Anna "Make it a Double" K.'s Profile

Every family has a restaurant they rely on for consistently delicious food, personable service, and that special something that makes a bustling business feel like home. A place where they are immediately recognized and doted upon, and throughout the years increasingly treated like friends as opposed to customers. For my family, Chef Chu's is that destination.

Birthdays, Mother's and Father's Days, Christmas- at some point through the years every conceivable holiday has seen the Kranzthor family circus celebrate here. When Grandma battled cancer and couldn't cook Thanksgiving dinner, Chef Chu's provided a delightful respite from tradition. Milestones such as anniversaries, graduations, and births all required commemoration with prawns with candied pecans, Sichuan beef, lemon chicken, chow mein, and Mongolian beef. My sister and I fought over the pot stickers, my cousins coveted the sweet and sour pork, and everyone always read their fortune cookies aloud (with the token inappropriate uncle adding "in bed" at opportune moments). My first Shirley Temple, sizzling rice soup, broccoli beef- all experienced here.

A few weeks ago was the first time in many months that we'd gone to Chef Chu's, and my grandfather's absence did not go unnoticed. Few things are as comforting as a familiar and satisfying hot meal- but equally appreciated were the personal condolences concerning our loss from the host, servers, and owners.

As we raised our glasses of Sauvignon Blanc in honor of Grandpa Tex (our waiter still in disbelief that I was of age to do so), we all took in the recognizable scents of garlic, red chili, and black bean sauce and let out a collective breath of acceptance. Here's to the countless meals and memories enjoyed at Chef Chu's- and the many more to come.

I woke up Sunday morning with a hankerin' for a brunch adventure. Having noticed Brenda's as wildly popular on Yelp, I finally decided to follow up with one of my many long-ignored bookmarks. I roosted my roommate out of her peaceful slumber and informed her with a grin that we'd be entering the Tenderloin. After a quick coffee pit-stop, Mollie agreed to speak to me again, and we embarked on our journey.

I'd been warned of the popularity of Brenda's, and was anticipating a formidable wait. What I hadn't expected was a line wrapped damn near 'round the adjacent Kentucky Fried Chicken. Not easily deterred, I put my name on the list and we wandered around to do a little urban sight-seeing. The Marina girls oohed and aahed at all the T-loin's exotic tweakers, and after a half hour or so we returned to check on the progression of the line. I approached the clipboard to see if any names had been crossed off, and who should I have the pleasure of running into but two of SF's finest Yelpers- Angelo F. and Theron L. Even more fortuitous was that Angelo was the very next name on the list, and he was kind enough to let us crash his table. Within minutes we were seated, and popping open the bottle of champagne that Theron had cleverly bought during their two-hour wait.

We ordered up a feast, and divided it family style amongst the four of us.  Holy heart failure Batman! Fried catfish, shrimp and bacon cheddar grits, oyster po'boys, andouille gumbo, and molten Ghiradelli chocolate beignets, all washed down by watermelon mimosas. Everything was positvely delectable- every bit as authentic as the soul food I enjoyed in New Orleans. My only regret? Not wearing drawstring sweatpants.

Thanks to the wonderful staff, Theron and Angelo, and the Brunch Gods for blessing us with a truly miraculous dining experience.

To think, I almost skipped out.

I actually formulated a pros and cons lists of attending last night's event- pros included: "My white pants are miraculously unstained, and therefore acceptable to be shown in public" and "free food and booze". Cons included, "I have no clue how to get home", and "I'm really emo today". Mercifully, Erika and Devon convinced me that the fast-track out of woe-is-me-ville was to imbibe in cocktails and breathe in some soothing hookah plumes.

As soon as I arrived, my bad mood melted away. I helped myself to several Kai Lychee martinis, chowed down on some tasty hummus and pita confections, and yukked it up with all the other shiny happy people holding hookas.

Speaking of- I'm glad Nicole and Ligaya had the foresight to realize that if Yelpers' mouths are half as dirty in real life as they are on the 'nets, some preventative measures had to be taken: hookah condoms, ladies and gentlemen. I woulda taken it a step further, and had a little "How to Hookah Safely" orientation, complete with fun little mottos like, "Be Hip, Cover the Tip!"...but that's just me.

Overall, I had a rootin' tootin' grand ol' time, and can say with conviction that the pros definitely outweighed the cons- although, I *did* end up spilling on my white pants, and I *did* end up taking the bus the wrong direction for a half hour. Worth it!

The day started off promising. My dear friend (known in Yelpland as) Princess Buttercup and I had a long-awaited brunch date, and thanks to a tip from Kerry P, I knew where we could get the trendy chicken and waffle + bottomless mimosa deal- Bar Johnny.

We were sittin' pretty in sunny Russian Hill, me with my long halter sundress, and PBC with her chic workout attire accessorized with the requisite tiny white dog. Within the first sips of our initial mimosas we began to let loose- spilling about our various fucktard exes, mocking her puppy who kept getting caught in its own leash, and inhaling our respective meals.

We managed to hold it together for the most part, at least until we'd finished eating and the real drinking began. Kudos (the affirmation, not the chocolate-covered treat) to our attentive server, who made sure our glasses were always brimming with orange-bubbly goodness.

After paying the bill (thanks again Princess!), we parted ways with a hug and promises of a repeat performance... and then the real hilarity ensued. Since the rest of our interaction was via drunk text messages, I shall present it in it's raw, unedited form:

Me: So... I ran across van ness to beat the traffic light, stepped on my dress, and my boob popped out. Thanks bottomless mimosas!

PBC: Hahahahaha!bbbbb!! I'm goinf to color my hair brown now am goinf to walgreens I'm sure I won't regrey it lyer

Me: Ha! Love it. I'll text you after kickball to make sure we're still friends.

PBC: Ok ana bananab!!!!!!

Me: Its a good idea to bring a box of wine to my kickball practice right? I think so.

PBC: Its excellent idea! I just got gome

Me: How'd it turn out??

PBC: Disaster! I'm never coloring my hsir drunk again!! I'm deep conditioning it with ojon right now.

Me: Hehe, hair fail. Wine bar excursion soon?

PBC: Yes! When I come back from dueling banjos with zealots trip!

...yeah, I can't wait for that story either.

I took a voyage to Vessel last Friday, and promptly set sail to Blackout Island.

How'd that happen? Well, forgetting about dinner helped, but most of the credit goes to that killer happy hour ($5 for a Bud Light and a shot of Fernet or tequila). Particularly dangerous that said special lasts until 9:00. I'd tell you how many I had, but I promptly lost my receipt... and credit card. Yarrrg.

A highlight of the evening was meeting the infamous Thom(ass) F, who gave me all his beers cause he's cutting back on carbs- but not too much, as he rationalized, "if you've got a million dollar tool then you gotta build a shed over it." Classy!

Yeah, we fit in here, along with all the other Scallywags. Drink up me hearties, yo ho!

So, I was having a really awkward day yesterday.

No, really. In the morning, I told the cute building management guy from across the hall that I thought the construction going on (that makes horrendously shrill noises and shakes the entire office) sounded like velociraptors romping around, and that I wished it were true, 'cause obviously dinosaurs are awesome. He politely laughed, and then hightailed it out of there. Can't really blame him.

Then in the afternoon, a wise-cracking coworker started making nicknames for everyone in my office. He challenged me to coin a new moniker for  him- but considering "Berwanger" is his last name, I just stammered and turned a nice crimson color. FML.

Needless to say, I was a little nervous to go to drinks with my friends at the new happy hour spot in the FiDi- especially when one of them warned me of the co-ed bathrooms...cause I was clearly battin' a thousand with members of the opposite sex.

Upon walking in and perusing the menu, I realized that I could actually get behind this place- I mean, "Steak Lounge" is pretty awkward sounding, so that's a star right there for relating to me. The service and food was also gold-star worthy. Our waitress was personable (and bangin'), and brought a free round of champagne for the four of us upon learning I'd just celebrated a birthday- finally, I'd been singled out for something NOT humiliating! The owner, a friendly chap by the name of Steven, also came by to greet us, bringing with him four complimentary hamachi shooters. Two delicious freebies for the table? Hot damn, more stars for you!

The food was delectable (I tried the truffle oil fries and a burger served on a sweet roll) and we were all content with our wine selections. However, I'm leaving room for improvement here, because it's still in the "soft opening" phase, and they haven't set up a happy hour menu yet. While $8 for a mediocre glass of wine is standard for regular hours, I think they'd be wise to cut that price and add some discounted bites for the 5:00 crowd- at least that would be key to my continued patronage.

Overall, I was quite pleased with my experience, and damn proud that I didn't have another "OMFG" moment... because those happen a lot.

Any place that puts up with my high-maintenance ass deserves 5 stars, but I'd give more to Amante if I could. I hosted my 25th birthday party here on Saturday, and at the risk of sounding like an over-excited frat boy (Hi Keith Charles!) it was EPIC. I knew I'd found my venue after corresponding with Amante's events guy, the aptly named Wizz, when he promised he'd personally see to it that the playlist excluded Journey and Def Leppard (there's a reason I didn't choose a Marina bar, after all). The rest of the staff was equally accommodating and attentive- huge props to our cocktail waitress Emilie and all the bartenders for making sure all my guests were (over)served. Thanks so much for coming out friends, it was truly a night to remember... in pictures anyway.

Dilemma: you're at a small, refined cocktail party, wearing your highest heels and an itty bitty dress (technically it's a shirt, but thus far nobody's called you out on that) being served deliciously unique martinis created by the masterful Scott and Todd, and they're beginning to catch up with you. You begin teetering a little, but can't quite put down the signature "Yellow Rose", a citrus-vodka and rosewater infusion. Rationally, you switch to the tequila imbibe, the "Rusty Peso", the latter of which you inadvertently mispronounce as "Trombone". You fear your cover as a dignified lady is about to be blown.

Solution? Locate some gung-ho St. Patrick's Day revelers who've been celebrating all day, and whose current condition disallows discerning up from down. Next to them you'll appear well-mannered and courteous, even if you occasionally hiccup or misspeak.

Trust in Baytenders to keep your guests happy, impressed, and fully lubricated for the duration of your event. But be forewarned, you'll want to sample their wares all night, and I imagine keeling over in the middle of the party might undermine the swanky and intimate setting you were going for.

It's recently been brought to my attention that my reviews imply I'm nothing but a vapid lush.

This is NOT going to help my reputation. C'est la vie!

Janney, Lauren and I had an fantastic time cavorting with (and taking advantage of the open bar provided by) the fine folks of cDiver. Let's just say there was a whole lot of sausage in this jambalaya, if you catch my drift... the girls and I didn't even have to get off our beignet-fattened fannies, thanks to all the chivalrous SCUBA chaps who brought the Hand Grenades directly to us.  

Deliciously tacky decor (including a portrait of "Family Guy's" Quagmire on a women's bathroom stall), huge wrap-around balcony to throw beads off of (my favorite target was a Baby Boomer sporting a bedazzled jean jacket), and a staff exuding Southern charm and hospitality make Tropical Isle incredible. Props to the house band who played "Sweet Home Alabama" per my request, and bless the hearts of all those who linedanced to it with me. This is the kinda place where you can be footloose and fancy free, and not have to worry about being judged... which is ALWAYS a plus. ;)

My new fat ass has a first name, it's B-E-I-G-N-E-T !
My new fat ass has a second name, it's M-U-L-T-I-P-L-E !
Oh, I'd love to eat them everyday,
And if you ask me why I'll say...
'Cuz Cafe Du Monde has a way
With D-R-U-N-K  A-N-N-A K.