RAVE - Desert Island Discs

The longest-running radio program in the world is BBC Radio's "Desert Island Discs".

Each week some public figure gets to slide into the studio and tell us which 8 songs, 1 book and 1 "luxury" they'd want with them if they were stranded on a desert island. Of course, the whole premise failed if you asked stupid questions like "what about electricity, and a CD player?"

There are dozens of reasons for compiling this list: the now extinct titillation of making mix-tapes for girlfriends, the fact that we've just got back from Fiji, and the hatred I have for those Facebook ads where you have to sign up to spam hell in order to pick from someone's list of favorite deodorant scents or ice cream toppings.

I have kept re-visiting this subject over the years (i.e. fretted constantly). What would I pick, in the unbelievably unlikely event that I'd be dragged onto the radio to pontificate about my "Top 10, or 8?"

OK, have to be sensible about this. My first temptation is to start with Motorhead and build the noise up gradually from there. But millions of people and a handful of close friends (all critics) will be cocking their shotguns waiting for a mistake like that. So, I have to have some rules:

#1. More of an objection than a rule: You can't possibly pick THE Top 10. I'd want it to be like "High Fidelity", where John Cusack and Jack Black (and that other, weedy guy), argue over the "Top 3 songs to play at a Klan BBQ". So, Top 10 Post Punk songs would be very different than my Top 10 British Blues songs. But, rules is rules, so HUGE compromises were necessary.

#2. You don't want to fall into the trap of picking stuff that's too obvious - so while I used to think that if I have to pick a strictly limited set of tunes for my desert island delectation, I'd better pick bloody long ones - out go Led Zepp, Lynyrd Skynyrd, along with obvious-and-dreadful U2 and their ilk.

One sobering realization is that, although my "hipster blinkers" convince me I'm keeping pace with what the ankle-biters are listening to now, there's a potentially unhealthy block of ancient stuff in this list!

Any road up (as they probably still say on Coronation Street), you can find the list here.

PS - The Jonas Brothers' pic is ironic. You'll have to listen really closely to hear any of their drivel on my desert island.

RAVE - Glasvegas show in San Francisco

Wowed by Glasvegas on Monday night with Felicia, David and Pavey.

- listen to Daddy's Gone, from Monday night's show
- and the official version

11 days in Paradise (or 8 + 3 days getting there and getting back) - Day 1

Destination Fiji (Yasawa Island, specifically). Left for SF airport around 5pm, Wednesday July 15, thankfully early enough to turn around halfway to come back home and pick up specs (mine) and hay fever tabs (hers), then head back south to SFO again. A short hop (look out for: RANT about airline schedules that allow 1.5 hours for a 45 minute flight, just so their late arrival % is kept lower than it would be if they were honest) to LAX, where within minutes of landing we learn that Air Pacific to Fiji is 12 HOURS LATE!!!!! The implications are capital letter-worthy. The hotel we're staying at on Yasawa, a little island off Fiji's main island ain't cheap, and we're going to miss our first night!

The "good news", according to the airline, is that they're putting us up for the night at the Westin LAX, and our plane will take off in the morning. Being comp'd at a hotel you wouldn't want to stay at under normal circumstances, and less so when it's instead of one you've been looking forward to for months is, um, sub-optimal. A dreary dinner in a dreary airport hotel follows.

Day 2

Skipped dreary breakfast to head back to LAX, where, believe it or not, the plane is even later than its already half a day tardiness.

At last we're on our way, with the flight uninterrupted by anything approaching entertainment.

10 hours later and we're on Fiji's main island, with a scratchy garland around our necks, receiving confirmation of our worst fears. There's only one seaplane transfer to Yasawa per day, and we've missed it by a few hours. The "good news" part deux, is that the airline is comping us a night at Hotel Le Mercure. We were already scheduled to spend the day chilling out here, now it'll be overnight. The proper good news is that our travel agent has worked a deal out with the Yasawa resort that we extend our stay by one night, to make up for the first night we lost. Sound.

So, pizza and a couple beers watching Australia vs France at rugby (oz satellite), and the vacation is kinda started.

Day 3

I haven't missed a day - the jump from Thursday to Saturday is courtesy of the international date line we crossed a few hours ago. Around mid-day our driver picks us up for the short ride to Nadi airport, and our seaplane transfer to Yasawa island.

Airport formalities are nonexistent. We're the only passengers on this flight, so almost immediately we stroll out to our ride. We've been on this plane before, when we made the same journey for Christmas 2006, but it's still a very exciting 30 minutes of skipping over the coral reefs, shark spotting.

Landing on water is even more stomach churning than landing on a regular airstrip. You plop down onto the water and wade ashore, just like Captain Cook (except for the seaplane and the camera and ipod bags we're holding aloft).

We receive our second scratchy garland while a beefy bunch of helpers haul our luggage and assorted sacks of island supplies over their heads, and then we're in the truck bouncing up the rutted track to the other side of the little island, and our home for the next 8 nights.

It's around 3pm when we're unpacked, be-shorted and sipping Fiji Gold by the pool. Change into a slightly more elegant tee-shirt and dinner shorts for 7.30pm dinner. An underwhelming steak dinner in paradise. (Almost a Jimmy Buffet moment there).

Day 4

It's fry-day, as in lollop by the pool, sipping mojitos without syrup, mud slides without ice and pink margharitas without enough of whatever makes them pink.

Giving the job of cocktail mixing to anyone belonging to a group forbidden to drink alcohol is probably a little short-sighted, but the location means you end up kicking back and enjoying it all anyhow.

The infinity pool is f.a.b, as is the weather and my date for this trip.

And who was that teacher who wrote in my term report: "doesn't concentrate in class, will never amount to anything"? -- They ALL did? Come on!

Had dinner served on the front deck of our bure (burr-ray, or house). The idea was a good 'un, but we were somewhat distracted by the Lions versus Christians re-enactment nearby, where a hungry lizard was feasting on the moths attracted to the light on our bure wall.

Fast asleep by 9.30pm, which will likely become the pattern for this vacation.

Day 5

An early brekkie, so that we can be all sorted for our 10am power boat ride to Yawini, the uninhabited island we're picknicking on today.

It's one of the high spots of the vacation. We're dropped ashore with beach mats, umbrella and icebox, and the boat zips off with shouts of "see you in 4 hours" from the crew. Try to take candid pics of her indoors, only to find out that "you can take pictures, but you're not to post anything on Facebook". Deal. I'll sell them on hotasianbabes.com instead.

We get back to the resort in time for a couple hours floating around on a floaty thing in the pool, while finishing off "Ghosts: Confessions Of A Counter Terrorism Agent", the second book I've read so far this trip, and we're not half-way through yet.

Dinner was a not-too-appetizing octopus, and half-decent lamb entree, so an entertaining 1 all draw.

Day 6

Yesterday's picnic was so good, we're here again, this time on "Lovers Beach". And sure enough, not long after we're dropped ashore and the boat leaves, the sky darkens and it pisses with rain. Sat on an icebox under an umbrella in the rain, looking along an otherwise paradisaic beach gets us talking about man versus wild, and what would Bear Grylls' advice be.

Pavey ventured that he would tell us to hike into the forest behind us, retrieving wood for a fire, large leaves for shelter and juicy bugs for sustenance, while I reckoned it'd be safer to stay under the umbrella, eat the sandwiches from our picnic and wait for the boys to arrive in the boat. Pretty much what BG does off camera I bet.

We arrive back in civilization in time for lunch and a snooze. Lines that you would not expect to hear from Scott of the Antarctic.

Pavey's listening to an audio book, "Julie and Julia', the autobiography of a New Yorker who attempts to cook her way through Julia Childs' groundbreaking recipe book.

Having read "A Year of Living Biblically" myself, I realize these authors dispensed with all the hassle of coming up with a plot, and characters, and basically turned their blogs into books.

My initial suggestion, along the lines of ploughing through someone else's book and writing about your experience, was "Mr. & Mrs. Page bump 'n grind their way through the Kama Sutra". Her response is "we'd have to do it using fake names". I'm thinking we'd have to do it using stunt doubles. So, file that one under "potential, but strangely gruelling book ideas".

Much easier would be "Cooking My Way Through The Cheeky Chappie's Recipes: Can Jamie Oliver Really Write, Or Is He Just Another Cockney Wanker?".

Day 7

Snorkelling off one of the reefs is today's big deal. Wade out to the boat for the 30 minute zip up the coast to where the reef is deepest and brightest. However, I must've been bitten by a fat, lethargy-carrying mosquito, as I elect to guard the pool and leave it to Pavey to check on global warming's impact on the local reef.

She says the big blue starfish were a treat, and tasted like chicken.

Day 8

Breezy today. Too breezy to contemplate the 30-minute boat ride to Yawini, the deserted island, for our planned picnic. So, another day ant counting in the hammock on our stretch of beach. I know I work for a multinational technology company, but the name's slipping from my grasp. HAL?

Day 9

Finally sent some postcards today. The mail system is pretty darned marvellous. I can send mail from an island with no roads and intermittent electricity, to the other side of the world, for around $1. Now, if I could invent a machine that dematerializes and then rematerializes humans into postcard sized pieces (pre-stamped and addressed of course) I could revolutionize the cost of travel. Some smartass might point out that the mass of one human is equivalent to several thousand postcards though, so at $1 per card I'll have revolutionized diddly-squat, but they'll be missing the point. I will have succeeded where Jeff Goldblum failed - TWICE. (Hold on, he wasn't in Fly II was he?) As I said, the postal service is pure science fiction.

On a more germain front, today was a gloriously sunny one, which we enjoyed first on our beach, under an umbrella, then on our deck, and then after lunch by the pool. What sunbathers might call a well-balanced bake-off.

Day 10

Last full day in Paradise. Although that would be unfair to the permanent paradise that is our life in San Francisco, making sure that "HAL" and "Iron Man" are kept thriving and profitable.

Back on Yawini, our private island, for the day. Again we saw the lonely white and yellow fish we saw on our first day on this beach. Curiously, he (?) Just swims in a tight circle, nibbling at our fingers and on one brave maneouvre, tugs at the cord holding together Pavey's skimpy bikini bottom. It usually costs me a day or two of "being nice" in order to get a slice of that action, so maybe I'll have to perfect my lonely circling motion in future. Pavey ignores the plot and starts calling the fish Wilson.

Later that night, the scuba-master tells us that "Wilson" is a Sergeant Fish and we should NOT be dangling fingers in front of its row of sharp teeth!

Day 11

Last day [sigh], and after packing, and booking dinner on the main island of Fiji, we trudge off to the beach to board our seaplane.

We still have Nadi to LAX at 10pm tonight, then a hop back to SFO, to arrive bleary eyed several hours before we depart. When Dr Who does this there's always trouble!

RAVE - Barrow's Boys, by Fergus Fleming

How a British civil servant came up with the idea to keep no-longer-fighting military types busy, by directing them to find the North West Passage, the source of The Nile, and the frosty Poles.

When the Napoleonic wars ended, demobilized naval officers were kicking their heels around England, looking for stuff to keep them gainfully employed.

The Admiralty appointed Second Secretary John Barrow to keep them busy, so he assigned them tasks of exploration.

For the next 30 years, Barrow's teams of captains, first mates and other ranks (but mostly well-bred captains) set about their journeys of discovery.

This is history that reads like the adventure stories they really are.

REVIEW - La Folie

Perhaps a little too eclectic for some, definitely something to be sampled on special occasions, La Folie is very French, and somewhat of an acquired taste.

Has that put you off?

There are several more approachable French restaurants in town - L'Ardoise, Chez Papa, Chez Spencer, even RN74, to name le quatre.

You could therefore dine at many better French restaurants before sitting down at La Folie and wondering whether you can stomach the Frog's Legs with Frog's Leg mousse Cannelloni, or Warm Pig Feet, Sweetbread and Lobster Terrine. 

You can tell my heart's not really in this one. La Folie definitely doesn't warrant a RANT, but I can't bring myself to RAVE about it. 

RAVE - Incanto

The mandate from Incanto, "we use every part of the beast" can be off-putting, but as long as you don't dwell too much on whether it's right eat the thymus and pancreas glands of animals, or Tuna heart, you will enjoy it here.

And you don't actually have to order anything off the butcher's beaten track if you don't want to.

The focus on quality at this Noe Valley gem is second to none, and it shows in the little touches - the descriptive wine tags on your glass, the home-made breads, the Reidel glasses.

I don't know if this is the best Italian experience in San Francisco, but whether you prefer this or Delfina depends on whether you like your food edgy or comfortable.

RANT - The DMV as a metaphor for what's wrong with America

NOTE for my English friends, DMV is the Dept of Motor Vehicles, performing the same fine job as the DVLC (Driver & Vehicle Licensing Center).

DMV puts the EFF in inefficiency.

I'm writing this in my Blackberry, so I'm clearly expecting a wait.

There are probably a million such musings. After all, what else are you going to do while otherwise wasting half a day shuffling around in a stinky hall? No, I'm not talking about Country dancing, just trying to register a car.

First of all, there are no empty parking spaces at the DMV. That's like having no cutlery at a restaurant!

There's a high proportion of down-and-outs, ruffians and rapscallions in line. Is it really this demographic that's buying and registering cars. Or more to the point, is it really this demographic that's so hit by the recession that their collective disenfranchisement is bringing down Detroit?

There's also a high proportion of apparent foreigners. Even the DMV "greeter" isn't sporting English as his first language. Now, I'm not saying that "foreigner" equals "down-and-out". Perish the thought. I am one of those down-and, er, foreigners. I don't know what this proportion says, but by the time you consider all the foreigners down-and-outs, ruffians and rapscallions, precious few middle-class Obama supporters are in evidence today.

Anyhow, 1 hour standing in line buys me the news that I have the wrong paperwork. Have to come back tomorrow with some new paperwork and do it all again. Sigh.

Surely some clever consultant has had a look at the workflow (or lack of it) here?

There's a crazy screaming coming from the other end of the hall, momentarily distracting everyone from their own plight.

Day Two, and today's excuse for the line out into the parking lot (still with no available spaces) is "we can't give you a number, because the computer's overloaded". Now, I was convinced that yesterday's lack of movement was because the only computing power in the building was the Blackberry in my hand. So, everyone's told to each take a torn off scrap of paper on which the mastermind behind this latest initiative has written a letter. Then, we have to move into a parallel line that's even longer, to wait for the same freaking guy to issue us a number. Various opinions are offered from both lines: "Unf*******believable!", "These motherf****** don't know what they're doing!", "This is f****** retarded!" (that last insight from a woman with no teeth), "This motherf****** is out of control!"

Suddenly, everyone in line is a computer expert, especially the guy with a horn on his head. Seriously (in every sense of the word) he has a boney horn sticking out of his forehead.

Oh, the line moved! Nah, it was the western continental plate shifting a few microns.

I can smell weed. I'm in line at the DMV and the woman behind me has just lit a bowl! Must be medicinal, but whatever, someone's enjoying the wait.

They just called B120. Only 60 more to go before me! With a bit of luck I'll be out of here before the holiday weekend starts.

Stepped outside for some air, only to have to listen to a "conversation" between a couple of drunks swigging from containers in brown paper bags. Might listen in for a few stock tips, or at least a heated debate about Afghan versus Lebanese.

Back inside, and someone's holding a dog right underneath a sign that says "No Animals. No Smoking". Now, if that dog lights up I'm going to find security, although that'll probably be harder than finding a midget at NBA camp.

Bugger! I've just realized there are four series of letters and numbers being called, so my B180 might not be 60th in line after B120. Where's the Vicodin?

Someone could make a killing selling cold drinks from an ice box here. There are no vending machines, no TVs showing Wimbledon, no respite whatsoever from the tedium. Except for the floorshow. I've just seen the oldest gay bikers outside of Palm Springs. Top to toe leathers and silly hats. I hope I'm still going when I'm that age. And I hope I have the sense to not dress like that. You can always count on San Francisco.

In a country with 200 million cars, surely this could all be done online? Imagine if you could only buy an iPhone by lining up overnight outside an Apple store! What's that? You do have to line up outside an Apple store to buy an iPhone?

I've just seen the guy who "served" me yesterday wandering around behind the counter in the same tee-shirt he was wearing yesterday. Gives me an idea for another post: "The stinky tee-shirt as a metaphor for what's wrong with America".

What! Suddenly there are no staff at any of the 27 counters. Did someone call a strike? Don't tell me everyone takes their lunch at the same time. Maybe they're all out back in a customer service class.

Another scary thought: a percentage of the assorted crazies, whack jobs and certifiably insane are here to take their driving tests. Knowing well the caliber of the group to which they aspire, in a couple of hours most of these troubled souls will be causing mayhem on Oak Street.

Now I think about it, I realize the DMV is not a desert of efficiency because it's a government agency, but because of the customers it serves. If this was a place where middle-class white Americans had to line up in order to get licenses for their ride-on lawn mowers, there would be hell to pay. The place would grind to a complete standstill under the weight of clamoring and complaining suburbanites. No, these down-and-outs and foreigners put up with the parlous state of the DMV because that's what they do - put up with stuff.

Post-script

It took me 2 days, a total of 5 hours to get a temporary registration for my car. I have to go back in a couple weeks when I get the title documents for the car. I'd say "God Bless America", but I don't want to blaspheme.

RANT - People who carry huge bunches of keys on their belts

It was hard to find an image that showed this phenomenon in real life, but you know who I'm talking about.

What is it with these people who have 40 or 50 keys clipped to their belts while they're traipsing down the street? Surely there aren't that many doors they need to open at a moment's notice?

REVIEW - Joy Division Films

Film subjects are often like London buses. You wait around for ages, and then 2 or 3 turn up at the same time. It happened with generation-body-swap movies (Big, 17 Again, 18 Again, 13 Going on 30, Freaky Friday, Like Father Like Son, Vice Versa, and way too many more), gritty, modern remakes of classic Westerns like Open Range, Appaloosa, The Assassination of Jesse James by the Coward Robert Ford, etc.), and it happened with Joy Division documentaries. I don't understand why, 16 years after Ian Curtis' death, 3 documentaries went into production at virtually the same time. In Hollywood, I'm sure it's down to one person hawking a script around several studios, not getting picked up but sparking other producers to assemble almost identical propositions. But this is (or was) England, and grimy Manchester to boot.

New Order Story (1994)

Shabby first 10 minutes, with toe-curlingly horrible excerpts from The No Show, hosted by Lily Allen's dad, Keith, doppelganging Noel Edmonds. Inexcusable inclusion of several Bono quotes. Starts with Blue Monday, then flashes back and forth in time. Good live studio stuff from the band, but repeated reminders that Barney Sumner could never fill Curtis' vocalist shoes. Definitely the weakest of the 4 band documentaries - and arguably shouldn't be held up alongside the genuine Joy Division films. Don't get me wrong, I like New Order, but the vignettes from Neil Tennant reveal where New Order's true comparisons lie. They lost their Mojo long before they slumped into Electronic, Monaco and Revenge. It was telling that the film closed with Joy Division's Atmosphere, perhaps unintentionally reminding everyone how deep was that slump.

Joy Division: In Review (2006)

Good, in that any film covering JD must be good, but band interviews have been substituted with music author and journalist reviews. Interviews with everyone BUT the band members. Even featured the ex Mrs. Tony Wilson, but no Wilson himself. Consequentially, has a more NME Review style of Joy Division's discography than the other films. Music journos being what they are, there are eyebrow-raising (but in the end, valid) comparisons between Joy Division's Atmosphere and The Ronettes' Be My Baby, and Love Will Tear Us Apart and Frank Sinatra's output. More of a critique than an homage to Joy Division. Footage of Sex Pistols and The Clash that I hadn't seen before, which was good. Not sure that anyone seeing this version, without an earlier exposure to Joy Division, would come away a fan.

Control (2007)

The best of the 3 or 4 Joy Division documentaries, by a squeak. Great live footage, interviews with band members, very atmospheric - goose-bump inducing. Focuses more on Ian Curtis' life than do the other films.

Joy Division (2007)

Not to be confused with the 2006 film of the same name, which is nothing to do with the world's best band, this 2007 documentary is almost as good as Control. "Which one should newbies watch first, Control or Joy Division?" is a question posed and answered on IMDB at http://www.imdb.com/title/tt1097239/board/nest/108706429.

24-Hour Party People (2002)

While not dedicated to Joy Division, the band features heavily, and this is the best film of the 5. Fantastic collage of punk, Manchester post-punk, baggies and the Factory scene. And funny.

RANT - "Have you eaten with us before?"

I hate restaurants that say "Have you eaten with us before?", and then whatever you answer they proceed to explain about "family style" serving. If I want to share my meal with someone at the table, I can do that without a nod from the staff.

"Shall we split a salad?" - that's another suggestion I hate.

RAVE - Ghost Wars, by Steve Coll

A great story, and not just because I read most of it while floating in the pool in Fiji (look closely at the header image on this blog's home page).

This book goes into great detail about the attitudes, prevailing conditions and bungling of various branches of the intelligence services over years of engagement in Afghanistan.

The fact that when Russia had invaded and was occupying Afghanistan, the preferred method for encouraging the Taliban to oppose Russian forces was by sending them hundreds of millions of dollars in cash and military equipment, backfired in a big way. As soon as Russian forces retired back to their own county, the Taliban used that very equipment against American and allied forces.

If the book's too much for you, rent Charlie Wilson's War on DVD / Blu-Ray, as Charlie and his involvement in Afghanistan features in the book.

RAVE - Endurance: Shackleton's Incredible Voyage, by Alfred Lansing

This book presses all of my literary buttons: It's accurate history, written like an adventure story, about places and activities we fairweather adventurers dream about.

The efforts that Shackleton and his team made, and the conditions under which they traveled, are unlike normal humans will ever experience. The resilience and determination they showed are almost too much to comprehend.

When I read this and thought "what would I do if I was stuck on a rock in the middle of the Antarctic, with scraps of penguin meat for food and no fresh water, a leaky rowing boat, no maps or charts, with many of my crew injured and/or about to die of starvation and exposure?", I stopped thinking.

Makes you wonder what drove them to spend years in Antarctica freezing their bits off. Could their home lives have sucked that much?

REVIEW - Music your Dad hates

Watching The Song Remains The Same, on Palladia channel, and remembering my dad telling John Boyland and me that we'd break the record player if we continued playing Communication Breakdown that loud. Ha!

RAVE - Pandora

Maybe someone, somewhere doesn't yet know of this great site. Pick an artist or song, and Pandora uses its Music Genome Project roots to pick other songs you'll like. Save as many stations as you like, so that when you're feeling moody, you can pick the station to lift you, or deepen that mood.

There are also hacks that let you save Pandora's tunes as MP3s on your computer. There's one described here.

RAVE - Blip.fm

Build your own playlists and sets; you'll never find an easier DJ gig. Different from Pandora, in that here you pick each individual song to create your own playlist or station.

RANT - Google

I hate the fact that to Google became the generic for web search, when they neither invented it nor did the best job of deploying it.

RAVE - Slanted Door

It's hardly worth me adding my thumbs up for Slanted Door. Every resident or visitor to San Francisco already knows of this place, visits it as often as they can or stumbles into it when they're traipsing around the Ferry Building.

On the down side, it's one of those places where they always ask you "have you eaten with us before?", like we don't know the next statement is going to be "we serve family style here". If there's one thing that touches a raw nerve for me it's restaurants telling me whether or not I can share my food with my friends.

As a rule, I'd rather not. Not because I don't want them to taste what I'm tasting, but because if I order a plate of "barbecued willis ranch pork spareribs with honey-hoisin sauce", I want to eat that order rather than fight over it with everyone else at the table! 

But I digress .... Slanted Door is the real deal; fabulous food in a fun atmosphere, with lots to see inside and outside.

RANT - Greens

There are some vegetarian restaurants I've been to where the food is genuinely interesting - even exciting - for carnivores AND herbivores.

Greens is not one of them.

With all the ambience of a nursing home ward, the place is devoid of fun, unless slopping around in birkenstocks is your idea of fun.

The location, at Fort Mason, has all the potential of a cool, historical dock-side. In fact, the only real excitement I've seen at Fort Mason was a Robot Wars final, the one that used to be televised and hosted by that guy off Red Dwarf.

Anyhow, the lettuce and pea soup at Greens will bring you right back down to earth with a bland bump.

RAVE - Foreign Cinema

To describe Foreign Cinema as an oasis would be to suggest that everything around it is a cultural and culinary desert. True, there are some eyesores on Mission Street around 21st and 22nd, but the best restaurant experiences start like those at Foreign Cinema, where there's no hint outside of the wonders inside.

Pass through the night-clubbish entrance, skoot past the side door to Laszlo's, the cool pre- or post-dinner bar, and you're into the open air courtyard that houses 1/3rd of the tables and the projected movies - usually classic French and Italian fare.

The idea has now been copied by several other restaurants in town, but no-one has matched the accompanying food.

Once the novelty of the film-on-a-big-brick-wall has been absorbed, you can concentrate on the superior Mediterranean menu.

We've been here often - sometimes just to show visitors how much fun it is to socialize in San Francisco - and have always enjoyed the great food, atmosphere and company.

RAVE - Cyrus

Aside from Raffles in Singapore, Cyrus (Healdsburg) is probably the most luxurious dining experience we've ever enjoyed.

The scene was set by spending the weekend at Hotel Healdsburg, in the main square of this Sonoma wine region capital, and being able to stroll a couple blocks to Cyrus for our 9.30pm reservation.

We didn't leave until 1am, and there were still diners lapping up the decadent 5 or 7 course tasting menus.

We had the latter, but would probably have just 5 courses next time. Not for budgetary reasons - although it was far from cheap at around $750 for the 2 of us, including wine pairing - but because there was just so much food, so many flavors. With the 3 or 4 amuses bouches, our 7 courses became 10 or 11, and although we remembered how much we'd marveled at courses 1, 2, 3 and 4, towards the end of the meal it all became a bit of a blur.

Service was p.e.r.f.e.c.t, with the best organized dining room I've seen anywhere in the world. Without seeming to clutter the room, or hang around waiting to spot something that needed doing, the staff not only made sure our every need was anticipated, but whenever a course was ready, each of our meals was delivered simultaneously by two waiters. Big deal, you might think, but when this done by six waiters to a table of six, eight waiters to a table of eight, without interfering with the impeccable service we were getting, you realized how much effort went into the organization.

Each course was a joy, and the whole experience didn't feel over-priced.

Definitely one for very special occasions.

RAVE - SPQR

The measure of a really good dish at a really good restaurant is when I make up my mind to try that dish at home, when cooking for guests.

I've done that with 2 or 3 ideas from SPQR - the simple-but-wonderful pan heated olives rolled in spiced breadcrumbs, and pan-cooked, bacon-wrapped brussels sprouts. I forget what the third one was, and I notice that neither of the first two is currently shown on their web-site. Maybe I ruined it for everyone?

SPQR now takes reservations, which is tons better than waiting around on the sidewalk to get a table.

However you get in there, it'll be worth your while.

RANT - Sushi Groove South

Revolting stink of fish hit us when we entered the restaurant and permeated the dingy space.

So-so sushi - soggy when it should have been crisp, lacklustre when it should have popped, flat when it should have been spiky.

I didn't have fond memories from the last time we went there 5 years ago, and it'll be a lot longer than 5 years before I get dragged in there again.

I know everyone has their favorite sushi place. Mine remains Blowfish.

RANT - Limon

What's the attraction with these Peruvian restaurants. Jonny and Mikki love Crudo. Everyone but me loves La Mer, and Michael Bauer loves Limon.

If you're desparate for ceviche, by all means slide on down to Limon, but apart from that it's just fishy Mexican food to me.

You should know I'm not a fan of fishy-smelling fish, and usually order the Tempura when dining at a sushi restaurant, so I'm probably not the ideal arbiter of fish-centric Peruvian cuisine.

Therefore, on this rare occasion ignore my Limon diss; go there and make your own mind up.

RAVE - Delfina

We've been here a couple times with David and Felicia, and aside from them vowing never again to take the bus from Pacific Heights to The Mission - it goes through the Civic Center DMZ where it picks up the tarts and taggers (jerks were spraying graffiti inside the bus, while it was in motion) - all was well at Delfina.

This place seems to overflow onto the sidewalk, with people waiting to get in, or staying around to swap stories of how much they loved it while getting out.

The atmosphere is boisterous and friendly, whether you're squeezed in at the tiny bar or seated in the shabby chic dining room.

The food is fresh and interesting, bettered only by actually being in the Italian countryside.

I've read some reviews where people think Delfina is over-rated, but on our visits we've found it well worth the hassle it is to get a reservation.

RAVE - Coi

A truly classy room, in a way that Elisabeth Daniel used to be, and that bigger, noisier, flashier places can never achieve.

In a disconcertingly downmarket neighborhood, flanked by strip clubs and tourist hang-outs, Coi is definitely somewhere you'd want to take your parents, but only after blindfolding them until you got to the entrance.

Once inside, they'd be delighted by the calm, elegant atmosphere, the suave wait staff and the gorgeous food.

RAVE - Chez Papa Resto

While this is the "proper" Chez Papa restaurant, and the Potrero Hill original is the bistro, I've always considered the Mint Plaza restaurant to be the lesser of the two.

It's less authentic in its Francophilia, and has always seemed to me like more of an attempt to make money than a natural development of our local Chez Papa.

Nevertheless, it stands on its own as a destination restaurant, with a late-night lounge vibe that's impossible for the much smaller Bistro to achieve.

The food used to be just as good as the Bistro, but as you may have seen from one of my Chez Papa Bistro reviews, the parent organization has "sold back" the Resto to its chef / manager.

You'll just have to go there and find out for yourself, to see if it's as good as it was last year.

RANT - Boulevard

What on earth do people see in this blue-rinse-centric, over-the-hill restaurant?

In another Top 100 list, this one showing the top grossing restaurants in the USA, Boulevard is there. There's no doubting it's an institution, but as my Dad used to say, "you know what happens in an Institution!"

I've only eaten there once, a lunch with my good friends George and David, and some mutual business associates.

The food completely missed the mark, surprising only for the distance by which it underwhelmed. I remember leaning back in my dining chair, looking up and being shocked by the state of the ceiling - dirty, stained tiles.

We were all so disappointed, George phoned them after, complained and got a credit toward another meal there. I gather he enjoyed the return experience more, but I'll not be going back.

RAVE - Bouchon

What on earth do they put in the water in Yountville?

The town itself is a bit twee and plasticky, but the restaurant selection is better than any other small town in the world (I'm guessing).

Bouchon looks, sounds and smells perfectly French. And the food more than does its part too.

Just like Bistro Don Giovanni's, it's well worth the one hour drive out of San Francisco.

RANT - Luce

A moderately expensive disaster. 

We went Saturday night, 8-9.30pm, and we were practically the only diners. Our solitary-ness allowed us to focus on all the things wrong with the food, which was overly fussy without being tasty. 

The obvious effort put into the creation and presentation of the food was ruined by bones in the John Dory, and the almost raw Squab. "Pink" my ass. 

Wine was good, but then I chose that so they couldn't screw it up.

RANT - La Mar

After a pleasing first impression (on first walking in, the place has an impressive, vibrant feel) pretty much everything else - except the service - was a let-down. 

I just don't know what all the fuss is about the food (Peruvian in general, La Mar in particular). 

The Cebiche Chifa and the Tiraditos Classico were both cut too thick to compare favorably with Sashimi (as the menu attempts). The Octopus skewers looked like turds on sticks, and tasted - presumably - not much better. The Empanadas were OK, but my Una (the one filled with meat and olives) was pure stodge, and mostly inedible. 

So, all in all, we had great hopes that were sufficiently dashed that we probably won't bother going back. A shame, all in all.

REVIEW - Zuni Cafe

This is another place - like Boulevard, Gary Danko, Masa's - where the attraction escapes me.

Maybe that's a little harsh. I can see the attraction, but can't see why they're held in such high esteem.

Zuni is, in my view, just another decent restaurant. It's one of many good restaurants in the Castro, but is eclipsed by many others in the wider market.

What everyone agrees is that it's been consistent for 30 years. By that token, it should get the Paul McCartney award, for consistent performers, once true market leaders but no longer relevant in the face of younger, better competition.

REVIEW - Gary Danko

Like Boulevard, Gary Danko is one of those hugely popular and highly-rated San Francisco institutions that I just don't get.

Yes, the food was good, but marred by the noisy and oh-so-touristy atmosphere. Where I was expecting a Michael Mina-esque vibe to go with the very many plaudits, what we got was a crash-bang clatter of visitors who seemed to have snorted a bit too much of the Danko dust.

Whenever I hear the strains of "happy birthday" it usually does it for me, and sure enough that's what we got. 

I'm sorry to be such a scrooge, but while I like a bit of raucous noise, I draw the line at listening to wait staff pretending to revel in a customer's birthday candle blowing.

For real class, I'll stick with Coi, Mina, or Fifth Floor.

RAVE - Bistro Don Giovanni

We found this place by accident not long after we moved here from England.

We went to Nadja and Peter's perfect wedding at the Peju Province winery in Napa. We stayed at a B and B 50 yards from Bistro Don Giovanni, fell in love with it, and it became the only restaurant in the Bay Area that we make a point of driving an hour to eat at.

We based the menu for our own wedding around the lamb shank we devoured at Don Giovanni's. Whenever visitors come into town and want to visit Napa, we make sure we eat at Don G's.

Summer Sunday lunch or dinner is picture-perfect outside the Don's, and I'll have to cut it there otherwise I'll be calling him D.

REVIEW - Beretta

I kind of see why people like this, for its unpretentious, natural vibe.

That said, the food's nothing to write home about. It's honest but unspectacular.

Admittedly, it's at the "wrong" end of Valencia, almost in the Outer Mission.

I preferred the place when it was the genuinely weird and wonderful Radio Valencia (the only time I've seen a genuinely bearded woman, and the only place on the west coast where I've ever seen a bluegrass band).

Anyhoo, Beretta is worth a visit if you're already out there in the nether reaches.

RAVE - Bar Bambino

This is one of those places I never get tired of.

A fabulously eclectic menu, and staff to match.

One of the partners - I'm sorry I don't know her name - has a wonderfully down-to-earth approach and great insight into the wine. I always enjoy talking to her, discussing the menu and wine choices. My picky old self certainly can't say that about too many places.

Thoroughly recommend this gem in the always excellent Mission.

If you're going with 4 or more, make sure to reserve the big table in the back room (but not right at the back, in the yard).

RAVE - A16

Aside from the virtual impossibility of parking in The Marina, and A16's lack of valet parking (wow, I'm sounding so old fart-ish), this would be a regular destination for us.

Great atmosphere, whether you're in the main front section or the plastic tented back yard. Great food, whether you're going for pizza, pasta or polenta.

Becoming somewhat of an institution (and there are better pizza and pasta places in more accessible parts of the city).

It's hard to say anything original about this place - so many people have been there, rated it and recommended it.

They're all right.

REVIEW - Prana

Food was patchy - 5 out of our 6 dishes were greasy (the pot stickers, pecorino-wasabi fries, eggplant pakora, jicama rolls and dosa quesadilla).

No sympathy from my wife of course: "What do you expect, you ordered all the greasy dishes on the menu".

The only saving grace was the Tandoori chicken. We may go back and give them another chance, but for a different meal selection.

The place is a combo restaurant and nightclub. Consequently, the decor might be an acquired taste for some, and the bass-heavy sound system would annoy your parents.

RAVE - Conduit

Surprisingly quiet on a Wednesday night (only a handful of tables occupied), but the food was pretty darned good.

I loved the fish and chips appetizer (3 finger-sized pieces of batter cod and 3 chunky fries, with a dipping sauce that was perhaps a bit sickly creamy) and then the pork sous vide, which was tastier than the usually bland sous vides I've had elsewhere.

George loved the Little Gem salad, but thought his True Cod was a bit too rich, when combined with the equally rich couscous.

A nice bottle of Sancerre for $40 and the whole thing was just $115 before tip. A "price performer" as George loves to say (when he finds one).