I started my day with some of these really interesting fiber-packed crackers I picked up on Clement St called “Digestive.”  Indeed they were. Then I took a nostalgic run through the Fillmore and Pacific Heights-ish area. Shamefully, this was the one and only day I convinced myself that running during vacation was ok. Regardless, I got to swing through two of my favorite spots – Mollie Stone’s (her produce is so-so and a little overpriced in my opinion; I’m really more interested in the hot bar – rivals Whole Foods’ – and cheese selection. Oh, and the awesome cookies) and Café Murano, my favorite neighborhood coffee joint from back in the day. Once I got a free mango bellini “refill” from my favorite barista (baristo…?) which earned Murano a spectacular Yelp review.

Got ready for the day ninja-style (Steel and Steph slept through my entire morning routine) then we all started the day with Steph’s recipe for Dirty Girl Scouts, another standing SF tradition from my living there. Hot cocoa and peppermint schnapps. Lethal at 10am. We giggled our way to SoMa and grabbed lunch with Steel and Robert at Primo Patio, this Caribbean place Steel wouldn’t stop raving over. It was a great atmosphere, and one of those places that really only makes sense in San Francisco – all breezy, patio seating in the middle of SF’s tech-nerd startup ‘hood (the Wired office is right down the street). My lamb pita with mushrooms and this orange chipotle-like mayo couldn’t have been better. Succulent (can I say “succulent?”) slices of lamb with perfectly sautéed mushrooms. So simple, so so delicious. Guava mimosas all around, and I was out cold during the entirety of the drive to the Jelly Belly and Budweiser factories.

That night was dinner at Ducca, where my friend Yonas, who I met during my La Folie days, currently works. A fairly new spot conveniently located in SoMa at 3^rd between Market and Mission (in the Westin Hotel), definitely check it out if you happen to be attending a conference at the Moscone Center or staying at any downtown hotel. There were perks to knowing someone on the inside, but I am confident that the quality of service and caliber of food preparation and presentation is consistent with each guest.

I had spoken with Yonas several times prior to the dinner and agreed to give him free reign over what I was served. He was giddy with the prospect of creating a custom menu. Ducca’s style is Northern Italian cuisine with a California influence. The modestly sized wine list reflects the hybrid of cuisine style, and with surprisingly zero input from the peanut gallery, I went with a Santa Rosa Pinot Noir – California love! Before we got to that, our server appeared with a complimentary bottle of Prosecco and a platter of assorted cicheti. Yes, please. A toast to Yonas, San Francisco, and friendship (aww) and we dug in.

Of the cicheti, the arancini (crispy risotto fritter, sottocenere) and polpettini frittini (crisp lamb meatballs, cipillini-orange marmellata) were my two standout favorites. A couple more amuse-type dishes, and out came the soup course – spiced rodetto di pesce – rock shrimp, Manila clams, true cinnamon. As opposed to false cinnamon, I guess. After that we were given a pasta course – a creamy linguini with shrimp, clams, poached egg (drool), and a light olive oil. Getting stuffed.

Next up, main entrees. The endless stream of food was getting to me, but so was the Pinot. Heightened unawareness, check. Most of my dining comrades had ordered a pasta course for their main entrée. I had no choice in the matter, as my dining experience was in my buddy’s capable hands. He chose to give me the Tai Snapper with asparagus and rock shrimp. I thought I had “won” the best entrée course, and then I tried Josh’s order - Halibut Cheeks Stracotto (Seppia, Black Polenta, Jalepeno & Mint marinara – also had garbanzo beans). So perfectly tender. One-upping bastard.

My descriptive powers and my ability to remember ingredients were severely impaired by the looming food coma, so the desserts are less fresh in my memory. Pictured below are three kinds of deliciousness – I do remember the ice cream sandwich was served with a mascarpone ice cream that lives on in my taste buds’ fondest memories, and the white blob with fruit and pomegranate foam on top was a really incredible Greek yogurt that Steph refused to let go.

Ended the night with a surprise drop-in visit to my lovely former coworkers at La Folie. I relayed our incredible experience at Ducca to Patrick Kelly, the Executive Sous Chef and managed to frame it as an extended challenge. I had reservations at La Folie the following evening. I knew I was in for a treat.

“Quick” nightcap at Rex Café across the street with a couple of the Folie crew and my other good friends, and we called it a day.

Even with my penchant for fine dining [read: pretentious locally-produced organic products with an outrageous upcharge, smothered in butter and served with anything described as a reduction make my toes tingle], I had to balance my favorite “trashy” noshes (after all, I am a Waffle House girl at heart) with what I already knew would be upscale meals at my friends’ restaurants. Luckily, my perception of San Francisco (food AND people?) has always been just that – a balance of simple and greasy but simultaneously legitimately organic and needlessly arrogant.

My challenge for myself during this trip – I absolutely had to hit up my old favorites from the year I lived in San Francisco, but I also had to try out all the new places my friends had been raving over. After realizing I forgot my giant bottle of Tums at home, I was a little disheartened, but refused to buy another and determined to commit to my challenge.

After my arrival (feeling gross, if you remember my previous entry) Stephanie and I hit up Clement Street first. San Francisco’s Clement stretch from Arguello to 25^th Ave is a really intense intersection of several Asian cultures that tends to overwhelm the Arkansas girl in me. Over 25 major languages are spoken here, and it’s not uncommon to hear Cantonese mixed with Spanish at the Korean donut shop. Within a few blocks you may encounter a Malaysian restaurant, Chinese bakery, Korean BBQ, Japanese sushi bar, and Thai noodle shop. Naturally, there are some misses…it’s best to go with a local.

We went to a takeout dim sum joint around 6^th Ave (Steph, if you’re reading this, leave a comment with the name of the place; I forgot to write it down) where Steph in flawless Cantonese ordered up a beautiful selection of sweet and savory bao (yet another foundational food of friendship). Our favorite was dai bao, literally translated, “big bun.” Stuffed with mushrooms, chicken, sausage, and egg, this thing was killer.

That night the bustle of the day hit me hard and we ended up ordering in for dinner. Nothing to turn your nose up to, though. My old standby, Extreme Pizza, may be nondescript and a little cheesy (figuratively), but serves up some really terrifically creative and balanced pizzas. The crust isn’t in your face because it’s not the star of the show – that honor is reserved for the fresh ingredients packed on top. Torn between the Paia Pie (Canadian bacon, Hawaiian pineapple, Mandarin oranges, fresh tomato sauce, mozzarella, and cheddar) and the Boar’der (Shredded pork marinated in a really tangy BBQ sauce,red onions, fresh cilantro, cheddar, and mozzarella), we struggled with indecision for at least half an hour before landing on the Boar’der.

Oh, and if you’re ever around a BevMo, it’s worth it to check out the five cent wine sale they have every once in a while – buy one bottle of wine, get the second for five cents. Um…that’s cheap. I picked up a fruity Malbec from BevMo that was decent, but didn’t really command my attention.  Regardless, paired with the Boar’der, it was a great way to end the night. And I did it just like old times, falling asleep on Steel and Steph’s couch while the room bustled around me. Ah, the smooth ramp-in to a weekend of gluttony.  Much more to come.

My first post!  Daunting.  Hi.  [must find a picture of me waving awkwardly] I’m Shane’s big sis, of sorts.  Food adoration is in the blood.

After nearly missing my [eternal] flight from MDW to SFO (I hold Denny and Paul partially responsible), sleeping through BOTH snack/drink services in-flight, and feeling generally gross (unshowered=NFC), seeing my friend Stephanie at the arrivals terminal ignited a feeling akin to the last scene in Home Alone when Kevin’s mom finally made it home.  Cue orchestra.

My half-delirious conversation on the ride back to the FuMa’s Western Addition penthouse -

Steph: So what do you want to do while you’re here?  Do you have a list? [Steph's a kindred spirit - she lists almost more than I do]

Denise: …I ‘unno…eat?

Steph: [I swear, with a glimmer of a tear in her eye] I’ve missed you so much.

I tried my best to hold off for a while and write a Master Entry of San Francisco Food Highlights, but my current food journal is getting a little out of control.  Yesterday was full of Dirty Girl Scouts, guava mimosas, lamb pita, tours of the Jelly Belly and Budweiser Factories in Fairfield, capping the day off at Ducca - think Northern Italy meets California - where my good friend and Ducca cook Yonas gave us the treatment - a custom menu, complimentary Prosecco, antipasti treats, this incredible cinnamon-savory soup with Manila clams and rock shrimp, the works.  Another day, another entry.

This morning I decided you guys NEED to know about Dynamo Donuts.  Staying true to the root of our friendship - donuts form the foundation of our love - this morning Steph, Robert, and I hit up this walk-up kiosk in the Castro for some breakfast delights. Our spread (after much deliberation): 1 bacon apple maple donut, 1 Meyer Lemon huckleberry donut, 1 vanilla bean donut, 1 hot cross bun (stuffed with vanilla pastry cream).  One murky, burly coffee.  Two perfectly sated ladies.  And Robert.

Tonight, I’m meeting up with SF pals Josh and JoEllen and Chicago pal Ian, and my sweet boys at La Folie are planning a dinner extravaganza to remember for us - 4-5 courses + wine pairings.  Stay tuned for more San Francisco culinary adventures, mixing my penchant for pretentious dining with my affinity for ghetto gourmet.

One last shameless plug.

Traveling is one of my favorite things to do. New York was my destination this last go-around, and it was a great time. What better way to kick off a birthday trip with a steak dinner and friends? There is none.

Peter Luger’s has been serving delicious meat of the bovine influence to folks in the Brooklyn area for over a century. And with that kind of history, they must be doing something right. Upon entering, you’re greeted by a beautifully stocked bar (that smells of rich mahogany) and directly across that stands a wall lined with Zagat awards from years past. I made sure to book a reservation a couple weeks in advance (coincidentally, the same night we made impromptu plans to take a NYC trip / book tickets), so we were seated almost immediately.

Anticipating the carnage that was about to take place, I couldn’t help but ogle everyone’s food around me, and I did. Hard. I put down an assortment of rolls to temporarily quell the monster. Suddenly, a boisterous old man of a waiter greeted us with one of those ‘no bullshit’ attitudes. It was down to business with this guy. By this time, we had a pretty good idea of what we wanted. A slice of grilled bacon for all of us to start, creamed spinach, plate of french fries, and steak for three with the bottle of wine to wash it all down.

Heaven.

I’ve never had grilled bacon, but I’m pretty sure this spoiled it for any I might have in the future. A nice thick slice, cooked enough to have the best of both worlds, crispy and chewy. More bread to follow. I was hesitant when we figured out that the steaks were broiled, I immediately regret that blasphemous thought. Our waiter threw the plates onto our table, cut up the steak, served up a couple gorgeous medallions each and then used the oil from the steak as a sauce. A dollop of creamed spinach, a handful of fries, and it was off to the races. Silence. The critical mass of a meal is the point at which people stop talking because the food is too good to waste on speech.

Satisfaction.

My buddies spilled the beans to our waiter that it was my birthday (other birthday folks around us were getting rad sundaes). So I was ready for mine… they come out blasting ‘happy birthday,’ candle, the whole nine. It was a bowl of whipped cream. Har har. Assholes. We ended up using it for our coffee. I ended up getting some chocolate gold coins out of deal, however.

If you feel like splurging and putting enough effort into making a reservation ahead of time, Peter Luger’s is the place to do it. Tradition is tough to beat.

Until next time, EAT IT.