17th of November 2007: Garlic and Freedom
Back again after another blogging break, and it's just two full days to go before I leave San Francisco. On Monday I'll be flying out to see Deidre, my surrogate big sister in Las Vegas, baby!
In the meantime I've making the most of my last days in San Francisco. With ten minutes to go before my cleaning shift, my boss at the hostel (a softly-spoken Irishman called PJ) gives me the day off. It's a nice surprise and I get straight out into a beautiful bright fresh autumn morning with that school's-off buzz. I head down to Union Square with a big soy chai with extra spice and sit, relax and people-watch for an hour or so while I plan my day.
Union Square has become part of my world and for me the heart of San Francisco. I get down here at least once a day every day just to soak up the vibe of the city, meditate, talk to friends from the hostel or just think stuff through. It's a vibrant and busy location but never feels rushed or stressful as a similar location in London definitely would. It's a space in which the citizens of The City definitely invest, and there are always things going on here from big public demonstrations to commercial promotional events to everything in between.
Over the time I've been coming down here I've seen (amongst many other things):
A choreographer putting together an extensive dance routine around the square, apparently for a music video
A very good live concert by an Irish band (promoting Ryanair)
A strange intense bald man training his bulldog to skateboard
A mass meditation session by about 300 members of the Falun Gong group
For today I have one commitment I absolutely must make, a pilgrimage even. I make a reservation for one o'clock at the Stinking Rose in North Beach. It's a San Francisco landmark, a restaurant themed entirely around garlic in all its forms. I'm passionate about garlic in my cooking, and knowing this Kelly Tice in Houston has been insisting I try the place out ever since I was planning this journey. There are a bunch of folks at the hostel it'd be good to go with, but I decide I want to make this a treat just for me.
I do some packing, then take a leisurely stroll in the sunshine out to North Beach, the Italian quarter of San Francisco where Deidre, Brian and I hung out my second night in the city, with great live music and an incredible range of restaurants and cafes. I have plenty of time so I wander and explore for some time, and sit in the shade in a small park to read the Onion (it's free on pretty much every street corner).
When I get to the Stinking Rose it's about half full but filling up. It's big and clean and cheerful, with black and white tiled floors, lots of mixed wood, mirrors and chrome surfaces. The entranceway has long shelves with a range of garlic-based products for sale in jars, bottles and boxes, as well as shirts and other memorabilia. I'm seated at a small square table with salt, pepper and water and the first of the Stinking Rose's endless allium derivatives - a bottle of garlic infused olive oil and a glass jar of their own garlic relish.
I take my time ordering; the atmosphere of the restaurant is laidback. The ceiling is hung with ropes of garlic and the walls are covered in enthusiastic review clippings, celebrity photographs and posters. The kitchen is open, the counters hung around with polished copper kitchenware, and lively noise and amazing smells are issuing from that side of the room.
The menu is, in some ways, surprisingly pedestrian - steaks, seafood, pastas and salads, the only unusual element being, of course, that every item contains copious amounts of garlic. Some items have a cute little vampire icon next to them, indicating that they can be served without garlic (presumably for large groups containing non-garlic-lovers - frankly in my view it would be better just to exclude these people from social occasions, but I'm not planning the menu).
With very careful consideration I order the Bagna Calda ("garlic in a hot tub") and a small order of garlic mussels, followed by the garlic braised short ribs of beef with swiss chard and garlic mashed potatoes. Since I'm treating myself I decide to splash out on a glass of reasonable wine as well, and order the Schmitt Sohne Reisling.
The Bagna Calda arrives first, a chafing dish of slow roasted whole garlic cloves in olive oil with seasoning and a few anchovies. It comes with a plate of perfectly formed little fresh-baked focaccia rolls, and the cloves are soft enough to spread on the warm bread. The flavour is everything I'd hoped - piquant, savoury, almost fruity from the slow roasting, perfectly seasoned and set off by the salty fish.
By the time I finish my first roll the mussels have arrived, a good-sized bowl of them with a little dish of frothy drawn garlic butter for dipping. They're delicious garlicky morsels with a good fresh taste of seawater underneath the seasoning, and the simple serving demands a bit of gusto. I dip and munch and go back for more focaccia and garlic from the chafing dish.
There's a short wait for my entree, and I sit back, sip my Reisling (another education in what's different about good wine, sweet and soft but with a refreshing sharp finish and layers of fruity variations) and observe the other patrons - the restaurant is mostly full now. Several have clearly just come for a regular dinner experience, but there are a few others who seem to have that special glow of anticipation I've brought with me - the pilgrims, who've planned and looked forward to this as a significant event in their lives.
The beef, when it arrives, is heavenly (if a little salty) - incredibly rich in savoury garlic flavours and so tender it pulls apart under my fork without losing good firm texture in the bite. The potatoes are creamy, the chard sweet and fresh. After a few weeks of pasta and sauce, sandwiches and Jack In the Box I'm in heaven. By the time I've polished off the lot and wiped up the steak juices with a last half of focaccia roll I'm stuffed. I walk out into the brisk sunlight and make my way rather slowly and carefully back to the hostel, to spend most of the rest of the afternoon napping on a sofa.
For those new to the blog, Deidre picked me up hitch-hiking out of Burning Man and we hung out in Reno, then met again in San Francisco for Decompression. She's a beautiful bouncy hippie chick who works for a solar energy company, sings Middle Eastern music and makes great trancy electronica with her boyfriend (also called Mark).
In the meantime I've making the most of my last days in San Francisco. With ten minutes to go before my cleaning shift, my boss at the hostel (a softly-spoken Irishman called PJ) gives me the day off. It's a nice surprise and I get straight out into a beautiful bright fresh autumn morning with that school's-off buzz. I head down to Union Square with a big soy chai with extra spice and sit, relax and people-watch for an hour or so while I plan my day.
Union Square has become part of my world and for me the heart of San Francisco. I get down here at least once a day every day just to soak up the vibe of the city, meditate, talk to friends from the hostel or just think stuff through. It's a vibrant and busy location but never feels rushed or stressful as a similar location in London definitely would. It's a space in which the citizens of The City definitely invest, and there are always things going on here from big public demonstrations to commercial promotional events to everything in between.
Over the time I've been coming down here I've seen (amongst many other things):
A choreographer putting together an extensive dance routine around the square, apparently for a music video
A very good live concert by an Irish band (promoting Ryanair)
A strange intense bald man training his bulldog to skateboard
A mass meditation session by about 300 members of the Falun Gong group
For today I have one commitment I absolutely must make, a pilgrimage even. I make a reservation for one o'clock at the Stinking Rose in North Beach. It's a San Francisco landmark, a restaurant themed entirely around garlic in all its forms. I'm passionate about garlic in my cooking, and knowing this Kelly Tice in Houston has been insisting I try the place out ever since I was planning this journey. There are a bunch of folks at the hostel it'd be good to go with, but I decide I want to make this a treat just for me.
I do some packing, then take a leisurely stroll in the sunshine out to North Beach, the Italian quarter of San Francisco where Deidre, Brian and I hung out my second night in the city, with great live music and an incredible range of restaurants and cafes. I have plenty of time so I wander and explore for some time, and sit in the shade in a small park to read the Onion (it's free on pretty much every street corner).
When I get to the Stinking Rose it's about half full but filling up. It's big and clean and cheerful, with black and white tiled floors, lots of mixed wood, mirrors and chrome surfaces. The entranceway has long shelves with a range of garlic-based products for sale in jars, bottles and boxes, as well as shirts and other memorabilia. I'm seated at a small square table with salt, pepper and water and the first of the Stinking Rose's endless allium derivatives - a bottle of garlic infused olive oil and a glass jar of their own garlic relish.
I take my time ordering; the atmosphere of the restaurant is laidback. The ceiling is hung with ropes of garlic and the walls are covered in enthusiastic review clippings, celebrity photographs and posters. The kitchen is open, the counters hung around with polished copper kitchenware, and lively noise and amazing smells are issuing from that side of the room.
The menu is, in some ways, surprisingly pedestrian - steaks, seafood, pastas and salads, the only unusual element being, of course, that every item contains copious amounts of garlic. Some items have a cute little vampire icon next to them, indicating that they can be served without garlic (presumably for large groups containing non-garlic-lovers - frankly in my view it would be better just to exclude these people from social occasions, but I'm not planning the menu).
With very careful consideration I order the Bagna Calda ("garlic in a hot tub") and a small order of garlic mussels, followed by the garlic braised short ribs of beef with swiss chard and garlic mashed potatoes. Since I'm treating myself I decide to splash out on a glass of reasonable wine as well, and order the Schmitt Sohne Reisling.
The Bagna Calda arrives first, a chafing dish of slow roasted whole garlic cloves in olive oil with seasoning and a few anchovies. It comes with a plate of perfectly formed little fresh-baked focaccia rolls, and the cloves are soft enough to spread on the warm bread. The flavour is everything I'd hoped - piquant, savoury, almost fruity from the slow roasting, perfectly seasoned and set off by the salty fish.
By the time I finish my first roll the mussels have arrived, a good-sized bowl of them with a little dish of frothy drawn garlic butter for dipping. They're delicious garlicky morsels with a good fresh taste of seawater underneath the seasoning, and the simple serving demands a bit of gusto. I dip and munch and go back for more focaccia and garlic from the chafing dish.
There's a short wait for my entree, and I sit back, sip my Reisling (another education in what's different about good wine, sweet and soft but with a refreshing sharp finish and layers of fruity variations) and observe the other patrons - the restaurant is mostly full now. Several have clearly just come for a regular dinner experience, but there are a few others who seem to have that special glow of anticipation I've brought with me - the pilgrims, who've planned and looked forward to this as a significant event in their lives.
The beef, when it arrives, is heavenly (if a little salty) - incredibly rich in savoury garlic flavours and so tender it pulls apart under my fork without losing good firm texture in the bite. The potatoes are creamy, the chard sweet and fresh. After a few weeks of pasta and sauce, sandwiches and Jack In the Box I'm in heaven. By the time I've polished off the lot and wiped up the steak juices with a last half of focaccia roll I'm stuffed. I walk out into the brisk sunlight and make my way rather slowly and carefully back to the hostel, to spend most of the rest of the afternoon napping on a sofa.
Labels: garlic restaurant, restaurant, San Francisco, stinking rose
posted by Mark at
20:00
1 Comments:
Many of the necessary vitamins are found in garlic as a natural antibiotic and food should be consumed in more than gives great flavor
04 December 2009 12:01
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