foresight, the building was lovingly renovated and reopened as a showcase for the best of the region's food and art.

Now citizens and visitors alike stroll the parks and the waterfront, and on Tuesdays and Saturdays the plaza is the site of the Ferry Plaza Farmers' Market. We missed the farmers' market by a day, alas, but got to the building as vendors were setting up their shops, allowing us time for our second coffee of the day at Lulu Petite. I did stop at the Cowgirl Creamery shop for a quick shot of cheddar love (above) from a giant wheel of Neal's Yard Montgomery's Cheddar, then it was on to Hog Island Oyster Company for some of their briny bivalves.

Hog Island had just opened for lunch, so we grabbed two seats at the corner of the bar overlooking the oyster station and ordered a couple of pints to help set the mood. Now, my brother had said that we absolutely must come here, so expectations were high. Watching the guy in charge using his knife, we knew we were in good hands (he showed us his scars), and we ordered a mixed dozen.

While he was shucking our oysters, he explained that Hog Island oysters are farmed near Marshall, California, in the waters of Tomales Bay across from Point Reyes National Seashore. We nodded politely, of course, since he did have a knife, which he casually mentioned he'd sharpened in the tradition of all good oyster shuckers.

Clockwise from upper left: Hog Island Sweetwaters from Tomales Bay; Hog Island Atlantics, Tomales Bay; Hog Island Kumamotos, Tomales Bay; Gold Creeks, Hood Canal, WA; Beau Soleils, New Brunswick, Canada; Dabobs, Dabob Bay, WA
As we slurped our way through them, it was fascinating to taste the differences in flavor and texture, from mild and creamy to salty and toothsome. All had a similar brininess to the liquor, and it was explained that the imported oysters (in our case those from Washington and Canada) are brought in and immediately submerged in the bay so they can "breathe" again before being sold.

Our favorite? The Dabobs for their rich, creamy texture and taste. And the day's fish stew, thick with tomatoes, shellfish and big hunks of fish, (which was getting its last taste test by the staff when we walked in), looked amazing, as did the whole sardines on a salad of white beans (left).

And right now I have to thank our waitress for being patient enough to stop in mid-delivery so I could snap pictures and ask endless questions while she tried to get her work done. Maybe it was the Oregon connection, since her mom just bought some acreage in Central Oregon. Or probably because she's just a really swell gal, but she ended up buying our beers and promising to keep in touch. How great is that?

Details: Hog Island Oyster Company in the Ferry Building Marketplace, One Ferry Building (at the bottom of Market St.), San Francisco, CA. Phone 415-391-7117.

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Paying Our Respects, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Home Away from Home, Off on the Right Foot, Choosing Chinese, The Point of It All, and The Last Meal. 

Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 7: Choosing Chinese

We were walking through our new neighborhood...yes, we called it ours even if it was only for a few days...in the early evening and came upon a throng of people nearly blocking the sidewalk outside a small storefront. Edging past, we looked in and saw throngs of diners, nearly all Asian, slurping and laughing and chatting as white-shirted waiters hoisted large trays full of delicious-looking food through the crowd.

"We're having dinner here tonight," I said to Dave. And after a quick martini back at the apartment, we found ourselves sharing a large table with four other diners in the spare but also somehow festive dining room at San Tung Chinese Restaurant.

I'd done a little research while sipping my martini and found that the dry-fried chicken wings there were considered among the best in town. And since chicken wings have figured so prominently on our summer table, we ordered those while we perused the several-page menu.

The Colonel may have coined the phrase "finger-lickin' good" but the grease dripping off his digits had nothing on these sweet and slightly spicy flappers with plenty of garlic and crunch. With these (literally) under our belts, we dove in and ordered the dry-fried green beans, tea-smoked duck and some shrimp-leek dumplings.

The delightful little packets that arrived at our table were perfect envelopes for the fresh flavor of the shredded leeks, and the toothy bite of the luscious bits of chopped shrimp made the soy dipping sauce (almost) unnecessary. The beans were the only disappointment, being merely good versions of this ubiquitous dish, but the arrival of the tea-smoked duck made us forget any shortcomings.

With the instruction from our waiter to "Make sandwich!" we tore off bits of juicy meat from the bone and put it between the rolls. The meat-meets-sweet of the little rolls and juicy duck with its toasted-tea smokiness made for an unexpectedly lush mouthful.

And despite our best effort to finish off all the food we'd ordered, and even sharing some with our tablemates, there was plenty to take away for later.

Details: San Tung Chinese Restaurant, 1031 Irving St., San Francisco, CA. Phone 415-242-0828.

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Paying Our Respects, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Home Away from Home, Off on the Right Foot, The Ferry and the Hog, The Point of It All, and The Last Meal. 

Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 6: Off on the Right Foot

When we wake up, the first priority is coffee. If we'd been desperate, there was a Starbucks just around the corner. But being the spoiled Portlanders we are, we craved something small and local and, if we were very lucky, maybe even extraordinary.

And in the neighborhood known as Sunset, just a half block from our apartment, was a micro-roaster called the Beanery. Each morning we'd pull on some clothes, walk out into the early sunlight and stumble half-awake down to the corner, following the smell of roasting coffee to its front door.

The roaster itself, with its gleaming metalllic type that read "The San Franciscan," sat right in the middle of the floor in front of bins of raw beans waiting to be turned into the stuff that made our mornings sing. All it took was a (large) cup and a pastry, and we were set for our day.

Details: Beanery. 1307 9th Ave. between Irving Judah, San Francisco, CA. Phone 415-661-1255.

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Paying Our Respects, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Home Away from Home, Choosing Chinese, The Ferry and the Hog, The Point of It All, and The Last Meal.

Frisco Road Trip, Pt. 5: Home Away From Home

It's one of those things we fantasize about. Like, "If we won the lottery, what we do with the money?" Our wish lists have always leaned in the direction of travel, but not hopping around spending one night here, one night there, the kind of 15-countries-in-two-weeks head-spinners that too many Americans do.

Our idea of a great trip is to spend time in one place, getting to know the people, the shopkeepers, and what it feels like to live there. So if we win that $27 million one of these days, you can bet a pied-a-terre will be in the plan, a simple place to sleep and cook, to entertain friends and just hang out.

You can imagine our excitement when we heard that friends of friends of ours had inherited a building in San Francisco and were renovating a couple of the apartments to rent to visitors at very reasonable rates. And what a spot they've got.

The Apartments at Golden Gate are located a half block from Golden Gate Park in a charming neighborhood known as the Sunset District. Restaurants abound, and a drugstore, hardware store, several grocers and a post office are within blocks. Not to mention the fact that several bus lines and a light rail train (that runs right downtown) are within a half block.

Our apartment was a third floor walk-up (the top floor) with a great view out over the rooftops of the neighborhood to the west, and was simply and pleasantly appointed with all the basics you'd need for a few days' stay in the city, including a great folder full of information and maps to help get you started.

Plus the owners are splendid folks and extremely gracious. So if you, like us, can't quite afford that pied-a-terre yet, this will do quite nicely until then.

Details: Apartments at Golden Gate. Daily or weekly rates available. E-mail for availability.

Read the other posts in this series: Getting There, Paying Our Respects, Resting in Redding, Schmoozing in Sacto, Off on the Right Foot, Choosing Chinese, The Ferry and the Hog, The Point of It All, and The Last Meal.