Emily H.'s Profile

There are about a bajillion reviews for this place, and we all know it's wonderful and fantastic and omfg. I just thought I'd reinforce the fact that their butter fish is consistently delicious -- it melts in your mouth, just like buttah. The other thing worth mentioning is that there is a Supa Sweet Emily roll on the menu! I just love seeing my name in print, don't judge. It's two kinds of crab and avocado, with a sweet sauce drizzled over it. It's very tasty, and I don't generally gravitate towards the crabby stuff at sushi joints, so that's notable! Aaand, I just caught some irony in there between the crabbiness and the sweetness. Work it.

I am here to tell you first -- Peter and Mrs. M cooked up the most delicious baby in the whole world.  They call him Davison, or Davis for short, and he is simply scrumptious.  Most babies look like they've been punched in both eyes for the first few months of life, but Davison's presentation is much more refined.  In fact, he is flawless!

He pairs well with whatever food stuffs you can bring the M family -- I've tried him with both Indian Oven and A.G. Ferrari now, and both combinations were amazing.  Davis was the appetizer, the side dish, and the dessert for both meals -- he's quite adaptable, that one.

At one point, they wrapped him in duck, which elevated the Davis experience to new levels.  Mmmm, duck!  Oh wait, I guess that was just a duck embroidered on a towel that he was wrapped in after his bath.  Still, he's irresistible!  Five stars to Davison and his chefs!  I mean, uh... his parents!

I walked to this Lobster Shack from Cow Hollow, which made me extra hungry to get a lobster roll.  To be honest, I didn't have a damn clue what a lobster roll even was, but my BF suggested it, and before the word "roll" even came out of his mouth, I was like, "Lobster?  Yeah!  We go now!"  So, off we went.  

We walked in, and although the only (east) coast town I've visited is Newport, Rhode Island, the place really felt very east coastal.  You know, lots of nautical decorations, the smell of seafood, very few pronounced R's (lobstah, chowdah, etc.).  Except, for whatever reason, the nice gal taking our order had some kind of Eastern European accent, rather than the east coastal one.  No matter.  

At first, I was like $20 for lunch?  WTF?  Then I remembered.  LOBSTER.  And the $20 included clam chowder.  Sign me up.  Come to find out, there are two options for the lobster roll:  Maine-Style or Naked.  Maine-Style is lobster mixed with mayo, green onions, and a few other salad-y type things.  The Naked is just lobster, with melted butter and mayo on the side.  I decided to take the mayo distribution into my own hands, and I also wanted to say the word "Naked", just because it's fun.

We sat down, and as we were looking around the old maps and painted oars on the walls, my BF comes out with, "This really reminds me of my boyhood summers in Maine."  Well, considering he grew up near L.A., this didn't wash.  "You're making shit up," said I.  "Really takes me back to those innocent boyhood summers in Maine.  Not a care in the world, sighhh," said he.

Well, whatever, we just got served (oh snap!) our clam chowdah, and it's in a freaking mug!  No bowls here, because that's just how they roll.  Oh man, horrible pun totally intended.  They even had some of those hexagonal oyster crackers to put in.  I love those things, I used to eat them by the fistful when I was a wee little lass.  (NOT during my girlhood summers in Maine, mind you.)  Don't be fooled though, oyster crackers have nothing to do with oysters.  Still, they add a nice little crunch to the DEE-LISH clam chowdah.  It was seriously so good, and since there was such a plethora of clams in such a large mug, I probably would have been satiated just eating that alone for lunch.  But, BANG!  Here come the lobster rolls!  I threw my spoon down, grabbed the mug by the handle, and chugged the rest.  Mmm Mmm Good.  BF says, "Yep, just like back in Maine.  Before the weight of the world was on my shoulders."  (I think he's lost his mind.)

So the lobster roll is not really a roll.  It's a whole BUNCH of lobster meat atop a split piece of buttered and grilled doughy white bread.  Seriously, a whole lotta lobstah.  You sprinkle a little lemon on, drizzle a little butter on, slap a little mayo on, and take a big bite.  It tastes so good when it hits your lips!  You don't mind that there's an avalanche of lobster falling off the top, because it gets caught by the red plastic basket below by a welcoming bed of kettle-style potato chips.  Some of it might even land in the side of coleslaw.  Damn, this is a lot of food!!  There are even bread and butter pickles to clear the palette.  Or something.  I'm not sure what the pickles had to do with anything, actually, but they were damn tasty.  BF goes, "I don't want these pickles.  Back in Maine during my boyhood summers, we only ate dills."  I quickly grabbed his pickles and made a mental note to find him to a good psychiatrist.

We didn't talk much other than that while we were shoveling, err, eating, because we were too busy chowing down, and internally remarking how scrumptious it was.  It was SO SO SO tasty, and I've never had anything like it.  The Eastern European gave us great service too, and obviously the chefs knew what they were doing, because everything was crazy delicious.  Worth my (or my crazy boyfriend's) twenty bucks any day of the week.  We'll be back, and I might even get adventurous and order the Maine-style next time.  But heaven help me if I have to hear one more word about the boyhood summers in Maine!  Eat ya damn lobstah.

The Great Internal Debate that ensued at Ella's this weekend, over brunch:

Right side of my brain (RS):  Mmmm...  Wow, look at all these creative-sounding choices!  Look at the cocktail menu!  Look at the bread options!

Left side of my brain (LS):  Stop wandering around.  Make a choice before the waitress comes and you end up whining that you need another minute.

RS:  Okay, first...  Coffee, tea, or booze?  Coffee, tea, or booze?  Oh no!  Here comes the waitress for the drink order!

LS:  "Green tea, please."  Was that really so hard, RS?  Sheesh.

RS:  Well, fine.  I wanted a blood orange mimosa or maybe a greyhound but I guess you win this round.  On to the entree choice.  Shrimp curry scramble with snow pea slivers?  Curry for brunch?  Sounds interesting.  Folded omelet with bacon and avocado?  The bacon would make it a slam-dunk, but I could totally make that dish at home.

LS:  You can't fold an omelet to save your life.  You end up scrambling whatever you try to "omelet".

RS:  Fine!  Omelet with sausage, red pepper and eggplant?  Eh...  Some kind of awesome sounding Florentine made with cornmeal?  Niiiiice...

LS:  DAMN IT!!  Hurry the hell up.  The waitress will be back any second now.  And if you DARE try to modify one of the omelet combinations or any such bullshit, I'll cut you.

RS:  Oh simmer down!  I haven't even begun to decide on the bread:  white (boring), wheat (snooze), honey oat raisin (mmm!!), buttermilk biscuit (droooool...).   Definitely honey oat raisin.  Or buttermilk biscuit.  Or honey oat raisin.  Nah, biscuit.  No, raisin.  Umm...

LS:  (speaking more loudly than necessary, possibly startling waitress)  "SHRIMP CURRY SCRAMBLE.  HONEY OAT RAISIN."

RS:  But...  but...  What about the biscuit?  The sausage?  What about the bac--

LS:  SHUT UP!!  You're so annoying with the constant bandying about of options.  I had to pick something before you humiliated the both of us.  It was the first thing that caught your gnat-like attention.  You'll eat it, and YOU'LL LIKE IT!!

RS:  Fine.  Bitch.

Well, I did eat it, and I did like it...  I'm sure that dish was a special that isn't always on the menu, but the shrimp was NOT over-cooked, and the flavor was wholly satisfying, even as a brunch dish.  But the bread, OH the bread.  Pure carb-o-licious heaven...  Both the honey oat raisin AND the biscuit (stole some of my boyfriend's.  ha ha, left brain!!).  I can see why they sell this crack, I mean offering, as a take-home option.

I would definitely go back to try the other choices -- the only problem being that everything looks SO good that I'm sure there will be more internal debates...  It is a touch on the pricey side, but we didn't have to wait for a table (around 10 on a Saturday), so I was riding the instant gratification wave and didn't mind the couple extra bucks too much.  Now, on to make the decision about what to make for dinner.  Yeah, this could take a while.

It might be the gi-normous "small plate" of cured meats that pleased me to no end the first time I ate here, it might be the liquid crack on top of the homemade soup (though I think they actually call it "truffle oil") that makes me want to pick up the bowl of soup and chug it, it might be the never-ending wine list including lots of Italian reds which are a personal favorite of mine, it might be the fact that there is no wait for brunch and I have less patience than a five-year-old with a severe case of ADD.  Whatever it is, they've got it.  

I have been here four times now, and every time I go, I don't really want to leave.  I'd rather just curl up on their comfortable pillow-topped bench and wait for the next time it would be acceptable to eat.  Come to think of it, I'd rather just keep drinking their delicious wines or blood-orange mimosas until I feel hungry again.  Alas, I'm not sure that's acceptable behavior, no matter how chill the management and wait staff is.  They're so chill that they actually looked up what "coddled" eggs meant last time I was there.  Our server actually went back,  polled the chefs, and when they weren't totally sure, he got on-line and researched it for me.  Truly awesome service!!  I love when people cater to my whims -- damn skippy he earned himself a big ass tip.

As for the food, like I mentioned earlier, if you're a fan of cured meats, get the salumi plate.  Even if there are two of you, the small size will be more than enough for an appetizer.  Their pizzas (including breakfast pizza - fried egg and pancetta... mmm...) are also quite tasty and the crust isn't thick, which earns points in my book.  Their paninis come with some kind of garlicky aeoli which tastes so good, it makes you want to smack yo mama.  I don't even really know what that means, but it's definitely the case here.

I took away one star for the time I sampled a less-than-stellar pasta dish, and for the fact that their coffee isn't all that and a bag of shrimp chips.  Howevah, this place has become a fast favorite...  And I'm not gonna lie, I actually hope the Marina haters will keep staying away, at least from the brunch.  It's too awesome to have such instant gratification, no patience involved!!

When a few of the girls in my crew were discussing where to go have a little happy hour, we started by naming off neighborhoods.  Naturally, Lower Haight was our first choice!  We were really in the mood to be surrounded by smelly filth.  So, when we stepped into RNM, we were heartily disappointed, because there was no filth anywhere.  Instead, the doorway and walls are covered with that mesh chain-link stuff that you find on fireplaces, to keep the cinders from flying out and, in the words of Talking Heads, "burning down the house!"  It was amazing, considering some of the walls are about a story and a half tall.  Those are some seriously long links of chain!!  Being a texture person, I couldn't help but wrap myself up in the chain-link curtains like a human burrito, so I could feel the cool metal against my hot skin.  Robert, the host with the most, quickly came over and whispered, "I know, honey, I know, but we just can't allow our patrons to make out with the decor."  Then he was able to extract me, but only by promising to seat me at a velvet couch.  MMmm. . .  velvet. . .

The upstairs lounge area is pretty sweet, especially because of the velvet couches.  But also because you can sit around a big coffee table-ish block and share everything with your pals.  Unless you don't like to share with your pals, in which case, well, stop being so freaking selfish.  But the apps and drinks we shared were delish -- the mushroom pizza with truffle oil was my favorite, even though I usually prefer my pizza to be topped with cured pork products of some kind.  The Ro Sham Bo zinfandel stood up to that strong-ass fungus flavor (in a good way) like a champ.  The mini-burgers were on something focaccia-like, which is not what I was expecting, but focaccia in bun-form turns out to be a tasty option.  Those buns were tiiiiight, yo.

I'd go back to try some more options, and probably with a group, because now that I have experienced the velvet, I believe a regular chair may prove to be disappointing.  And I'll DEFinitely go back if they become willing to bend a little on the "no making out with decor" policy.

I can't believe I haven't checked this place out before now, since I work in Laurel Village, and I'm a huge fan of Italian food and wine.  But see, normally, Laurel Village presents itself as a veritable jungle of strollers, nannies, and moms in yoga pants.  And those moms in yoga pants are overly aggressive in the queues to get coffee, I'm telling you.  Those bitches think their time is more important than mine just because they have to get to Mommy-and-Me play time right before their three-hundred dollar facial, but you know what?  MY TIME IS JUST AS IMPORTANT, SO STOP TRYING TO CUT IN FRONT OF ME, YOU WHORES!!  Anyway, normally I'm scooting right on back towards single-people land and out of Laurel Village after work, but last night seemed like the right time to try Sociale.  Mainly because someone invited me there, but I digress.

We were perusing the wine list when the sommelier came up and asked if we would like any help.  We were thinking of ordering a Barbaresco, when he pointed out the fact that the red wine flight of the night included a Barbaresco, and we could also try a Dolcetto and Barbera while we were at it.  How helpful, Mr. Sommelier!  Good service.  All three wines in the flight were good, but the Barbaresco was good enough to order a second glass with my entree, a lamb shank.  To call this just a "lamb shank" is sinful, because it was so tasty that I nearly ripped its clothes off and made love to it right there on the table.  Would have been a little awkward with the tomato-garlic sauce that accompanied it getting all over everything, so I restrained myself.  But it was cascading off the bone faster than I could devour it, and it was a PERFECT pairing with the Barbaresco, in fact, it coaxed more flavor out of the wine than I had tasted in my first glass of the same wine, during the apps course.  That lamb shank was one of the sexiest and suggestive (with all the wine coaxing) pieces of meat I have ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Sociale gets a four stars instead of five only because the pasta dish was way too sweet - it was made with cherry tomatoes which killed the fruit in the wine (the fruit being rather demure anyway in the Italian varietals), and frankly I just won't stand for fruit wars when I'm trying to eat dinner.  I would definitely go back, and I would definitely take dates there.  Well, if I had any dates, that is, I would consider taking them there.  But you know what?  Screw dating.  Lamb shank, seriously, will you marry me?

"Rather spontaneously, my Little Gorgeous friend from Tahoe decided to drive down to SF on a Tuesday to see a Brett Dennen show.  At first, I was a little nervous about joining her, because the club's name is Hotel Utah, and I used to live in Utah when I was a kid, and never before, nor since, have I ever been so ostracized.  (Utah contains some VERY exclusive Mormon seven-year-olds, I shit you not!  I got no birthday party invites because I didn't share their religion.  Little bitches!)  However, since, apparently, there would be bourbon present, I figured this was more my kind of Utah.  Plus my good friend PP RainCloud was along for the ride.  He likes bourbon too.

So PP RainCloud and I get there first while Little Gorgeous is getting her Mission on, and we sidle up to the bar.  PPRC is something like 6'4" tall (i.e. you can't miss him) and I have a habit of eye-stalking bartenders until they look my way and pay attention to me (for drink ordering purposes only), but for some reason, we sit there unnoticed for like FIFTEEN MINUTES.  The gorgeous bottle of Knob Creek is a PPRC arms-length away (he's tall so his arms are quite long - he's no Tayshaun Prince, look at the length of THOSE arms! but still) and we stare at it longingly in between eye-stalking the bartender who is working himself into some kind of frenetic frenzy of pointless wonder.  He's all over the place -- taking drink orders, then half-assedly making part of the order, then interrupting that process to ring it up, then taking another order before that one's complete, then spinning around in circles while speaking in tongues.  And all we want is Knob Creek!  On the rocks!  So simple!  But noooo. . .

FINALLY my eye-stalking pays off and he sees us and we place our ultra-simple order, which he promptly screws up by adding cocktail straws to our double-shot-glassfuls of ice and Knob Creek.  What the fuck?  Who puts a straw in a drink like that?  PPRC and I look at the straws, then at each other, then back at the straws, then at the frantic bartender.  Maybe if he spent less time adding superfluous straws to straight bourbon he would be able to serve his customers in a more efficient manner.

Those first delicious wonderful yum-yum-yum Knob Creeks go down like cold lemonade on a hot summer day, so I fly solo to the bar for round two.  I would have chosen the second bartender over Mr. Cocktail Straw, but his section was about one-third as crowded, so I stupidly concluded that I would get quicker service even though he's still frantically spinning aimlessly around the bar.  Well, I begin not-so-patiently waiting, and it's more of the same -- me eye-stalking, him flitting, for like ten minutes.  But then!  I nearly burst into tears as I watched him try to pour a beer.  He has the pint glass roughly four inches below the tap, and the glass is straight up, no tilt at all!  If you have ever poured a beer before, you know this method yields you exactly one glass of 90% beer foam and 10% actual beer.  So he dumps the foam out and tries to put more actual beer in the glass USING THE EXACT SAME METHOD OF POURING.  It takes him nearly four and a half minutes to pour one beer.  At this point I literally want to jump over the bar and just TAKE OVER everything, because not only does this guy suck big ass at bartending, but he appears to be the man in charge.  With this type of leadership, the Hotel Utah is quickly going to become the Hotel Broke-tah because everyone knows that the quicker you serve people booze, the quicker they get done drinking it, the quicker they come back to you for some more sweet sweet Knob Creek, and the quicker your cash register fills up.

Then, the unthinkable happens. . .  They run out of sweet sweet Knob Creek!  And the explanation for them running out of the sweet sweet Knob Creek is that they had less then half a bottle on hand when the night began.  Hello?  You know good and well that you're going to have a packed bar tonight because Brett Dennen is actually quite awesome at playing music, and yet you don't stock up the liquor beforehand?  Sweet cracker sandwich, this place is annoying.  Thank God I was semi-numbed to reality by the first two glasses of Knob Creek, otherwise I may have begun firing people and taking a quick inventory right before I sat down to do the books.  You know it's hard out there for a (pimp) competent person in the face of inefficient madness!"