Ask any chef in town—a meatball is an easy sell. At Pizzeria Delfina, the Italian polpette are second only to the restaurant's namesake pizza. Further North at Chotto, a server says the juicy Japanese tsukune are a "must-try." On that note, almost every culture has a meatball, and San Francisco has representatives from more than several camps. Here, a bit of a cultural lesson by way of hand-rolled meat: from fiery Mexican albondigas to pomegranate-speckled Iranian kufteh tabrizi.
Tamales, love to eat them, pain in the arse to make them.
My favorite place in town to get a tamale remains the unlikely little Sutter Cafe (330 Sutter St.) in the Sutter Stockton garage across from the elevators. Nice and small, stuffed with chicken, green olives and chilies, they're made there by a Chinese woman who lived in Mexico.
But if you're looking to buy more than one or two, Mijita—at both locations—is taking orders now for their homemade tamales. I've never had them but by the looks of this photo above, they look mighty fine.
Okay, so you've been scrambling to plan your own barbecue celebrating the Giants smoking the Texas Rangers in their World Series showdown. You need a few cases of beer, a couple of pounds of meat and veggies and other accoutrements, right? Well, that's absolutely nothing compared to the World Series prep Public House and Mijita (ground zero for drunken revelers) are putting on for the first two games.
Here's our "World Series By the Numbers" down at the ballpark, courtesy of John Epperheimer, Director of Operations at both restaurants:
Although the soccer players do most of the sweating, we spectators have a lot of eating, drinking, and TV-screen heckling to do in honor of the 2010 World Cup. The question is, which destination will best satisfy our bellies? Here's a solid line up of city spots fit for the entire spectrum of World Cup fanatics.
Kezar Pub, 770 Stanyan St., S.F.
I started writing about SF’s food scene during the height of the dot-com boom, but that means I also saw it through the bust, when South of Market looked like a ghost town and restaurants like Azie, which really represented that era to me (cutting-edge $30-plus entrees) closed, and not surprisingly.
Still, I’ve witnessed nothing ravage the city’s restaurant landscape like this current recession. It’s been like a wild fire. But right now, I’m happy to report that there’s new growth: The wildflowers are emerging from the forest floor. (Nothing a writer likes more than an extended metaphor.)