Good Pizza Delivery in San Francisco

It might be hard to believe that in a food city like San Francisco it can be hard to find good pizza. Indeed, it’s not hard to find good pizza — if you’re willing to drive to it. Tommaso’s on Kearny, Vicolo on Ivy, and Arizmendi, on 9th Avenue are all good. None are close, none deliver. My kingdom for good pizza delivery!

It might be hard to believe that in a food city like San Francisco it can be hard to find good pizza. Indeed, it’s not hard to find good pizza — if you’re willing to drive to it. Tommaso’s, on Kearny at Broadway, is probably our favorite. Vicolo, on Ivy, is also outstanding (but not open on Sundays). Arizmendi Bakery, on 9th Avenue between Irving and Judah, changes their pizza every day; most days the combinations are both unique and tasty.

None of them deliver. And none are in walking distance.

We have a couple pizza places on our block, but I have come to the conclusion that you can tell if a pizza place is good or not just by looking at their sausage. If they use the little Sysco sausage pellets, the ones that look like rabbit droppings, it’s mediocre-at-best pizza. That’s our block.

North Beach Pizza makes pretty good pizza, if you get it from the right location, and they deliver. The problem is, you can only get delivery from the location closest to you, and the North Beach Pizza on Haight delivers crappy pizza (it inevitably arrives soggy and warm, not hot and crispy).

As you might imagine, this makes football and, especially, college basketball far less enjoyable than they might be. What’s a sportsfan to do? (Don’t get me started on the food in sports bars in SF.)

But, glory be, I have been delivered. We finally found excellent pizza delivery, from Bambino’s Ristorante on Cole Street. Pizza arrives fresh and hot, with a crisp crust, and outstanding ingredients. I especially recommend the Number 10, the “Tre Fromaggi”, which is a thin crust pizza without sauce, three cheeses, garlic and fresh basil. Out of this world good. Rochelle and I had to stop ourselves from eating an entire Extra Large in one sitting…

Where the Promo Parties Went, Part 1

Yesterday at 3pm Rochelle asked me if I wanted to go out, to a party she had seen posted on Chowhound.com, at a local bar, Butter. The Food Network was going to be there, shooting footage of Butter’s unique approach to bar food, and there would be free food samples and giveaway goodies. Most importantly, there would be 25¢ pints of beer, and $2 cosmos. I was in like Flint, as they say.

Yesterday at 3pm Rochelle asked me if I wanted to go out, to a party she had seen posted on Chowhound.com, at a local bar, Butter. She included the description of the event, which explained that the Food Network was going to be there, shooting footage of Butter’s unique approach to bar food, and there would be free food samples and giveaway goodies. Most importantly, there would be 25¢ pints of beer, and $2 cosmos. I was in like Flint, as they say.

I got there before Rochelle, and watched the Food Network crew of three methodically lighting and shooting individual servings of Butter’s food, which Butter calls “White Trash Bistro cuisine.” I.e., Spaghetti-O’s, corn dogs, Frito pie, Tater Tots. That sort of thing.

Now, Rochelle and I both have a high appreciation for the possibilities of that kind of food. In the right hands, re-imagined, it could be amazing. Indeed, one of our favorite dishes at Memphis Minnie’s is the Frito pie, because it’s Bob’s own chili on the Fritos, and Bob’s chili is amazingly good.

Alas, Butter is literally opening cans of Spaghetti-O’s, and canned chili, and bags of Tater Tots, etc., and heating ’em up before serving. Worse, they’re mostly using a microwave to heat them up. Microwaved Tater Tots are not good. Only the corn dogs were decent, and even those would have been better if they’d been deep fried, the way god intended.

Fortunately, you have enough 25¢ beers and you stop worrying about the food. The beer was Pabst, but at 25¢, it’s hard to complain. And the bartenders were all friendly and fun, we had a good time talking to Frank in particular.

The best part, to us, was the giveaways. We each got a baseball cap with the bar logo on it. Truly, I have reached the pinnacle of head attire, now that I have a hat that says “butter” on it. Everything’s better with butter, so I plan to wear the cap everywhere.

Everything’s Better With Bacon

The other night Rochelle and I watched Monster’s Inc., in every way a better movie than the Oscar winner, Shrek. Before watching the movie, we made popcorn. With three different fats on top.

The other night Rochelle and I watched Monsters, Inc., in every way a better movie than the Oscar winner, Shrek. Before watching the movie, we made popcorn. I bought these popcorn packets, with coconut oil, seasoning salt, and popcorn, that are phenomenal.

But we weren’t satisfied with the basics. We skipped some of the coconut oil and substituted bacon fat. And then we shaved Parmesan cheese on top of it. Hey, that’s only three different fats. Rochelle talked me out of pouring melted butter on top of it all.

The Last Burger

I just ate the last burger. The last burger sold by Rosamunde Sausage Grill. I took it next door to Toronado, ordered a Big Daddy IPA, and ate it. It was the last one. Because today is the last Burger-Day.

I just ate the last burger. The last hamburger sold by Rosamunde Sausage Grill.

Rosamunde’s is a sausage place (hence the name), but on Tuesdays — and only on Tuesdays — they served SF’s best hamburger. A large 1/2 pound patty of incredibly good beef, grilled perfectly, with lettuce, tomato, grilled onions, melted cheddar, and your selection of Rosamunde’s fabulous mustards. For $4. If you never had one, you missed out. Because I had the last one.

I ordered it about 2:30pm. I had gone by earlier, and it was too crowded for me to wait in line, order, and wait for a burger. I mean, it’s just a burger, right? Except it’s not. But they’ll just make more, right? Except they won’t.

So at 2:30pm, I decided the crowd wouldn’t go away any time soon, and I should get one. (Actually, I planned to get two, one for Rochelle.) There was only one person ahead of me in line, although Rosamunde’s itself was packed with people eating their burgers.

Rosamunde's is packed

We both waited patiently, as the four men behind the counter worked their way through the 10 or so burgers that had come up and needed to be distributed. One guy on the grill, two setting up buns and fixin’s and doing assembly, and one guy running the register and The List.

The List turned out to be important. It’s the only way the chaos of a Burger-Day could be managed. At any given time during lunch, there are 20-30 entries on The List, with different levels of doneness, different condiments, special requests, and above all, a name for the person who gets to pay for and eat it. There’s a fixed number of burgers on a Burger-Day, 120, and when they’re gone, it’s over. Wait until next week. Except there won’t be a next week.

After the latest burgers got distributed, a quick count of The List showed that there were two burgers left. Two. The woman in front of me, one of the neighborhood’s crack whores, got one. And I got the other. A few minutes later, a gang of seven slackers turned away en mass when they were informed there were no more. Not “OK, I’ll have a sausage instead.” They just turned and left, all seven. Good riddance.

So I left and bought batteries, and took a now-working flashlight out to my car, and pet the cats. And went back for my burger. It was the second-to-last burger off the grill, but the last went to the guy running The List. Mine was the last one sold.

I took it next door to Toronado, ordered a Big Daddy IPA, and ate it.

It was good. It was the last one. Because today is the last Burger-Day.

The last burger-day

C’est Fromage

We just ate cheese for dinner. Four really fucking good cheeses, air shipped to us from France. Rochelle read about Fromages.com in the New York Times, and talked Hilda into splitting a shipment with us. Our selection arrived this morning.

We just ate cheese for dinner. Four really fucking good cheeses, air shipped to us from France. Rochelle read about Fromages.com in the New York Times, and talked Hilda into splitting a shipment with us. So they ordered a selection of nine cheeses, which arrived this morning.

It’s a really cool service. You tell them on what day you want the cheeses to arrive, and they will ship it overnight the day prior, for delivery the day you select. So if you’re taking the cheeses to a party, or throwing your own, it’s easy to schedule it so they’ll be at the peak of ripeness when you get them.

We ate a lot of phenomenal cheeses while we were in France last year. Yes, there’s great cheese available right here in the Bay Area, but there’s really nothing like the cheeses we enjoyed overseas. So, while it’s a little expensive, it’s worth doing from time to time.

It also seems like a great way to thank France for their courageous stand against the pressure of the US to launch an attack on Iraq. We’ll be eating French cheese, and drinking as much French champagne as we can in the coming weeks.

That’ll be a hardship.

Out With the Old…

Tonight Rochelle found what must be the oldest thing in our refrigerator, some sliced pickled ginger in sweet vinegar. The package says it expired in 1997. Which means Rochelle has had it longer than she’s had me.

Tonight Rochelle found what must be the oldest thing in our refrigerator, some sliced pickled ginger in sweet vinegar. The package says it expired in 1997. Which means Rochelle has had it longer than she’s had me.

We threw it out.

Brand Name Recognition

Rochelle and I are starting to get famous, via our web site covering the food we eat, and obsessively document.

Rochelle and I like to go out to nice meals, take pictures of the food we eat, and then post them on our web site with commentary. We do it more to amuse our tiny minds than anything else, but apparently some people do visit the site and read our sort-of reviews.

At least that was the news we got from our server at Bloo this morning for brunch. He asked “Aren’t you the people with the web site?” When we admitted it he said that some customers had mentioned it recently when they came in for dinner: “Who are those people? Are they trying to sell me something?”

Even Proctor & Gamble and McDonalds had to start somewhere.