At least it’s open late…
I was having a late-night wander after an excellent (but unfortunately finished) show in Islington and, typically, starving– and getting close to 10PM on a Sunday night.

Now, aside from Walkabout and whatnot, Upper Street on a Sunday night pretty much rolls up the sidewalks. Which is unfortunate– it’s hard enough to find something decent around there as it is.

Enter Viet Garden.

Now, I love me some Pho. Shaken beef. Bun. 33. Something about the freshness and the grittiness and the avalanche of flavours that fling across your palate and spice. Vietnam and Thailand would have to come on my desert island cuisine tour. Especially as all the chili would make the food last longer.

The pho was a big blob of glommed noodles in a decent, but nothing special. broth. Very few bits of meat. A teensy plate of bean sprouts/lemon/chili. No sauces. There was chili ginger chicken, but again uninspired.

On the up side, it’s open, cheap, and with pretty good service. £20 for dinner with drinks including service. Um. Yeah.

• 207 Liverpool Road
• London
• N1 1LX

Variety over bulk is the name of the game here. Eat lots of small things, attain satiety, and relax into a pool of flavours.

You order either three or five sandwiches (£5.95 or £8.95, respectively), from which you can choose from varieties as lovely and basic as egg and tomato, through liver paté with bacon and on to three different pickled herrings with rye bread.

The food is solid, simple, a little adventurous, and beautiful. It’s a deli counter which is unfortunately held up by the variety on offer– the sandwich selection changes regularly so you may have to queue while the people ahead of you aren’t yet waited on as they gaze and drool at the glass display case.

I had a spiced herring, a double portion of a smoked salmon wrap-like thing, liver and bacon, and smoked salmon on rye. I must highly recommend the liver paté and bacon. Coffees were solid– and came in beautiful and functional scandi-style cups with slightly sexualised protuberances for handles.

Staff were friendly and patient in the rush that’s come to them with increased popularity (we arrived at 1400 and the place was still heaving) The place was perhaps a bit on the noisy/clattery side, but it fits with the simplicity and the deli style.

020 7580 7161

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Guzel
I often go and do research at the British Library, and on one recent chilly-but-sunny January morning I chose to walk rather than Tube from Fenchurch Street up to Saint Pancras, and man, am I glad I did.

I’d skipped breakfast and figured I’d pick up a Pret or Marks & Spencer sandwich and get going, but I was ruminating as I walked and thought I could have a sit down breakfast– as I wouldn’t be able to take my sandwich into the reading rooms anyway.

Guzel puts out a £5.95 Full English. Now, you can’t really go completely wrong with a Full cooked breakfast, but you can go awfully right. Mushrooms were done & seasoned right, not overcooked. Beans had taste. Tomatoes not mushy. 2 eggs, runny yellows, no “snot” as Seventeen says of the uncooked white. The sausages were done under the grill, and had been sliced open in several spots– I’m not normally a fan of this as the fat runs out and leaves the flavour out, but these sausages were so flavourful, crisp, and wonderful that I really want to watch the next time and see a) where the sausages came from and b) how exactly he does them.

The staff were super as well. This is basic food, done well. I wouldn’t be surprised to see chefs in here.

Now I’m looking forward to going back for hangover breakfast of liver, egg, bacon, & chips…

293 Gray’s Inn Rd, WC1, London

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The service:
We were (this seems to be an ongoing theme with us– but it’s not our fault, this time! The theatre was half an hour late in starting. And we called!) late. We’d called ahead, but someone didn’t take the message– we’d been told on the phone that the kitchen would close at 10:30, and when we arrived at 10:20, they said it was closed, but “they’d see what they could make for us”.

In the end, it turned out all right– the head chef hadn’t left, the grill had just started to be cleaned, and they were willing to serve us everything they still had left, which included:

The Food:
Our first starter was beef carpaccio, one of my old tried and true favourites. The beef was a little thick, so you didn’t have that lovely flavour of a whispering moo– there was COW in your mouth. And not in a bad way, either. Although it was a bit on the cold side– which was too bad as it was rather fresh and the flavour was good.

The second starter shone through, though– three scallops of increasing size which were so fresh I thought they might cling to the plate. They were grilled to perfection: buttery smooth texture and full of flavour, and capped with American style streaky bacon, which was a nice touch, although it reminded me of the own-brand supermarket bacon I grew up with.

Mains included a 300g steak of beef tenderloin which, remarkably for a British restaurant, came rare as it was ordered– and it stood up well to it. It came with stunningly lovely mash on the side which was creamy, with some chunks, and delicious, if a bit on the scalding side– I suspect the mash had been put in the cooler and then brought back to temperature in the microwave but, then, we were nearly 25 minutes late.

My main was half a roast chicken. This is my test dish, and it was done right: The dark meat was cooked all the way through and the breast was moist and juicy. Delicious and– thankfully– unsalted frites on the side along with a slightly too moist (for me) cole slaw (although when in Rome, have your cabbage swimming in mayonnaise).

Pudding, on the other hand, while nice, was a bit of a disapointment. Blueberry pie was on offer with ice cream (they offered us our choice of chocolate, vanilla, or strawberry– really? Does anyone want anything other than vanilla ice cream with pie?). The ice cream was quite good, and the pie, which tasty, came in a bit on the lacking side– the filling had loads of flour in it and was almost like a thick blueberry cake. Not bad, just not what either of us were expecting, at all.

The Wine
Chateau Naudon Bordeaux Superieur 2005. Classic, old-world style Bordeaux, at £23. Nice, drinkable, went well with both chicken and beef. Pretty much what you look for with a mid-priced wine. The list overall looked pretty OK– a decent mixture of wine at decent prices– the most expensive thing on it was like £35, although the low end was filled with new world style buzzwords like “jammy” and “fruit-forward”, which put me off a bit (though it did get an extra £8 out of me for the wine).

We booked in here at Sevendials via TT, expecting quite a lot. Unfortunately, we ran 30 minutes late, so we rushed over, knowing the kitchen would soon close. We were greeted with “no, sorry, the kitchen’s closed”, but after a couple of questions and explanation, they went back, thinking they could do *something* for us after all.

Apparently the chef had just shut down the grill, and they decided to re-open it for us! Awesome.

Then out came a procession of:
Smoked duck breast: Lovely duck, smoked to perfection, not too cold, not too warm– and they’d run out of figs, so they replaced it with citrus which cut and complemented the duck all too well.
Aubergine, Red pepper, Goat’s cheese roulade: which sat under a pile of fresh lovely roquette which gave a peppery twist to the combination of lovely baked-together flavours underneath.
Braised Pig’s Cheeks: buttery, creamy, porky, and fantastic– an all-too-often overlooked lovely bit of the pig (not to mention cow!) Fully approved of by the Fellowship of the Pig.
Roast Partridge with partridge crumble: Which was an odd thought, as it’s partridge with a partridge side, but it worked– and worked well.
Monkfish with parmentier potatoes: I know, I know, I’m not meant to order Monkfish, but this place is known for its sustainable food, and I figure once a year… In any case, the Monkfish did not leave this plane of existence without good reason– it was brilliant. About 200g of monkfish in a round fillet, grilled to perfection, where it didn’t flake, didn’t go rough, but just poured flavour out into your mouth.

Wine: I thought the wine deserved its own space. El Muro Carineña Garnacha/Tempranillo, ‘08. I have no idea what 2008 looked like in Spanish wine, but this wine punched way above its weight. Eminently drinkable, like a middling reserve Tempranillo that’d been laid down for five years. Obviously it’d been done with some new world techniuqes, but at £14 a bottle (the cheapest on the list– I picked it ‘cos I figured you can’t go wrong with a Garnacha/Tempranillo blend), it drank like a £25 bottle of wine, and tasted reassuringly old world. It reminded me exactly why I love Spanish wine so much. I am desperate to drink more of this.

Looking forward to heading to Brighton again where you can get what would in London be a £100 meal for £40…

Down Green Ct, one of Soho’s attractive sex streets, there’s a beacon of shining… yellow and orange and red. In this place is Yalla Yalla, which means “fast fast”.

The food is simple Lebanese street food, and done fairly well. There’s a whole array of takeaway as well as a few tables.

The Good
The food is simple and, actually, top quality. The baba ghannoush was silky, buttery, flavourful, and loaded. The hummous, while I prefer it thick, was creamy and delicious. Kibbeh was spiced enough to bring out the lamb, not the spice. Prawns were cooked the right amount– and the shell came away cleanly. Fattoush was not overwhelming, crisp, fresh vegetables and not too acidic.

The bright, clean decor was a pleasure to eat and drink in. The tables were really cool looking, if perhaps the stools were a bit short, and the curious arrangement of logs as legs meant that you had a really awkward leg positioning to get in and out, and you couldn’t shuffle around on those too-short stools. My bum was aching, even the next day.

I would recommend the lebanese wine. The most expensive one, at £23, was eminently drinkable with hints of subtle flavours, though not overpowering the food in the least– pleasurable, fruit-forward flavours without being jammy, with a hint of old-world spice hovering underneath.

The Bad
The aforementioned tables and stools were rather uncomfortable– especially if you were lingering over a last few glasses of wine on a date. The service, while competent, was to be honest, just barely so, considering our meal, no pudding, with wine was about £60– although we did probably overdo it a bit.

The biggest problem, however, was the takeaway counter– it’s not really separate, in fact, it’s just the counter where the local punters used to buy their porn over, and it sits right by about 1/3 of the diner’s heads. Combine this with the fact that it’s creakingly overloaded with Lavash wrapped around succulent food, right at my head height, and it felt like I was being watched during my whole meal by Falafel-in-lavash and filo dough. The counter is, unfortunately, just too narrow for these trays filled with their takeaway, and I was afraid that I was going to rub the side of my head on them.

So?
I’d go back, though. The food was really rather special. I’d be more likely to stumble in after a few pints than to take a date, however– unless it was my new date from the few pints.

Ultimately, I think Yalla Yalla can’t decide if it’s upscale or downscale– Yes, YY, there is profit in downscale, but you could raise the prices by 50p and have a proper lovely hole in the wall special place for those “in the know”…

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I love Delfina. It is, quite probably, my favorite San Francisco restaurant. And that’s saying a lot. I’d really rather go there than nearly anywhere else. It’s fancy, but not stuffy; it’s gourmet but not uber-pricey; the waitstaff are friendly and warm and they’ve done some sort of super-secret dance to make the dining room pleasantly chatty without ever being loud. You can always hear your date speak.
For someone coming from New Orleans and 20 years of listening to far-too-loud music, that’s important.
So the pizzeria opened. And I almost went. And I almost went again. I just kept thinking “It’s in the ‘hood, I’ll get there eventually.”
Somehow, a year went by without my going in. KT and Trails and absolutely everyone kept telling me how good it is, and still, I just didn’t go.
So finally Trails calls me and says “It’s been raining and I’m craving red wine and pizza,” which sounded pretty damned good to me.
Now, I’ll be honest: It could have been the company. It could have been the warm olives. It could have been the tricolor salad. It could have been the unbelievable anchovies (look, if you don’t like them, that’s fine. More for me. Just understand that it signifies that they’ve chosen very carefully their ingredients, k?). It could have been the toasty crunchy rich flavorful crust. It could have been the Italian wine list, nothing of which I’d ever heard of. It could have been the waiter who knew enough to suggest three out of four excellent glasses of wine to accompany our meal (the fourth was fine, but the third was better). It could have been a lot of things that made up the whole dining experience, but as it was, everything was great.
Let’s just start with the crust: Delfina Pizzeria’s taken San Francisco Pizza to a new level. They’ve figured out how to make a decent crust in large quantities, and then improved on it. And improved on it again. this is a thin-crust pizza. Want deep dish? Go to Zachary’s. This crust is thin and subtle and tastes… It’s crisp on the outside and chewy on the inside. It doesn’t quite have that New York raw-in-the-middle thing, but that’s really just a nostalgia thing anyway. You could put Prego on this crust and you might not notice it’s Prego. Fortunately, Delfina’s as careful with the rest of their pizza as their crust.
We started with a plate of mixed olives ($2.75)– these had been tossed in the oven for a few minutes, and were a delectable blend. The oil-cured olives plumped up in the warmth and stood out clearly.
Second we split the Insalata Tricolore ($7.50). Fresh (even in rainy 2006 April) arugula, radicchio and endive were all crispy and delectable under extra virgin olive oil with lemon and shavings of Grana Padano. The special cheese where Parmesan would not only do, but would be quite tasty, just goes to show to what lengths the owners are willing to go. This salad was fantastic. Everything was fresh and delicious.
Trails and I aren’t so great with Italian wine. I know I like a Frascati, a good solid Barbera, and I can swill down chianti with the best of them, but I’d heard of nothing on their list except the Moscato. And I hadn’t even heard of this one. This was a dry Moscato (Moscato de Terracine “Oppidium”, 25/6.5). It was very fruit-forward, bold up front, a nice big middle, and a strong if short finish. I’ve had a number of random Italian whites that are similar. You get all the nose of a sweet dessert wine, but the wine isn’t actually all that sweet. They’re doing something right here. I’d love to go up that ladder. Our waiter recommended the Fiano de Avellino (33/8.25), and this wine was something pretty special. It had a crisp start, a bunch of subtle and slightly floral notes through the middle, and it finished about six years later. It was definitely a good thing.
One off-the-menu pizza: The Margherita ($11). Doing something simple like this can be deceptively difficult. The sauce was tangy but sweet. The crust… I’ve touched on that. The basil was fresh and then had toasted down in the oven, revealing sweet and savory touches. We had a plate of fresh-grated Parmesan, freshly chopped (with a knife!) red pepper, and oregano on the stem that’d been dried in the oven to crumble over your pizzas by hand. Little touches make all the difference. They offer salt-cured anchovies ($2.75, and worth every penny). These anchovies are packed in salt without oil, preserving so much flavor it’s unbelievable. They come thinly spread on the pizza, which we were worried about at first– Trails and I are just nuts over Anchovies– but their pungent persistent flavor made it all balance well.
One daily special pizza: Hen of the Woods mushrooms with Fontal cheese ($14). The cheese and the mushrooms here set each other off so well. I don’t really know what to say, except yum. It stood up to repeated tastings the following day.
We again deferred to our waiter’s recommendations for reds with the meal. He suggested two Aglianicos, which was good, as we could then get a sense of the grape. The Aglianico del Vulture “Il Viola” (24/6.25) wasn’t bad. Not a lot going on in the nose, nor, really the wine, but it was perfectly serviceable. This is what I expect the Italians are drinking from jelly jars when you see them in old movies. It’s fine, but kind of thin. It didn’t really stand up to the anchovies or the subtle notes in the mushrooms, but the other, the Aglianico dell’Iripina “Tari” (30/7.75) was great. It had some strong flavors in it which stood up to the anchovies and tomatoes as well as fleshing out with the subtler flavors in the other pizza. It did a particularly good job with the Fontal cheese, bringing out the nutty flavors inherent in it.
We had to skip dessert, despite the unbelievable-looking Rhubarb tart. Our neighbor was eating the tart and insisted we get it, but we had to get a move on before our minds and bellies and taste buds exploded.
Besides, something sweet may have made us melt in the rain.

Delfina Pizzeria

3611 18th St, San Francisco, CA

Little Star Pizza — 22nd Feb, 2006

Last night I came home tired. And at loose ends for what to do. I’ve got a giant pile of things that I could (should?) be doing, but I just really couldn’t be bothered.

I was also starving, but not quite ready to eat. I snacked on some savory Tartine leftovers and settled down to study like a good little schoolboy.

The phone went, and it’s Trails in her sexy gravelly voice on the other end saying “Blah blah blah blah Little Star blah blah Pizza blah blah Anchovies.

How could I resist an invitation like that?

I skillfully avoided death by SUV on my motorcycle right where Castro turns into Divis.

(Hey: if you drive a Gold SUV, remember: pushing DOWN on your indicator means you’re turning left. Pushing UP means you’re turning right. If you’re turning the wrong way in traffic, just go around the block. It’s OK. It’ll only take you 1 ½ minutes. Probably less.)

I parked my bike next to Little Blue and went into the restaurant. We were seated within 5 minutes. Little Star was packed. It’s all dark blue and black and glossy and trendy and you’d expect it to be loud but you can hear yourself think and your candlelit companion talk. Even when she’s got a sexyraspy voice. There are about 20 tables: a bunch of four-tops along the wall, a bar where those waiting a table are invited to stand, and a few two-tops down the center. There’s a bit of a traffic problem when the bar gets busy—and the bar patrons start bumping into the two-tops.

The servers all looked a little haggard. No doubt the management hadn’t planned on a 20 minute wait and a packed restaurant on a Wednesday, but the Fulton/Divis area is very much on the up-and-up. I was prepared to give them the benefit of the doubt, not judge them too harshly on prompt service, but the servers displayed teamwork. One brought us their drinks. Another server took our order. I applaud the teamwork at Little Star: I’ve seen customers languish all too often because half the servers are overwhelmed and the other half are only looking out for their tables. We were constantly attended to, yet never rushed.

Trails had a glass of their Rhone ($6), which was fine. It was plain. It was sort of vin ordinaire, but fine. It had nothing special to offer, but it did the job. I skipped down to the Syrah, which, at $6, gave the exact impression. I started to wonder if something untoward had happened to my taste buds: I’d just had Three Thieves Pinot Noir the night before and had had the exact same reaction: It’s Pinot, or Syrah, or Rhone, but there just wasn’t anything to recommend it.

Fortunately, after these wines went down, we moved on to the Zinfandel ($8), which was, refreshingly, a Big Fruity Zin. There’s something about Zin that, even if it’s the same sort of fine, nothing special about it, still manages to shine. Or maybe it was just the comparison. There were subtle hints of blackberry, not too many tannins, all balanced with a refreshing acidity.

Little star also has a good selection of beers on tap, as well as several whites.

We started off with their mixed green salad ($5/$8). It came piled with Gorgonzola, cherry tomatoes, and really great sweet red peppers. I’m generally sort of ambivalent about mild peppers—they so often taste watery and almost flavorless, but these were little blooms of color and subtle flavor that balanced out the whisper of vinaigrette nicely. One brickbat: If you server green salad, you should have a pepper grinder. There are only 20 tables in here. Fresh ground pepper on mixed greens is a bit of a must. Just like on a Caprese. It’s just not the same without it.

Little Star has assorted specialty pizzas in thin crust or deep dish which are $16 -$20, depending on size. You can also build your own. We were in the middle choosing the tempting White pizza off the menu (adding, of course, anchovies), when I looked up at the special’s board.

“Roasted asparagus, Roasted garlic, fresh tomatoes, and Pecorino Romano.”

“That sounds divine. But we need to add anchovies. And remove the asparagus.”

“Hmm.. I agree, but I kind of want the asparagus. I wonder if they’ll put it on the side?”

The waiter was unsure, but they did. And it was really good. The asparagus and anchovies wouldn’t have gone well together, but having a spray of asparagus on the side was a great little palate-cleansing bite through the pizza. The crust was thin and crisp. The cheese was melted with just a hint of dryness. The tomatoes, even in February, were fresh and soft and succulent. The garlic was perhaps a little sparse, but the anchovies made it all worth it. It was plenty for two people, though you might want a little more if you’re extra-hungry.

Little Star carries Cheesecake and assorted Gelato for dessert. We didn’t delve into the sweet end—it would have undercut the loveliness of the anchovies. A split glass of that Zinfandel, however, was a fine end to the meal.

Little Star Pizzeria

846 Divisadero (between McAllister and Fulton), San Francisco

Sun-Thurs 5-10pm
Fri & Sat 5-11pm

415.441.1118

Cash only

Hidden behind Flybar (or is it Barfly?) on Divisadero and Fulton there used to be a little hole-in-the-wall Jamaican place. I always wanted to eat there, but never could.

Why?

It wasn’t ever open. Never, ever. It was there back in the days when your Divisadero dining choices were Popeye’s Famous Fried Chicken, a bagel at the Bean Bag from before they had actual food, and Phuket Thai, who would at least deliver enormous thai iced teas and lots of peanut sauce. Not much, and the Jamaican place always made me want to eat at Palmer’s back in New Orleans, which was more problematic than trying to get to a restaurant with no hours.

Khatmandu has opened in the spot behind FlyBarFly. They serve Himalayan food, the promise of which brought me and D-Yo out on a quietish Wednesday night, where I’d give her my feedback on a couple of chapters of her Africa book.

Khatmandu is pretty spare and unassuming inside: Eight or so tables covered with white tablecloths and glass on top, plain wallpaper with the requisite posters of the homeland cover the walls, and a divider leading to a hidden kitchen area. The place looks like it was carved out of the back room of another building and spruced up by new tenants who hoped to do better later. It probably was back in its Jamaican days.

We were warmly greeted after seating ourselves, and browsed the menu. There were a lot of familiar words and dishes that reminded me of the geographical closeness between Nepal, India, and Pakistan. The dishes are similar, but spiced differently; there’s generally less heat and more subtle smoky flavors; a whisper of a curry rather than a shout.

We started off with an order of vegetable pakora ($3.50). This was, perhaps, a mistake; the waitress said it was as good as the ground chicken dumplings, but any ground chicken dumpling would be better than the thickly breaded bunch of onions that arrived. It was little heavy and didn’t contain much flavor, and unfortunately no sauces came along with it. Fortunately, a little complimentary raita had come in along with complmentary Chapati before, which helped the thick breading go down.

Our entrees were much better, particularly the fish curry ($9.95). The curry came in a small metal bowl with a creamy (but not cream-based) sauce that was full of subtle flavors. It was like a Tikka Masala that decided to hide and make you seek it out. After the fish was gone, D-Yo and I soaked it up with the whole wheat Paratha ($2), a wafery layered bread that was baked and spread with butter. We passed over the wonderfully named butter chicken ($8.95) for the sautéed chicken ($8.95), which promised mixed vegetables and chicken in a slightly sour sauce. The dish was fine: the chicken was juicy and tender; the sauce was pleasantly sweet with the tiniest hint of sour; but the vegetables, green and red peppers and onions, were barely cooked enough to heat them up, but they still released all their raw flavor, which didn’t seem to fit in with the rest of the meal.

Kathmandu has a wide selection of beers—appropriately, mostly lagers, a smaller selection of inexpensive wines, as well as delectable lassi—both mango as well as an enchanting rosewater lassi. ($3) The large Taj Mahal complimented our meals nicely.

All in all it was a pleasant experience—if I’m in the neighborhood, I’ll likely go back. The temptation of a number of other sauces awaits; if they can just weed out a few iffy dishes the place could become one of those fabulous holes in the wall that you’d be excited to take your friends to.

Kathmandu
1279 Fulton St (at Divisadero)
San Francisco, 94117
(415) 567-5100
Beer and wine

The true mark of graciousness and manners lie in the way one reacts to another’s faux pas.

I like to think of myself as a stickler for manners and timeliness but still managed to arrive twenty minutes late for our reservation. Not somehow, really. My friend KT and I had met earlier– but not earlier enough– for a drink at Amnesia to ring in the week after the New Year. We’d had a Duvel each and were chatting away and just lost track of time. I felt terrible arriving so late, but it allowed the staff to prove their graciousness. And prove it they did.

The Maitre’D at Universal Cafe was efficient and polite and squeezed us almost quickly into a quiet two-top at the back. We stood and waited for about ten minutes with a glass of wine each– I’d chosen the Fagan Creek Syrah ($9 glass, St. Helena), which turned out to be a bit heavy and tired. (After reading a couple of reviews, I have to wonder if the bottle hadn’t been open for a bit too long). KT had the Artezin Zinfandel ($8 glass, Mendocino), which stood up and got noticed for its fine, drinkable qualities. She only let me have a single sip.

I was eager to try several of the first courses, but KT and I both were sucked in by the promise of corn-crusted lightly fried oysters. The salad in the center, a combination of fennel, julienned and blanched red peppers, and watermelon slices stood in lovely counterpoint to the creamy sauce on the oysters. The oysters themselves were fresh and clean; the dusting of cornmeal around them provided just the crunch I craved. It brought to mind the thousands of fried oysters I’ve eaten from the Gulf of Mexico– the countless oyster po-boys I would treat myself to as a child. It reminded me of the simplicity of good food, yet these half dozen oysters were clean and crisp without any of the heaviness that I recall from Streetcar Sandwiches in New Orleans– gone these ten years or more. At the same time, these oysters, while reminiscent of an excellent fish-fry joint, surrounded a palate-cleansing salad which reminded that these were top-quality fresh oysters, lacking in any heaviness. The creamy garlicky sauce spooned on top of them had me worried for a minute– it looked so reminiscent of the triple application of mayonnaise one can find on an oyster po-boy, but it didn’t cloy at all.

This appetizer led us to expect good things from the kitchen. We would not be disappointed.

KT was presented with a sizeable filet of grilled steelhead which looked at first to be a tiny bit overdone; the first bite revealed the opposite. The grill was perhaps a bit on the hot side, which served to sear the outside, cook the fish all the way through, and lock in flavor. This succulent piece of fish sat on top of radicchio that’d been coated with balsamic vinegar and grilled along with the trout; underneath was a fine risotto that soaked up any flavor or bits of fish that might have strayed. I was also tempted by this dish, but decided to go with a captivating bowl of house-made herbed noodles with braised beef cheeks. There was almost too much food on each plate, but we somehow soldiered on: I moved on from the syrah to a nice inexpensive Bouchaine Pinot Noir ($9 glass/$32 bottle, Carneros).

Dessert brought us a discussion: Chocolate (always the front-runner) or the Panna Cotta with Grapefruit. Now, I love chocolate desserts, as does KT. I even often love just having a small square of dark chocolate with an espresso. It’s unfortunate that more places won’t do a simple chocolate and coffee dessert. We discussed our options and decided, ultimately, to go with the Panna Cotta with Grapefruit ($8.50). It arrived, the grapefruit sections had been sliced out of their tough skin, and the fruit was juicy and sweet, with just enough pungency to take the edge off of the rich cream in the Panna Cotta. Which was flawless. We toyed with it, each taking tiny bites as we drank our top-notch espresso and continued our excellent conversation until we realized that we just weren’t going to eat any more.

Our waiter was charming: He didn’t hover; he was there when we wanted him; and disappeared when we didn’t; he offered advice when we asked, and showed a good knowledge of his menu and our wine choices; he was pleasant to be around, but didn’t intrude on our dinner. Our water glasses never ran dry; I never felt as though they were being monitored. We were never rushed; the meal was pleasant, leisurely, and conducive to conversation. We ate and drank and continued and never once felt pressured to turn the table, although on Saturday night they probably could have seated us. We ended up talking until almost eleven, and there was never any signal that it was time to go, please. Not a chair was put up. I commend the staff on leaving me with a wonderful dining experience. The food was fresh and well-prepared, delivered in a timely fashion; We were welcomed warmly and courteously; the cafe was clean, neat, and the service was superb. What more can one ask for in a meal?

Not a whole lot. The Universal Cafe scores on all points. I’ll certainly be back.

Universal Cafe
2814 Nineteenth Street (at Bryant)
San Francisco, CA 94110
415.821.4608

Menu changes daily.