RAVE - Chez Spencer

I had two things to celebrate last night.

First, my oldest friend from the UK - who has been living in Atlanta for the past 17 years or so - was visiting SF and we celebrated over dinner at this favorite haunt of mine. Which brings me to the second thing, which is more of an event than a celebration.

California's ban on foie gras comes into effect on Sunday. Say what you will about the cruelty, or otherwise, of force-feeding geese to engorge their livers, but a number of restaurants - Chez Spencer among them - has an Au Revoir Foie Gras tasting menu, featuring the dastardly but delectable meat in each of its 5 courses, including Foie Gras Ice Cream!

Paul had the truffled mushroom veloute parmesan crisp, the foie gras ‘Torchon’, with red berry compote and pain de compagne, the wood roasted Sturgeon Maitake, Honjemeji (Japanese mushroom), chanterelle and sauce béarnaise, and then some cheeses for good measure.

Meanwhile, I had the aforementioned foie gras tasting menu that, believe me, tasted pretty good. What a way to spend three and half hours of dinner.

Now I'll have to wait too long to see Paul again, and perhaps even longer until that foie gras ban is repealed.

RAVE - Starbelly

Starbelly vies with Bar Bambino - and maybe a couple others - for the best classy / casual food in San Francisco.

It attracts a younger, attractive crowd - your writer of course, excluded. Its location - on the edge of Castro - means that crowd is also a healthy mixture of SF sociables. And the food draws everyone and anyone who likes comfort food done good.

My hot date (again) had Starbelly salumi - prosciutto to be precise, butternut squash dumplings with garlic, sage, browned butter, and shaved bucheret. Her hot date had the house-made, chicken liver pate, buttered bread, sweet onion marmalade, and grain mustard. We shared the pizza: bacon, jalapeno, arugula, and green goddess dressing. It was over-greened, with too much arugula, but we were having too much fun with it to object.

I can't say Starbelly was a real find, because it's not hidden at all, right on the junction of 16th and Market, but we'll definitely go again - and maybe again.

REVIEW - The Divide

Ten survivors of a nuclear attack on New York bolt into the bomb shelter / basement of their apartment block.

They make up a typical cross-section of the building's residents - a blowhard, chain-smoking superintendent, three loudmouths with attitudes, a wife and her wimpy husband, a woman and daughter - one or the other seems always to be sobbing or screaming, and so on.

Conditions and morale deteriorate way too fast, and yet the film seems to drag.

Tensions mount between the all-too-fractious refugees; bickering over needing to stay locked in underground, the rules established by the self-appointed leaders, about the shortage of food - yet there seems to be an almost inexhaustible supply of cigarettes. It made me wonder whether they wouldn't actually be safer above ground, even if there was nuclear fallout.

Maybe this is what New York, and its denizens are really like. Scratch the surface and they're all ready to tear each other apart.

REVIEW - The Killing

I wouldn't normally bother with a review of a TV series, but this double-series was made with an intensity rarely seen in this format.

It concerns the murder of a teenage girl, Rosie Larsen, daughter of gruff building contractor Stan Larsen, and his wife Mitch.

The first season wove in a long cast of seemingly unrelated characters: builders, politicians, native American casino developers, and sinister associates of all three. But many people - me included - were disappointed to find that first season ending with no answer to the question "who killed Rosie Larsen?"

Patiently we waited for the second season, and that just ended with an answer, but no real satisfaction. The show burned and eventually bored its viewers with long-winded, rain-soaked side stories whose purpose seemed mainly to use up air time rather than propel the investigative team toward solving the case.

The cast was excellent, but the weather was foul. Normally, that wouldn't feature in a post-series review, but this drama was set in Seattle, and mostly filmed in nearby Vancouver. Wherever it was, whatever time of day, it was raining incessantly. Cold, miserable rain. If this series did nothing else, it ruined for me the notion of spending any quality time in either city.

REVIEW - Black Hogg, LA

Having flown to LA for a quick visit with friends, I was looking forward to the usual opportunity to try something new. That came with the newly-opened Black Hogg, in the Silverlake district.

It's so new it doesn't have it's alcohol license yet, which was the only negative. 

Our host George, friend David and I made up for that before the meal, with a bottle of Champagne and some pate and cheese in quite possibly the least salubrious picnic spot imaginable - a patch of grass near the side (I'd call it the "bank" if there really was a river there) of the currently dry as a bone LA River. 

Picnic done, we retired to the Black Hogg for a trendy-ish meal of the fattest oysters I've ever eaten. Heaven knows where they were caught - the restaurant called them Naked Cowboy Oysters for some inexplicable reason. But they were juicy and er, fat.

David and George shared the roast brussel sprouts with anchovy citronette and gremolata. Then we tore into pork belly tacos, with Fuji apple slaw and jalapeño relish. David snacked on the  ale-battered cod and ruffled chips, and George the buttery lamb burger, with Onetik Bleu (what?), and fries. I had a great meat (I forget which) hash, with peppers and mint, and an egg on top. Like breakfast for dinner.

Nothing highbrow about the meal, but as David said "you suffer from Northern Californian snobbery". Possibly the nicest thing anyone's ever said of me!

And yes, I know that's a sheep.

RAVE - Prometheus

With Mrs P out of town, I was able to enjoy this film (she hates sci-fi) with Amo and Gareth. 

We were all wowed by Ridley Scott's latest - and best - Alien movie. At least, I think the others were wowed. We left a bit sharp-ish afterward, and didn't get much of a chance to discuss it. 

The story was perfectly set up - an engrossing first twenty minutes explained why Prometheus and it's crew were flying through space in search of our creators. Surprise, surprise, they wanted to be found, but for all the wrong reasons. 

This had everything you're looking for in a kick-ass sci-fi movie: atmosphere, visuals, excitement, and great, great monster aliens. 

What annoyed me throughout - aside from the pointless and distracting 3D glasses - was the stupidity of the crew. For example, they'd spent over two years in cryogenic suspension traveling to planet X, and no sooner do they land than they're hopping into space suits, racing off to the strange dome in the distance, entering that dome without a moment's planning, and before you know it they're up to their visors in alien goop.

RAVE - Nihon Whisky Lounge

I'm not sure about the name of this restaurant. Well, I'm sure it's called Nihon Whisky Lounge, but I'm not sure if that's an appropriate name for it.

The whisky list was impressive, but the "lounge" wasn't particularly inviting, being full of cell-phone wielding bores typical of a night out in San Francisco.

It's reminiscent of The Tardis, Dr. Who's transport, in that it looks tiny on the outside, but larger inside.

But the food is what brought us here, not the whisky or the intergalactic travel possibilities. And that aspect was good.

Nihon serves Izakaya, the Japanese version of tapas, so there's less focus on rolls than you'd find in most sushi restaurants. 

We had the Kaiso, a seaweed salad mixed with greens and sesame soy dessing, Kobe beef thigh wrapped in asparagus with yuzu sweet soy sauce and scallion, Hamachi ceviche yellow tail, cucumber, gobo, shiso, kaiware and yuzu ponzu, served with home made tortilla chips, and Nihon Burger: kobe beef with shitake mushrooms, cucumber and gobo, with Japanese BBQ sauce.

Definitely somewhere to savor mid-week, when the lounge might be less crushed and more comfortable for a bit of whisky-sipping.

RAVE - GBH at The Independent

I guess you could say I'm an executive Punk fan. In the same way that Eddie Izzard describes himself an executive transvestite. Or maybe nothing like that at all.

What I mean is that I like punk royalty. I've seen the Sex Pistols, Clash, and the Stranglers, even Rezillos (or Revillos, as they were by the time I saw them). And I've seen Pseudo Punks, like Green Day.

Last night was the first time I'd seen a genuine, still working class grunt band, and after nearly thirty years of touring.

Lets not pretend they were anything more than that. There was no new direction, no discovery of transcendental meditation. Not even any fresh drugs to spark a new line of inspiration.

With most of their original line-up, they played the same old stuff, in the comparatively up-market surroundings (for them, or any non-royal punk outfit) of The Independent.

It reminds me of that wonderful line from British comedian Peter Kay, who tells his kids to "go on, put on something your mother likes. Stick that Smack My Bitch Up on, watch her dance".

REVIEW - Beast and the Hare

A strangely-named place, especially if - like me - you thought Beast and the Hare was an elegant restaurant with an edge. But no. This is a neighborhood cafe with a decent chef and little else to make it a destination.

I was pretty disappointed to arrive at Beast. First, the area - Guerrero and 22nd streets - must be one of the worst places in San Francisco to find a parking space. Eventually, we parked 4 blocks away. 

When we entered the restaurant, I was thoroughly under-whelmed by the place. It looked grubby and unwelcoming.

Then, the staff seemed only mildly interested in the fact that we were there. And that interest hardly rose much above that until we paid our bill.

The food was nothing to write home about. We shared the charcuterie plate which comprised (look away, vegetarians) smoked duck breast; coppa, calabrian salami, mortadella, anisette salami and fabulous pate de campagne. So far so good.

But then I had possibly the most ordinary burger outside of a McNasty's. It wasn't cooked medium, as I'd ordered - it was over-done. It didn't have the egg I'd ordered. And it was tiny.

Pavey enjoyed her fettuccini with cured lemon, asparagus, basil and coho salmon, but as I find the thought of fish and pasta abhorrent (my loss, I know), I couldn't steal any of hers.

All in all, a place I wouldn't mind avoiding for the next few years.