San Francisco Was Home
February 24th, 2010
San Francisco was home.
Not only San Francisco, but earlier, Palo Alto, and later, San Rafael. Returning to California after my big move back to the South four years ago, the place feels so familiar that it seems I never left. We stayed at The Drisco in my old neighborhood. When I lived in San Francisco, it was a hotel where genteel elderly people lived. I used to walk by in the afternoons and see them in armchairs by the window, sipping their sherry under lamplight. I thought when I was 95, I’d move there too, trading the sherry for a good brunello.
In the meantime, the hotel changed and has now a very European style. This is a gracious and comfortable place to stay in Pacific Heights, close to Fillmore and Sacramento Streets’ restaurants and shopping. http://www.hoteldrisco.com I always loved the neighborhood. It smells of tea olive and when the afternoon wind arrives at three, the air is moist and salt-tinged. San Francisco houses seem to each contain a novel. This neighborhood is lined with Victorian, Craftsman, and Mediterranean beauties and they are so well-kept, polished and trimmed that I always have the illusion that nothing could go wrong inside those romantic and inviting spaces. Ed and I walked by our old house several times. It was yellow when we lived there, with white trim. The rose I planted to swoop over the garage door has become gigantic. I will not be the one to prune it.
The sound of San Francisco is the low bellows of fog horns. Newly single, moving into the Victorian condominium with boxes all around me, I remember those mournful calls late that first night, sounding like a voice within the sea, some other-worldly, melancholy lament. A tragic call to me then, but later, walking those streets with Ed, they began to sound mysterious and intimate, tied to the place.
These two days, time was short and I did not get to see many friends. Peter, my agent and friend, took us to La Mar, a Peruvian place on the water. Check out the whole menu at : http://www.lamarcebicheria.com And I thought I didn’t like ceviche! We ate four kinds, then causa casera, little purple potatoes filled with artichokes, asparagus, avocados—so fresh—drizzled with basil and cilantro in olive oil. The beef empanadas were rich and flaky and the roasted scallops with corn risotto so nicely conceived. Seasonings are tamarind, mint, chili peppers, sesame, all with a light hand. When I travelled to Peru in 1975 the highlight on every menu was guinea pig roasted with a stone inside. The stone got hot and cooked from within. Clever, but I passed. Cuzco, I’ve been told, is dazzling today in terms of places to stay and eat. It was always dazzling for its own reasons. Los Rios Profundos, Deep Rivers by José María Arguedas is the book that was pulled from the heart of that place.
We had a lunch meeting at 54 Mint. http://www.54mint.com We were happy! The food is truly Italian. They got the pastas right! I had one of my favorite Sicilian dishes, an arancino the size of a tennis ball. Crispy rice filled with ragù. Claudio, one of the owners, came over to chat. He’s Umbrian, where they know their pasta. This is a casual place for lunch, very San Franciscan but Italian, too. Here’s Ed’s seafood pasta.
I first tasted arancini at the Palermo airport. Sometimes I make small ones to serve with aperitivi. Here’s the one at 54 Mint.
The next day, we did squeeze in a lunch ($5.60!!) at Eliza’s, at 2877 California Street, right around the corner from our old house. (I don’t find a website for them. Their original place on Potrero Hill is closed.) This was one of our favorite haunts for Chinese food. The joy of living in a city: you walk out and the world of cuisines awaits.
We ended our stay with old friends at La Ciccia, a cozy, crowded Sardinian place. http://www.laciccia.com/ We just talked, talked, talked, ate all kinds of seafood, a cheese platter with hard-to-find pecorino cheeses, and drank a great sauvignon from the Alto Adige, whose name I have forgotten. The whole wine list was Italian, with many new to me. La Mar is big, glamorous, city. The two Italian restaurants have owners right there to greet you and a highly personal cuisine. Eliza’s fresh Chinese is a city favorite. We loved all four places.
So endeth a sweet visit to San Francisco. The journey back to the east is long in time and space. Back to rain. But at this minute, a brilliant cardinal perches on top of an astrolabe in my garden and the daffodils are swelling their yellow tips, ready to bloom. I’ve cut wands of still-tight forsythia and plunked them in a Mason jar, forcing the moment of spring’s arrival.









