When San Francisco Kids Out-Foodie Their Parents

Photo via woodleywonderworks on Flickr.com

Two years ago, I sent my 10-year-old son Kapp to the Philadelphia suburbs for a week with my brother and his family. Being from the land of the Liberty Bell and the Philly cheesesteak, Kapp’s cousins couldn’t wait for him to tuck into a greasy hunk of beef and cheese dripping with fried onions.

“What’s a cheesesteak?” Kapp asked innocently when his cousins told him about the hometown classic.

“It’s like a sub,” my brother offered to my son’s bewildered face. “Or a grinder.” Still bewildered. “You know, a bun with meat and cheese.”

Kapp’s brow didn’t unfurrow. “You mean, like, on a baguette?” My son ultimately ate the famed downtown grub—spongy white roll slathered with mayonnaise and all—but not with much gusto apparently. Ever since, my brother’s burger-and-spaghetti household has made that San Francisco foodie moment the target of endless mockery.

In our 49 square miles, there’s no denying we are hunkered down in a haze of handmade pasta and single-cup, slow-drip  coffee. No slice-and-bake Pillsbury rolls with sticky orange frosting in these parts. Cinnabon? That’s downright contraband. And why wouldn’t it be? The 100 miles surrounding the Golden Gate Bridge produces 20 million tons of food a year. In fact, according to the American Farmland Trust, if the San Francisco foodshed were a state, only Texas, Iowa, and the whole of California would rank higher in farm production.

Sure, I’m implicated in my three kids’  gastronomic corruption by virtue of raising them here amidst all the fresh mozzarella and fleur de sel. Still, I largely claim innocence. Neither my husband David nor I would even register on any bona fide foodie meter, and we don’t aspire to. Yes, David is five years a vegan—definitely a liability—but he’s generally lowbrow about it all. His go-to dinner is sliced polenta drowned in a half-jar of Newman’s Own tomato sauce. He also chows down on plenty of cookies.

In our Presidio home, veggies don’t come from some local purveyor we met at the Fort Mason farmers market. We buy bagged romaine lettuce and peaches so out of season that they travel from Chile. We’ve never been to Flour + Water or Dynamo Donut and Coffee, and we certainly don’t raise bees, chickens, or anything edible. Several years back at a preschool auction, we purchased a tomato-squeezing, melon-thumping tour of the Ferry Building with Alice Waters. It went unused. Slow food sacrilege, right?

Yet somehow, my kids are still seaweed-snarfing, San Pellegrino-slurping, Burmese food-loving squirts. They fight over the last pluot and prefer their edamame salted, please, and hot. When set free at AT&T Park with $40, my son and his sister Elliot bypass the hot dogs and pizza, going straight for pad thai served in a handy little Chinese food takeout container. Other times, they split an order of pot stickers.

“Can you believe the pot stickers cost $6 an order?” Kapp marveled once. When I asked him how they tasted, he crinkled his nose. Not Clement Street’s finest, apparently.

But really, could my absolutely run-of-the-mill San Francisco kids have turned out any other way? At every turn, my children meet the grass-fed, herb-infused, and hydroponically grown. A stroll down Chestnut Street from our rental offers up an albacore tuna tostada and Molinari’s famous meatballs, all of which can be chased down by a Pacific Puffs choux pastry stuffed with Madagascar bourbon vanilla cream or a lemon oil tea cake from We Olive. Even on restaurant menus, chefs reinterpret and elevate classic schoolyard junk food. Think pickled hot links with arugula and blue cheese at Show Dogs and an apple-pear “pop tart” at Foreign Cinema. Kids, eat your hearts out.

Although David and I aren’t overly discriminating, our children get plenty of food education at school, where they rub elbows with the knowing progeny of some of SF’s It restaurateurs. When the Western Addition hotspot Nopa first opened, my then-5-year-old daughter sampled chevre crostini and French fries dipped in smoked tomato, compliments of the restaurant’s owner Jeff Hanak, whose daughter was in her class. That same class celebrated their birthdays with agave-sweetened lemonade and forwent store-bought cupcakes with two inches of hydrogenated oil chocolate frosting for one of three sanctioned brands of naturally sweetened fruit pops. What fun! These days, Elliot recesses with the daughter of Delfina owners Craig and Annie Stoll, who bring perfectly crisp, wood-burned margherita pizzas with just a touch of basil to San Francisco Day School picnics. The school also ditched ice cream Fridays and added whole-wheat pizza and soy nut butter to its cafeteria offerings.

But that’s only half of it. I was recently trolling the web for bento boxes to replace my daughter’s moldy, almond-butter-crusted lunchbox after a friend at the Writers’ Grotto pulled one out of her bag. It had struck me as nifty with its cute, stacking snack compartments. “Oh, Abigail and Lucinda have those,” Elliot said drolly when she glanced at the red enamel box on my screen. Figures.

Another time for dinner, I grilled up some juicy watermelon and charred yam planks. “We’re so weird,” quipped Kapp. “Do you think anyone else we know has ever had this?” Probably not outside of SF. But as he jabbed a thick melon “steak” with his fork, I think I detected a note of pride.

Diana Kapp is a member of the Writers’ Grotto and has lived in San Francisco for 20 years.

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After reading Diana Kapp's article, "Picky Little Eaters," over breakfast this morning, I felt a strange, unpleasant, though familiar, sensation. Kapp explains how her children have become used to eating trendy food thus turning into food snobs, claiming, without being blatant, that it's not her nor her husband's doing because they do not frequent certain food establishments in the city nor do they purchase all organic food and sometimes even buy fruit grown in Chile. The name dropping of food establishments and types of expensive food mentioned in the article was nauseating, though somehow expected. How could she help it if she lives near Chestnut Street, offering fancy fish sandwiches, choux pastry (whatever that is) and meatballs from a famous italian deli? Perhaps her three kids go to these establishments on their own. And how could it be her fault that her daughter goes to San Francisco Day School, costing $25,770 this year, where food is a sacrament? Ending ice cream Fridays at SFDS will not combat childhood obesity because kids most at risk for this are poor, by the way.
San Franciscans are known for being snobby about practically everything. Wait a minute. Not all San Franciscans. There are people who live in this city that cannot afford to send their children to private school nor take their kids to NOPA for dinner. What about people who live in the South side of the city, or the far West, or anywhere that does not have a La Boulange on the corner of the main street. Yes, there are neighborhoods in the majority of our 49 square miles without a La Boulange. There are people who actually eat at Popeye's, get their coffee at McDonald's, and may even shop at Safeway for food. Real, living, breathing people, who's kids have never heard of Dynamo Donut or Tartine, and who go to public school. Gentle readers, public schools do exist in San Francisco and real kids who live in the city attend them. I know some people personally who attended public school in San Francisco and they are perfectly functioning, successful adults. It's time to get real. Food is important, but really?
If you have kids and your kids have never had a Philly cheesesteak sandwich or a Cinnabon, and stick their noses up to pizza not made in a wood-fired oven, condsider it your fault, not the fault of the city you live in.

Hilary Kaye
native of SF. alumna of private schools. knowledgeable about trendy restaurants. likes french fries. not vegetarian. not fat.

By Hilary Kaye (not verified) on February 16, 2012

run of the mill SF kids...mmmm I don't think so. Granted, in SF there is lots of good stuff to eat, My nieces like pizza, mitchells ice cream, in and out burgers or cable car joes and for variety crepes from crepes a go go. Not all SF kids are that snobby. I agree with Athena as well.

By Anonymous (not verified) on February 08, 2012

Athena S - if you are the same "Athena S" I searched on yelp under San Fran, you are TOO COOL> and very very cute I'll add. ;)

By Jeff (not verified) on February 07, 2012

Born and raised in SF, I CAN safely say that not all kids in SF are that ridiculous.

Most of the kids I know will bee-line for a hot dog at the ballpark.
And although they may know that better ethnic food exists where more ethnic people happen to exist, not all San Franciscans are as retarded or elitist as that article suggests.

For clarification, our mom did go to the farmers market (Alemany) in the early 80's because she did this novel thing called 'cooking at home' yet we also knew what Pasquale's and doggie diner were. AND we thought Joe's was gourmet. So we were the classic upper middle class. NOPA wasn't opened yet.

By Athena S., SF (not verified) on February 07, 2012

Born and raised in SF, I CAN safely say that not all kids in SF are that ridiculous.

For clarification, our mom did go to the farmers market (Alemany) in the early 80's because she did this novel thing called 'coking at home' yet we also knew what Pasquale's and doggie diner were. AND we thought Joe's was gourmet. So we were the classic upper middle class. NOPA wasn't opened yet.

By Athena S., SF (not verified) on February 07, 2012

Did you injure your shoulder patting yourself on the back so hard?

By Jeebus... (not verified) on February 06, 2012

I truly hope for the sake of the writer and her son that this was meant as a satire piece.

By Josh Willis (not verified) on February 06, 2012

Hope you have enough rice and beans for the coming crash. Articles like this and the people who write them make me spit up in my mouth a little...pretentious clap trap.

By Pgaudet (not verified) on February 06, 2012

The whole story became clear to me when I saw that she sent her kids to an incredibly expensive private school in SF. Of course they don't know what cheese steaks are! (Heaven forbid...) They go to school with SF food royalty!

By Anonymous (not verified) on February 06, 2012

Is it safe to say her son's name is "Kapp Kapp"?

By Anonymous (not verified) on February 06, 2012

Hilarious! Great satirical commentary on the smug insularity of San Francisco. Well-done!

By AnnieFromMiami (not verified) on February 05, 2012

It is a great article it just sounds very snobbish. There are plenty of places to eat great food. I live in Chico and we have fabulous farmers markets and San Francisco has more regurgitated canned clam chowder, Starbucks and fast food restaurants than anywhere else. I can understand pride in where you live but if you are truly asking "where else?". I say anywhere!

By Mike Harper (not verified) on February 03, 2012

Real Philadelphian cheesesteaks aren't served with MAYO...like, ever. Mayo on a cheesesteak is *unheard of* in the tri-state region. D'ambrosio's roll + provolone/american + chop steak + fried onions (and/or peppers) = the magic equation...add whiz if you're hardcore.

Is this author really from Philly? Or is she just that alienated from her roots?

As a Philadelphian by birth, and a resident of SF by choice, it really irks me when "PHILLY cheesesteaks" out here are served with all of that mayo, mustard and lettuce BS.

By Anonymous (not verified) on February 03, 2012