Hopefully, you'll forgive us for our temporary neglect of this blog. Though we've not been too busy to eat--I hope that never happens!--we have been to busy to write about it. But now I'm at home, contemplating a blissfully empty afternoon, and can finally sit down and digest (ha-ha) what's transpired over the past couple months, at least gastronomically. 

Late May through mid-June found me in Iceland, an austere and humorless country (the landscape, not the people, especially after a couple drinks) whose food generally follows suit. On most dinner tables you'll find: lamb, fish, canned peas, lamb, fish, and canned peas. 

The capital of Iceland, Reykjavik, is a city of only 120,000 people. For a city so small in a country so small (only 340,000 live on the entire island), it has a remarkably developed coffee culture. Good coffee is everywhere, mostly in the form of espresso-based drinks, though one especially great coffee shop, Kaffismiðja Íslands, felt a lot like home--one of my travel companions mentioned it reminds her a lot of Portland. 

They had drip in the form of V60, aeropress, and espresso from a La Marzocco machine. 

...as well as plenty of Barista Cups on display. Kaffismiðja Íslands was definitely my favorite thing about Reykjavik. The interior was cozy and mismatched and, yes, very Portland; the pastries, especially the croissants and the scones (served with cheese, jam and butter) were addictive; and the coffee was always good, in any preparation. I'll definitely miss this place.

What I found to be the most interesting thing about food culture in Iceland is the almost complete lack of grocery stores. 

All Icelanders have, for the most part, are Bonus and 10-11. Bonus is sort of like a grocery store, except all the produce is kept in a refrigerator the size of a walk-in closet; everything else is packaged nonsense, although since most of Europe isn't owned by the corn lobby, there's very, very little corn syrup to be found in anything. 

10-11 is a convenience store with frozen bagels, what looked to be month old blueberries, and the ubiquitous Skyr. 

Skyr is yogurt made from nonfat milk. It has the consistency of greek yogurt, but since it's nonfat, it's essentially flavorless on its own, hence the need for added flavors such as strawberry (we here at Consider the Dinner have issues with flavored yogurt as well as nonfat anything). Despite its problematic structure, Skyr was my life support while in Reykjavik as its blueberry, melon, and lemon flavors stood in for my daily fruit intake.  

Reykjavik was disappointing, from a food standpoint especially, but the rest of Iceland wasn't. Part two of my Nordic saga will discuss eating atop 700,000 year old glaciers, among other things.

After an hour or two of gazing at a shockingly people-free ocean-front and exfoliating our feet in the sand, we headed back home, utterly starved. Luckily for us, we ended up at the best possible thing to eat after a long day in the sun: mexican food.

The place is called Tommy's, at 24th and Geary in the Richmond. According to their website, it's been open since 1965--and the exterior certainly looks aged. I've walked past it several times and never paid it much attention; the main draw would be the big bowls of freshly fried tortilla chips in the window, although the glass they're behind is dingy and old. Not exactly appealing.

However, it had been recommended by a friend, and I'd seen it recommended in Esquire as "America's leading tequila bar." The question is why I hadn't been there yet.

First off: complimentary chips and two truly fantastic salsas that took a minute or two to kick in. The chips were so good, and we were so hungry, that we probably finished off the first basket of chips in under four minutes. Said basket was again refilled within about thirty seconds.

Secondly: a drink. 

A good, no-frills margarita, salted rim, 100% Agave and on the rocks. If you're not hungry, go here for the drinks alone. It's worth the twenty minute trip on the 38.

Emanuel: I eat Mexican almost every week, mostly at taquerias, sometimes at taco trucks, and rarely at upscale, fancy (read: expensive) Mexican cuisine resturants like Mamacita, our go-to in that department.

I almost never go to the less popular in-between option: sitdown, family-style Mexican restaurant like Tommy's. Actually the only other similar place I can recall going to is Mexicali Rose in Oakland, which is a shame because I really enjoyed it, as I did Tommy's. 

We'll have to go again when we're not starving to confirm, but the food certainly hit the spot after our long walk, though it was apologetically over cheesed. My beef enchilada was nice and gooey and the masa in the tamale Angela ordered, which in other places tends to be a dry, somewhat useless filling, was rich and flavorful. The high point I think was Angela's black beans, and the low point were the tortillas on the side that we suspect may have been microwaved.

All in all, we'll be back at Tommy's. Often. Which is great because there's now another great Mexican place to go to in the neighborhood, and not so great because now there's another great Mexican place in the neighborhood taunting me to make irresponsible decisions every time I walk by. And they serve tequila. Dangerous. 

Tommy's Mexican Restaurant

5929 Geary at 23rd Ave

San Francisco, CA

Emanuel: I don't know what authority South Boston has over the kind of sandwiches on offer at Rockridge's Southie, but I can't argue with the evidence ingested thus far.

The meatball sandwich, or “The Balls” as it's listed on Southie's menu, is traditionally an Italian sandwich, and so makes me think about appropriately greasy pizza joints in New York/Jersey.

The pulled pork sandwich (“Spicy Hog” on the menu), similarly, is increasingly harder to associate with any degree of authenticity the further north you travel from Chapel Hill, NC, or at least that's what the locals claim.

This in no way changes the fact that both of the sandwiches were each some of the most delicious in their respective class. That's a lot of sandwich range for the little sister restaurant of next door's Wood Tavern.

If a lot of hip restaurants these days can be reduced to a single high concept, Southie's particular shtick is using good ingredients to carefully prepare what are usually considered sloppy sandwiches to be consumed standing, probably before or after a “game” of some sort, most likely while inebriated. Even the seating situation at Southie's reinforces this, all high bar stools seemingly to discourage lazy post-gorge loungers.

This perhaps is what Southie means by its slogan: “East Coast Mentality, West Coast Sensibility,” i.e. East brings the comfort of slop, West brings the grass-fed, Chez locavore, self-righteous but damn tasty beef.

Short version is the shtick works. It's been a while since I've had the Spicy Hog but I remember it was very good, tender and unlike amatuer pulled pork, was not pulverized and drenched with sauce so indistinguishable from liquid. The slaw also was virtuously fresh, undrenched, and recognizably a vegetable.

(Kat C. on Yelp)

As I often say, I loved The Balls. Easily the best meatball sandwich I've ever had. Good bread (La Farine baguette), good cheese (provolone and reggiano) but mostly it was the high quality of the meat (Niman Ranch) which most establishments that serve this kind of sandwich simply don't use.

Even Angela, whom I usually fear will order the wrong thing, scored with a soup and surprisingly generous grilled cheese sandwich that I obviously ate at least half of.

Angela: I love grilled cheese sandwiches. Love them. The other night I came up with the brilliant idea of cooking a grilled cheese in mayonnaise, which Emanuel immediately coined "white trash" until I looked it up online and found the idea endorsed by the much-esteemed Gabrielle Hamilton. 

So not only do I have brilliant ideas (great minds think alike), but I consider myself somewhat of a connosieur. 

That being said, the grilled cheese sandwich at Southie is pretty good. It's on a baguette--which isn't ideal, in my opinion. The cheese can get somewhat overwhelmed by the bread, and you want the cheese to be the star of the show.

But it wasn't bad. It was even better dipped in the soup, a fatty, meaty bowl of thoroughly satisfying winter deliciousness. The whole thing was definitely a cold-weather meal. And given that winter seems to be sticking around even into April, I'll definitely be back at Southie. 

Southie

6311 College Ave
(at 63rd St) 
Oakland, CA 94618

Saviors come in all shapes and sizes; however, not all contenders quite make the mark. And while any loaf of bread might be better than no loaf of bread, there are some that have definite miracle-making qualities.

In San Francisco, we're surrounded by good bread. Acme, Semifreddi's, and La Farine all do the trick. You can be happy with a little bit of bread spread with butter and perhaps sprinkled with a pinch of salt. But these breads, while perfectly acceptable, do not have fly-me-to-the-moon capabilities. Or whatever.

Della Fattoria, however, does.

Above is their Semolina loaf. It is so good it does not need anything. No butter, no salt, no nothin'. It tastes this good for several days, I'm guessing mostly from the oil content in the sesame seeds. 

Despite being this good on its own, it will also make the most amazing grilled cheese sandwich you'll ever have. The sesame tastes divine--yes, divine--when toasted. 

Those holes? That sometimes, in bread-making, are viewed as an accident? That's one reason this bread makes a spectacular sandwich. When the cheese melts, some of it falls through that hole, only to turn crispy on the sandwich's exterior. 

Sadly, this bread is not easy to find. Della Fattoria Bakery has a stand at the Farmer's Market on Saturdays; a couple of Whole Foods in San Francisco carry it; Bi-Rite and Mollie Stone's have it as well. At Whole Foods on California a couple nights ago, the bread rack was fully stocked with Della Fattoria. Perhaps it is the brand's unfortunate use of Papyrus-type font, but no one seems to be buying this bread. This is a huge mystery, as it completely outshines any other bread available. You can find their complete list of wholesale accounts here.

Emanuel: We haven't tried other Della Fattoria products but this semolina bread is one of the best, fairly available loaves in the Bay. With all due respect to Acme, you can do a whole lot better these days. Acme is one of those Chez Panisse off-shoots that raised the bar years ago, but there are smaller businesses out there today that are setting it even higher.