By Molly Gore
By Lou Bustamante
By Anna Roth
By Anna Roth
By Anna Roth
By Anna Roth
1640 Haight (at Clayton), 861-8868. Open daily 11 a.m. to 10 p.m. The front dining room (but not the downstairs restroom or patio) is wheelchair accessible. Parking: possible on weeknights, difficult weekends, lock up well. Muni via the 7 Haight, 33 Stanyan, 37 Corbett, 43 Masonic, 66 Quintara, and 71 Haight-Noriega, plus the 6 Parnassus stops at Haight and Masonic.
The chalkboard sign at Zare's front door was alluring: Garden -- Heated Patio Seating. When the fog takes its annual autumn vacation, like any kid clinging to the day's last sunshine, I just don't wanna hafta come in for dinner. It's more fun to people-watch at a sidewalk table or feast in faux-rural peace, stretching my legs and smoking (yes, I've sinned) between courses.
Zare's promise drew us through the wood-paneled front dining room, down a few stairs past a narrow, aromatic kitchen, and out to a spacious rear deck, well-hidden from the hassles of the Upper Haight. Christmas lights hanging from tree limbs and the dull orange glow of the heat stanchions provided the only illumination. The lighting was so romantic, I wished I'd brought a flashlight to read the menu and view the food. A clean, plump long-haired tabby wandered among the tables calmly collecting caresses and occasional snacks, while the pump in a small Japanese-style pond beyond the deck's edge provided soothing waterfall sounds.
Zare, owned by well-known restaurateur Hoss Zare, is the Upper Haight's only "destination" restaurant. Nonetheless, most of its patrons stroll only a few blocks to reach it: Workers from nearby businesses flock in for alfresco lunches, and the neighborhood's young renters and families appreciate it as the area's sole serious dinner house. (To some other local residents -- the raucous clique of loadies ensconced on the corner, the doorway-dwellers conversing with imaginary friends -- the Haight itself may once have been an intentional destination, but dining at Zare probably didn't play any part in their plans. They're unlikely to follow you inside or show up at the next table.)
The restaurant originally served Middle Eastern food, but has more recently come to feature the cross-cultural blendings of California cuisine. What other term could encompass the four nationalities packed into one gargantuan portobello mushroom ($8.50) brushed with spiced-up Chinese oyster sauce and baked firm with a topping of crisp-edged sweet onions, picante pasilla chiles, and melted garlic-jack cheese? Both my tablemates fell head over heels for this rich, peppery creation, while I grew increasingly enamored of a savory saffron risotto cake ($8.50), which had the crunchy exterior and creamy interior of those Rice Krispies-and-marshmallow concoctions Mom used to bake. At the center of the cake was a streak of sweet, mild Gorgonzola cheese with sauteed shiitake strips and bits of small, sweet tomatoes -- probably toybox, judging by the size and flavor, though the darkness precluded precise visual identification of ingredients.
But in a salad of sliced tomatoes and fresh mozzarella ($7.25), an inferior variety of love apple tasted pale and wan alongside bland cheese. The lyrical basil-strewn balsamic vinaigrette just wasted its song.
Between courses, we enjoyed the assorted breads, delivered daily from a nearby bakery -- a soft rosemary baguette, another baguette redolent of resinous aniseed, and a sweet black rye dotted with oats. My beer-drinking companion was impressed to learn that all the brews are on tap -- a serious list of 11 including Spaten Pilsener, Newcastle, and intensely wheaty Lagunitas India Pale Ale. The wine list offers mainly reasonably priced ($20-30) "little" wines from California, France, and Australia, with one wine per variety available by the glass. Frustratingly, despite the seafood-rich dinner menu, there are approximately three times as many reds as whites. Whatever its color, any wine that tries to put on airs here is swiftly deflated when it's served in sturdy, stemless round juice goblets.
Without our having to ask, our droll, charming server also brought tall glasses of ice water with lemon slices. Attentive but not pesky, friendly but not overfamiliar, he kept the kitchen so closely matched to our pace that we never went hungry nor felt rushed; at both meals he displayed a professionalism well beyond expectations for so informal a setting.
On a return visit, a huge salad of smoked trout ($9) had a vibrant raspberry-lemon vinaigrette that moistened the fish chunks (smoked trout is often dry) and united the accompanying mass of mixed greenery, red peppers, fennel, toasted walnuts, and generous dabs of creamy goat cheese. Bowing to professional duty I reluctantly ordered the Dungeness crab cakes ($9). Surprisingly, they were among the best restaurant crab cakes I've had recently. Crisp outside, creamy inside, with minimal breading and no horrible "creative" perversions, they resembled those objects of my shameful lust, Mrs. Paul's Devilled Crab Cakes. They weren't as highly seasoned as Mrs. Paul's, but then the menu didn't call them "devilled" -- too bad, since I was feeling a little impish that evening. The whole-grain mustard sauce pooled beneath them, however, packed a truly satanic quantity of salt.
An entree of penne ($11.25) was dressed with vodka, tomatoes, and arugula in a light cream sauce. The pasta gained greatly from being cooked enough -- not fashionably "al dente" but tender and light-textured without subsiding into mushiness. The sauce was gentle, the vodka and arugula playing discreet supporting roles. The menu also lists chili flakes; we didn't taste or, of course, see any. A topping of freshly shredded Parmesan melted into the sauce as we ate.