Nato G.'s Profile

I've been here for haircuts from Nick, a pedicure from Hung, and a massage from Ben. It's all great.

Ben is a methodical massage therapist with a real talent for rehabilitation. I've walked duck-footed for most of my life. Ben worked on my legs for awhile and my feet pointed the right way for the first time in decades.

Nick gives a mean haircut, and Hung made my feets very happy.

I thought One Market was wonderful and would happily return and recommend it. While many places around these parts are into farm-to-table cuisine, I get annoyed when I spend $15 for the best pear ever as my dessert course. When I go out to eat, I want the experience to be more than competent trawling of the farmer's market. To paraphrase Mystikal, show me what you're workin' with! One Market did so. The food highlighted the ingredients in all their seasonal glory, but had enough technique and presentation to be exciting.

The other thing I really liked about it was that the menu was designed for a lot of different price-levels. You could go there and be perfectly satisfied with a relatively affordable dinner (3 course prix fixe menu with limited options, easy on the alcohol for $39/person), or you could splash out with a $79 tasting menu. Same with drinks, dessert menu, the whole bit.

My meal:
Grilled octopus that had been sous vide first, over pureed kabocha squash with pear and tamarind sauce. The octopus was tender and tasty and the flavor and texture contrasts through the dish were great.
Then Pan Roasted Domestic Lamb Loin w/chick peas, wild ramps, cocoa reduction. I don't know what ramps are, but the lamb was perfect.
Also added the farmer's market side ($6.75) of sauteed baby artichokes, which were simple and great.
You can do seasonal desserts for $10, which is a decent portion, or mini desserts for $5.75 each or $15 for 3 if you want tastes of awesome but conserve cost.
We shared the chocolate souffle cake with raspberry pinot noir compote (huzzah!) and strawberry business thing with almond brioche and ricotta cream (sha-zam!).

I love brunch here. Low-key, delicious food, served by two old ladies. The chilaquiles are something special, and different. She fries the chips so they're crispy when they're tossed in the tangy tomatillo sauce. The beans and rice are uncommonly good too.

Pastores is tiny, so much so that you might not know it existed unless you were standing right in front and it was open. It's like the Order of the Phoenix in that way. The only reason they don't get 5 stars is that they don't seem to have any particular hours. This feature makes them awesome in a down-home authentic way--"we're only open Wednesdays from 3 to 3:15!" But I would go there A LOT more, as it is in my neighborhood, if I knew when it would be open. I walk by all the time, and it's never open, so I rush in on the rare occasion that it is.

This place filled me with rage on New Year's Eve. I'd think a special occasion night would be your chance to put your best foot forward as a business, but apparently Cafe Mason decided to go down the crapper.

Here's what happened: like everyone else in Union Square, at 130am on New Year's Eve I was looking for a place to eat and ready to settle for anything. Cafe Mason's menu informed us that there was a $10/person minimum for NYE, which was perfectly understandable. What provoked my ire was that they marked up the prices on everything A LOT. $10.95 for onion rings. $14.95 for eggs. $10 for a milkshake. So instead of getting a few normally-priced things to make my $10 minimum, I got one.

To add insult to injury, what we got was not that good. The portion of french fries was stingy. One of my companions ordered a croque monsieur sandwich, which arrived cold and soggy and generally inedible.

They seemed to serve well on NYE for drunken teenagers in prom clothes, fresh from vomiting at the curb. For me, even if everything else they did was fantastic the rest of the year, this kind of predatory behavior on a holiday would ensure I never went back.

Since the word hit the street that this would be barbecue mere stumbling distance from my place, I've been counting the moments until I could stuff my face with carcass. Finally I got some take-out to tuck into with the missus. The food did not disappoint.

The pork ribs and brisket were delicious. Tender, flavorful, and moist. I fancied the XXX sauce and it was spicy and sweet and wonderful. By way of sides, we shared the mashed sweet potatoes, creamed spinach, pork n beans, and okra. They were all good, but the okra stood out as especially fantastic. And the corn bread was something special too.

I had a couple of gripes about the service on the pickup of my order (my bill was wrong and they forgot something I had to ask for), but I'll cut them some slack and hope it subsides as they figure out how to be a restaurant. My main complaint was that we ordered the key lime pie for dessert and the $5 portion was TEENY TINY. Tasty, but not a remotely respectable portion.

Ergo, I'll be going back, and probably often to partake of the wholesome taste of slaughter, and pass on dessert.

Lettus has a cool decor, what with the recycled tile floors and barn-wood walls. And the food is tasty, even for health food. Normally, I like my health food braised and wrapped in bacon, and get cranky with the 'tude of the self-righteous and malnourished fanatics. But it was good.

And I had the awesomest interaction:
At our table, I turned to my wife and said something to the effect of, "Our house is so fucking hot." (It was a hot day.)
A woman at the table next to us jumped up and huffed, "If you're going to talk like that, I'm leaving. Who raised you? You're rude!" And then she stormed off to another table.

Leaving her order number behind. I, always considerate, brought her the number and said, "You forgot your god-damn number."
Crazy lady: "You know where you're going, young man!"

How often do I get a chance to bait a wacko prude in public?

I'll be back, Lettus. I hope there are more people who want to yell funny things at me.

It is with a heavy heart that I type these words. My review of Taqueria Vallarta would be effusive about the deliciousness of the burritos and the salsas, and my deep appreciation of the taco stand which reminds me of LA in a good way. That's why what I'm about to say only demotes them to 2 stars and not 1.

However, alas, I must report that I can't eat there any more. I've had repeated bad experiences with sanitation at Vallarta that only leave me wondering what further horrors of hygiene I'm not witnessing. One time I saw a rat. Another time I saw an employee sneeze into her hand and resume handling my food. Most recently, I saw an employee put cuts of raw beef with his bare hands on the same counter they use to assemble the burritos, and then move to continue cooking without cleaning the counter or his hands.

There are other taquerias that are just as good and cheap and down home, and don't make me feel like I'm risking exposure to ebola every time I eat there.

Mijita is the Starbucks of carnitas tacos. If you're from Vermont, and are too scared of brown people to go to the Mission for a real and high quality taqueria experience, Mijita might be for you. If you want adequate tacos before you hop a ferry to Larkspur or go to Pier 39, Mijita might be right for you. If you've never had a taco and have a visceral mistrust of foreign foods, and maybe an equal mistrust that cheap food must be recycled sewage (or it wouldn't be cheap), and maybe need bridge taco, a training wheels taco, then Mijita might be for you.

But in San Francisco, California, Nation of Atzlan, of all places, there is NO EXCUSE for a bad taco. As someone indigenous to San Francisco, I'm ashamed and embarrassed that Mijita may be giving visitors the wrong impression of what a taco is supposed to be. Double the price at mediocre quality is unacceptable. The invisible hand of the free market should put Mijita under like drowning a kitten.

Although the taco truck and divey taqueria are perfect on their own, there are indeed places that try and succeed at making a classier taco--La Calaca Loca and Papalote come to mind.

Mijita: you've been warned.

If I were able to rate each menu entry separately, it'd be 5, nay 6 stars for the brisket alone. Memphis Minnie's walks away from all the local barbecue competitors just on the basis of the quality of the meat. The best sauce in the world can't compensate for gristly meat chunks.

The sides are all tasty--greens, yams, cole slaw. I wish the portions were a little bigger, because it's good and I want more of it.

My biggest gripe is the sauces. Memphis Minnie's offers a choice of 3 sauces on the tables. A mustardy sauce, a vinegary sauce, and a more typical bbq sauce. I'm generally skeptical of self-lubricating barbecue situations, but I wish Memphis Minnie's tried harder in the sauce department. The sauces are not only self-serve (which means the meat is not sauced on arrival) but also they're merely adequate. I'd be happier buying a bucket o' brisket and bringing it home to use my own home-made barbecue sauce.

This place made me sad, because it was a little pupuseria struggling for something greater and failing entirely.

The prices were relatively low and the food was ok. If I had paid a little bit less in crappier environs, it would have been just want I wanted. It felt like the read "Kitchen Confidential" with a notepad and cribbed a quiver-full of gimmicks. Squirt bottles of sauce. Big white plates. Art on the walls; Picasso prints no less. High altitude food. I saw the cooks using the metal ring to mold the cabbage slaw for pupusas into towers for better presentation.

But it came off empty and shticky. What's the Spanish word for shtick?

Also, the whole experience apart from the food was weird. They told us they were full with reservations, but I could see a bunch of empty tables, and no one came in to claim them while we were there. There was one large party who had an entire 2-top table for the elbow of the guy on the end. So I ended up eating at the bar, and was treated one after another to crazy mission dive bar drunks. They'd come in alone and order a beer. Drink it. Talk to me. And then leave. One guy asked why my book didn't have pictures. Another guy asked me to smile.

Word of advice to restaurants: be who you are. It's ok to be a homey salvadorean restaurant. We need to hang on to that in the Mission. We don't need the humble, noble, pupuseria to try to figure out how to be a small-plate-communal-table-wine-bar-locally-sourced-seasonal New Thing eatery.

Be the ball, Danny.