I grew up in San Francisco, left to attend college in Washington State, spent a few years in Philadelphia and Brooklyn, and finally returned (with rents at their peak) last December. Like every city I’ve ever lived in, I associate San Francisco with its food. It was what I missed most when I left, and it threads together the memories I share with other native San Franciscans I know; together we see this city very differently from the foodie-crazed stereotypes we’re all fed about the city now.
My family took me out to eat often, and occasionally at fancy, of-the-moment restaurants like Stars. But more often we ate at cheap, unpretentious places, which helped shape how I explored our culinary landscape. I have early memories of eating chicken and snow peas at the Mandalay, or staring up from a red vinyl booth at the latticed ceiling at Gaspare’s old-school Italian on Geary. (Walking down Geary, I learned to move fast or some grandma would come from behind, pushing me out of the way.) We took hikes to Lands End and ate at the Seal Rock Inn, where the same waitresses worked for years, serving excellent eggs benedict overlooking SF’s rocky, wild coastline. We also went to Courtney’s Produce, still one of the greatest businesses in the city, for homemade sandwiches, and to Bus Stop Pizza and Phuket Thai.
The food was different in the avenues of the Richmond; we’d pick up pork buns from a Chinese bakery, go out for fancier dim sum at Ton Kiang, grab stuffed cabbage from Russian delis, or piroshki from a corner store. (Children referred to corner stores as “candy stores” and it was my friend Katy’s dream to own one. I certainly never heard them referred to as “bodegas” growing up.) I loved sitting at tranquil Khan Toke, where you got to take off your shoes and pad lightly through the restaurant, and naturally I went nuts for Toy Boat’s toy-festooned interior. As for more traditional fare, the best and freshest chocolates — beating out any later, buzzworthy sea-salt/earl gray/bacon-laden truffles — were at See’s, with their gleaming black and white stores.
Kids in San Francisco had their own food fads — sub sandwiches on SF staple Dutch Crunch bread from Roxy Market, wavy shrimp chips in their pop-art pink bags. Boba drinks and bubble teas hit the scene hard in high school. And even at a young age, my friends could afford to eat dinner out thanks to San Francisco’s plethora of cheap options, places like Zante Pizza, Regent Thai, or La Rondalla (now defunct Valencia Street old-school Mexican restaurant, complete with shredded iceberg on everything and massive margaritas they totally served to us as teenagers.)
Students’ Exchange
Growing up in a city as diverse as San Francisco, your cravings for different sorts of foods expanded with each new friendship. Some kids brought stuff to school that seemed exotic to me, like Spam or soymilk. White children were the minority in the public school system, and my friends included first generation kids whose parents ate differently than mine did; visiting someone’s house could be a new culinary experience. I had muhammara, a pomegranate dip, and real feta cheese at a friend’s house for the first time.
I met my best friend Simone in high school, and she introduced me to her family’s favorites and traditions — the best green onion pancakes in the city, and hot and spicy rock cod at the original Hunan on Sansome, or special dinners at SF landmark House of Prime Rib. Her mother was a second generation San Franciscan who grew up eating at Lucca’s on Valencia and USA Restaurant in North Beach with her Italian-American family. I’d never eaten pho or real Japanese food before I met Simone, and I, in turn, showed her all my fave spots.
On the East Coast, pizza (or as it’s referred to, “a slice”) was the go-to fast food, but I never stopped dreaming of tacos. We San Franciscans all had our taquerias, and we still do, the ones we went to as kids and continue to feel an unending loyalty toward. Getting a taco or burrito (usually stuffed with cheese and sour cream) and a fruit drink was an after-school ritual before we dragged our backpacks back home. Visiting from college in Massachusetts, Simone once brought a burrito back on the plane, packing it for the full 3,000 miles to give to a mutual San Franciscan friend.
Mom and Pop Girl
Aside from the occasional childhood visits to McDonald’s or Chevys (it seems like every week in high school we were pretending it was someone’s birthday in order to receive a free flan and oversized sombrero), big chain restaurants weren’t part of our repertoire, and the slick, modern foodie destinations of today did not exist. Perhaps as a result, I much prefer the places with wood-paneled walls and family photos, hand-drawn signs advertising specials, and old vinyl booths. Restaurant looks a bit dirty? Probably not gonna kill you. I won’t devour anything and everything just to prove a point, but I always keep in mind that truly local, small businesses often don’t start with a hip name, look, or concept, but evolve organically, serving the same food their families grew up eating. And often, at least in San Francisco, that cooking is exceptionally good.
This city has always been a great place to eat. Today, too many people draw lines between “refined” restaurant fare and cheaper (and often more authentic) menu options. I find it troubling to eat at a slick, group-run spot instead of the mom-and-pop business next door — especially in places like the Mission, where the history and culture of Mexican and Central American families is so strong. And give me the old-school class of House of Prime Rib or the classic, campy 1950s tiki glamour of the Tonga Room over an industrial chic hotspot any day.
Today, I patronize the restaurants and diners I’ve felt an affinity for since childhood, ones I want to continue to be part of my city, and I appreciate them far more than I could have as a kid. As is so often the case, it was only after I left that I realized what an impact the city has had on me. After living in a few different places, San Francisco is still the best, with its wonderful mix of natural beauty, graffitied urban grit, and, more than anything, unpretentious and delicious food options — which will forever be linked to this city in my heart.
Design: Mia Nolting
