<Whew> Was in Philly for a couple days for Jon and Jen’s wedding and turned out to a pretty heavy trip. The weight of missed beginnings of love, families and ghosts of the past make my stomp through Midtown to the F Train a bit more weighed down with thoughts than usual. I’m backed up on thoughts, so here goes a bit about the city I thought was the best a week ago. San Francisco.
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My month in SF was too short lived. The immediate love for the grit and ornery nature remained, and with every passing day I found a new thing to obsess over. One of SF’s nicknames is Fog City and as odd as it sounds, my favorite past-time became watching the fog roll in and out over the Twin Peaks hill. You probably don’t believe me, but this is a thing that would happen always. Constantly changing, and better every second. A unique NorCal version of a sunset, everyday occurrence, but constantly changing and always impressive. My humble abode at Fox Plaza in the lower Tenderloin had a fucking wood burning stove, so obviously I spent a lot of my free time at home, burning wood and watching fog (and catching up on Breaking Bad). If you get a chance try it, its pretty dope.
“How amazingly sublime it is to spend a night on the couch craft beer in hand, the fog drifting in and out through my window. And a flickering fire in the fireplace. My ode to San Francisco.”
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I’ll cut to the good stuff; food. To make a long, gluttonous, food stained story short, these are my favorite joints in San Fran.
My first moments on the ground and off of work, I was told to go to Swan’s. There is always a line outside of Swan’s, and seemingly foodie/tourist types abound but it is a commitment one must make. Anchor Steam on tap, counter bar service only, and when they run out of shit they are done. Closed. Thank you come again. We were lucky enough to grab a couple stools, down a bunch of oysters, smoked salmon and a couple beers before work.
I think the place that stuck out the most was Tommy’s Joynt. On “Historic Rt 101” aka Van Ness St, this place remains a bastion of frontier food. Its like a “joynt” you’d see on Rt 66, but still alive and well in the heart of a metropolis. Cheap plates of gut busting fare are served up until last calling time, and my first night out Kelly dragged me out of the bar to go freshen up there. The building itself stands out, and inside they have a raucous, Mom and Pop feeling grub line where they scoop out heaps of deliciousness for CHEAP! The buffalo chili is my favorite (and at least 5 pounds an order).
During my incessant walking about I discovered a little place called Canto do Brasil. Mexican (Taqueria Can-Cun), Chinese (Uhh SF Chinatown), and Middle Eastern food (I’m sworn to secrecy on this one place) spots always impressed and made sense in San Fran, but this little spot near Hayes Valley was a great little catch. I walked past, ravenous on a Friday night, and they were packed so came back the next day for lunch. Thank Deus. Besides the awesome caipirinhas, the food was amazing, and I feel like a good Brazilian place is a rarity in any city I’ve been before. We all have our clutch sushi, mexican, and thai, but damn I wish I had a clutch brazilian joint on Seamless.com. Besides the barrage of appetizers, I got the feijoada and that shit was awesome. Tudo bem.
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A week later I find myself back in New York City after a brief stint back “home” to Philly. San Fran was awesome, Philly is the best, and the show goes on.
“Tears well up in the corners of my eyes as my train pulls away from the jagged underbite skyline that retains the weight and familiarity of ‘home’. Philly J’taime.”
cirque duford 