The Tantalizing Tastes Around San Francisco

I can’t say that I have ever left my heart in San Francisco, but I have lost all will and resolve.

It is the passion for food that grabs me in that city of tantalizing tastes. Everyone seems to talk about what they had for dinner the night before and the new place they are trying for lunch.

The aroma of Irish coffee wafts from sidewalk cafes. The fanciful marketplace called Ghirardelli Square is fragrant with chocolate, which was its founder industry. Along the bay by Fisherman’s Wharf, smells of fresh fish are laced with pungent Italian cookery.

Top of the List

In all of San Francisco there is no escape from good food. I thought it might be a personal whim until I saw a recent survey in which tourists rated what they liked most about the city.

Food and restaurants tied with setting and scenery for top honors, even blitzing old favorites like the cable cars.

Had I been asked to guess the numbers of eating establishments in the 46-square-mile city, I would have said upward of 2,000. The answer for 1989 turns out to be 4,300.

I am bedazzled and inspired. I recall when a London friend told me that there were more than 70,000 pubs in England, and that it was not reasonable for me to see all of them in my lifetime.

The San Francisco number is within reach . . . if you dine at a different restaurant every meal. Still, there is the problem of loyalty and tradition. I like to return to my favorite places and then explore beyond.

I would never give up a late lunch or early supper in a high-backed booth at the Tadich Grill on California Street. I scan the lengthy menu of fresh fish and seafood, before ordering Rex sole with mounds of lemon and a crisp green salad with bay shrimp. I do not order the basket of crusty sourdough bread, but it is placed before me and I am not rude.

Old World Atmosphere

Tadich was founded by Yugoslav immigrants during the Gold Rush. It mirrors the Old World in mood and service. Waiters are wrapped in white aprons and long memories. They would not know glitz if they saw it.

No reservations are taken and I am not one for lines. The clue is to slip in between 3 and 5 p.m. when San Franciscans have reported back to work.

More than a hundred restaurants are within the 24 square blocks of Chinatown, a stroll from Union Square. The Hang Ah Tea Room is a pleasant stop. At this time of year the neighborhood reverberates with the cacophony of Chinese New Year--firecrackers, gongs and the drums of the lion dancers.

Festivals are fun, but the daily celebrations of life in San Francisco also take my breath away. It is a place to honor the sunrise and the lantern of a full moon. It is a place to celebrate the majesty of fog.

The fog of San Francisco does not pussyfoot around. It pounces and rolls, a cat caught in twine. Moving swiftly, it can blot out the span of the Golden Gate Bridge in the time that it takes you to cross.

A Different Fog

I have seen no other fog like the showy tufts that blow in from the Pacific Ocean, shrouding one hill in dove gray while leaving the next crowned with gold. At such times, temperatures plummet and, even in summer, you turn up the collar of your coat.

San Francisco is a sophisticate, but you’d better wear rubber-soled shoes if you plan to hike down its slopes. With leather-soled shoes--especially new ones--the short trip from Nob Hill hotels to Union Square looms as a treacherous slide.

The breeze in San Francisco never seems to stop, although it calms in the lee of towers before gusting on. San Francisco is the only city in the world for which I pack hair spray. I prefer the natural look, but I also like to see where I’m going. Especially if walking along Filbert Street, between Leavenworth and Hyde, which is the steepest block in town.

All of this exploring and fresh air can make a person hungry. Fortunately, enticing tastes are always close at hand.