Sunday, April 6, 2008

A day with friends in San Francisco

lunch: croque-monsieur; pinot grigio
Blue Bottle Cafe: 667 Mint St., San Francisco

P1010158.jpg

A long table down the middle; a counter along the window; small open kitchen at back of room; espresso machine up front. Six or seven simple lunch items: of which all four of us, for some reason, without any discussion of the matter, went straight for what was billed as "croque-madame." What we had was quite delicious, but, as you can see, not a croque-madame at all, but a variation of croque-monsieur, which is a toasted ham sandwich with gruyère cheese melted on top and sometimes (though not here) involving béchamel sauce into the bargain. A croque-madame is the same thing with a fried egg on top. It doesn't really matter, I suppose, but there's no longer any excuse for getting this wrong; it's all explained quite clearly in Wikipedia. In any case it was delicious, on Acme pain de mie, with nice thin slices of dill pickle in place of the traditional cornichon, and a discreet dollop of Dijon mustard. But be warned: don't even try to park on Mint Street, however tempting the curb: tickets cost $60, twice the price of lunch with tax and tip!

P1010173.jpg
dinner: crostini with white beans and broccoli rabe; flatiron steak on carta di musica with wild arugula
barbera d'asti
Bacco, 737 Diamond St., San Francisco, tel. 415.282.4969


This is a neighborhood Italian in a very pleasant corner of San Francisco, the kind that's mostly row houses, couples pushing strollers, people sitting out in front of a corner café. We've eaten here four or five times now over the years, and have always liked it. The dining room is high-ceilinged and airy, the tables comfortably separated, the colors and paintings pleasant, the service friendly and correct. We started with thick crostini spread with a purée of white beans, covered with warmed broccoli rabe, decorated with thin slices of Pecorino di Sardegna, and drizzled with truffle-scented olive oil. I went on to slices of rare grilled flatiron steak placed on Sardinian music-paper bread, a sort of thin, brittle flatbread, again softened with a drizzle of oil, and heaped with wild arugula and Parmesan. Lindsey's risotto with scallops and saffron was nicely done, and we had big and tasty affogati for dessert, hold the whipped cream, please.

No comments: