North Beach Extravaganza!

Last Wednesday my ESF class embarked on our first of six planned field trips, destination—North Beach. Our group, 18 in all, met at City Lights Bookstore, a haven for tourists and city dwellers alike. City Lights is not only one of the most famous bookstores and publishers in the country, but it is also home to the poets of the Beat generation.


Drawn by the bohemian atmosphere, the beat generation began around 1950 with Jack Karouac, Alan Ginsberg, Neil Cassady, and Willian S. Burroughs in New York but the beat movement really took root in San Francisco’s North Beach neighborhood which provided inexpensive housing and beat hangouts like Vesuvio Café. The literary epicenter of the Beat movement was City Lights Booksellers and Publications who published Alan Ginsberg’s famous poem “Howl.” The beat author reading at the Six Gallery in San Francisco, along with an article, written by Karouac’s friend John Clellon Homes for the New York Times Magazine, dubbed “This is the Beat Generation” and by the late 1950s beats were flocking to San Francisco’s North Beach neighborhood.


We strolled down Broadway Street, the main drag in North Beach, toward the chosen restaurant, Bocce Café. Cameras and notebooks in hand, I don’t doubt we looked like a bunch of tourists, which we most definitely are not. As we approached the restaurant hundreds of tiny flashes illuminated the storefront from the cameras of excited media students searching for the best angle.
An Italian flag door and enchanting walkway, lined with beautifully groomed trees and tiny white lights, led up to what we hoped would be the authentic North Beach destination we were looking for. The wooden sign, decorated with grapes and vines, should have served as an early warning to the inauthenticity of the meal, as there is a shocking resemblance to the sign at Olive Garden.


Our gaping table lined the far wall of a nearly empty restaurant. The ambiance of Bocce far outweighed the taste of the penne I ordered, but maybe I’m being unfair. Beautiful mirrors, old bottles of wine, dried garlic and peppers, and wood beams created a wonderful atmosphere. The table was buzzing with conversation as we ordered, ate delicious Italian bread, drank some cheap white wine, and waited in anticipation for the meal we were about to dissect.


When my penne with fresh tomatoes and roasted garlic arrived, I was thrilled, as I had fasted all day in preparation for my Italian feast. Maybe it’s an American thing (which the movie our class watched, Big Night, suggested cheese is), but as soon as my plate was set in front of me, I began searching for the fresh Parmesan cheese. Much to my dismay, the cheese was not fresh my any means, but was crumbled processed cheese, most likely from a nearby supermarket.


Although my meal wasn't as satisfying as I had anticipated, the wonderful service and conversation more than made up for it. North Beach is full of restaurants trying to be Italian, while also trying to please American customers. American customers who tend to like their food fast and familiar. Maybe it's time for us to slow down and really look at what we're eating, whether it's at a hokey Italian restaurant or at home. Stay tuned.

Less than Impressed!

Going to a new restaurant is always great fun, but sometimes it is nice to go to a place where you already know what to expect. That way you know the menu, you know the prices, and you can assume your experience will be as satisfactory as it was in the past. Rose Pistola, an Italian-style restaurant located in the San Francisco neighborhood North Beach, was one of the first places I dined in after moving here…almost three years ago (wow time flies!). Over the years, I have been there many times, with family and friends alike, and each time was as enjoyable as the last. My mom was coming into town for a Wallace Foundation conference, and I found no better excuse than to dine out at this old favorite.

Unfortunately, the service and the food were mediocre at best. Thankfully, we had 3 (or was it 4) bottles of wine to cushion the blow of what this place had become. The service was the first hint that our Rose Pistola experience was not going to be a good one. The waiter (lets call him Joe), a younger guy—about 30 or so, had more attitude that I think even he knew what to do with, and his indifference was blatant. Joe was less than amused by my mother’s witty banter (if you know her, you know exactly what I’m talking about), and he seemed bored while taking our order. Even when my mom asked for his wine recommendations, he was not only unhelpful, but he seemed annoyed. Our first two bottles of wine sat in the middle of the table, luckily we drank them fast or else they would have gotten very warm. And after pouring us refills from our fourth bottle, it disappeared and we were never offered its remains. Past the terrible wine etiquette, we never saw Joe again throughout the course of the meal—he never checked to see if we needed anything or made sure our meals were satisfactory. In regards to the food, two things stick out in my memory. My ($36) steak was extremely fatty and rare, which was not how I ordered it, and the peas in my boyfriends pasta Carbonara, were still frozen.

In the past however, I have had much more enjoyable experiences and much better food at Rose Pistola. Their rustic Italian style food satisfies all kinds of cravings. The menu has everything from wood-fired pizza and pasta to steak and whole roasted fish. In addition to that, Rose Pistola also has a full-bar and an extensive wine menu. Although, my most recent experience was not top-notch, I am not going to write this place off completely. Maybe Joe (our waiter) was having a bad night, and maybe I did not make it clear that I wanted my steak medium-well. Rose Pistola let me down this time, and my mom swore she would never dine there again. But lets face it, everyone is allowed to have a bad day…right?