Outerlands

Despite the small size of San Francisco, most residents will not hesitate to tell you how far away the Sunset neighborhood is. They’ll lament, “It’s all the way out there” and moan, “You’ll spend forever getting there” but what they neglect to mention is that it is totally worth the “trek” if you’re going to visit Outerlands.

Situated only four blocks from Ocean Beach, with no obvious signage, Outerlands is discovered by the congregation of drooling people outside, braving the sandy winds just waiting to be seated. The menu is updated daily and posted on a clipboard next to the front door. I visited on a Tuesday morning, but there was still a waiting list, so I hurried to mark down my name. As I looked the list up and down, I was surprised to find the number of solo diners that had passed through.

After only a few moments waiting in the elements, I was beckoned inside and escorted to a bar stool opposite the open kitchen. I poured over the menu and its descriptions, dismissing the waitress twice before making my final selections with her guidance. With the most stressful decision making out of the way, I took in my surroundings. Seated next to me were lunching ladies, an older man fully absorbed in his newspaper, and a fellow foodie made obvious by her incessant picture taking. I reveled in the momentary kinship I felt with her and her desire to capture the homey ambiance of the tiny restaurant. The walls, floor, tables, chairs, and bar were all constructed of wood panels and the effect was that of eating lunch in a log cabin, or better yet, a treehouse. The sunlight filtered through the branches of the trees outside as the wind whipped them back and forth.

I began with a salad filled with all the signs of the season: snap peas, spring chicories, cherries, with a lemon-honey vinaigrette. It was the embodiment of the new season: tart, earthy, bright and cheerful. Next came the wild mushroom and asparagus hot, open-face sandwich. Served on a hearty slice of bread with a béchamel-like sauce, it was not fully complete until I put an egg on it, of course! I knew I had made the right decision when I was dragging the last bit of crust through the final streak of yolk.

When I finally came up for air I noticed that the restaurant had slowly cleared out, but there was one new customer seated next to me. He looked around excitedly, glancing from his menu to the chefs, until his eyes finally rested on me and my empty plate. Having been in the difficult position of making decisions earlier, I commiserated with his momentary stress. It was at that moment that he turned to me, a fellow food-lover who had made the journey to Outerlands for the pure enjoyment of good food, and asked what I would recommend to a first-time diner. I had been mistaken for a regular, a regular at one of the most sought-after brunch restaurants in the city. I was honored. 

I beamed as I pointed out a few things on the menu, signed my check, and walked out the door with a smile on my face and a brownie in hand.

Number 19: The Rebel Within from Craftsman & Wolves

Here in San Francisco, there are some dishes that have been elevated to the level of iconic. They are lusted after, photographed, written about, craved, ranked on lists, and most of all celebrated. The Rebel Within muffin at Craftsman and Wolves is one of these dishes.

I had been seeking this particular muffin for quite some time. It’s not that it was particularly elusive in any way (so many craveable dishes are often made in limited quantities in order to increase anticipation and, often times, magnify disappointment, that whole “keep them wanting more” concept), in fact this muffin was always readily available and conveniently located in the heart of the Mission district. Yet for whatever reason, I had been dreaming of this savory breakfast treat for months before I actually tried it. It came to represent something to me, something of a San Franciscan right of passage, and something that I, apparently, was not ready for until last week.

As I approached the infamously hipster bakery, I saw tell-tale muffin remnants on various plates on the outdoor tables: next to abandoned coffee cups and crumpled napkins were bits of green scallions and fluffy little crumbs alongside knives slick with yellow stickiness. I walked into the artsy shop tingling with excitement and anticipation.

I marched up to the barista and declared: “One Rebel Within muffin, please, for here, nothing else, thank you so much.” Seven dollars later, I was sitting at the bar, staring at the muffin I had been fantasizing about for months, and suddenly the moment was upon me.

As I cut through it, the crunchy exterior gave way to a moist interior and the bright yolk flowed out of the muffin creating a yellow, liquid-gold puddle. The muffin itself was like a flavorful, savory foccaccia bread speckled with scallions, pepper, crème fraiche, and xx. I had to actively slow myself down and reminded myself to savor it, I wanted to gobble it all up in an instant. Using a fork and knife, I dismantled the bread into small pieces before dragging them through the viscous gravy the egg left behind. My only wish was that it was served warm, oh and that it never ended!

Moments later, having turned in my suspiciously clean, blue plate, I was back on the Mission streets. It was almost as if nothing had ever happened, but everything had changed. I had joined the club, selling my soul for a seven dollar muffin. And yet, as I walked away I felt perfectly content with my new membership.

The subject of this blog is...

After working for the Pacific-Union Club for a year and a half, I was presented with two exciting opportunities that I could not turn down. When I gave my old job notice of my departure, I immediately created a bucket list for the two weeks of freedom I would have before starting my new endeavors.  As you can imagine, they were mostly food-centric adventures, although I did include some physical activities to offset my indulgences.

I roamed across San Francisco: sipping, eating, hiking, and eating. I got to know this amazing city in a new, more intimate way. I explored quaint and undiscovered neighborhoods, climbed the steepest of hills, people-watched in various parks, tried yoga for the first time and learned how to escape the city without ever leaving its borders.

I spent a majority of this time alone, as most of my friends were working, but it was rare that I ever felt alone. While sitting in the park eating a killer turkey sandwich, I was greeted by a neighboring park-goer who was also reading Food and Wine Magazine; while on a hike in a distant corner of the city, I was asked where I had purchased my perfectly juicy cherries; and within the cozy confines of an Outer Sunset restaurant, I became a resident expert when another customer asked me what I would recommend to a first-time diner.

While the message was nothing new, it rang ever clearer in my days of funemployment-- food brings people together. It spans language barriers and age gaps; it solidifies traditions and bonds families throughout generations; it creates conversation and often heated debate, and at times, earns reverent silence.

The subject of this blog is food and all the conversations that surround it.

Bon appétit!