Globe
290 Pacific (at Battery), 391-4132. Open Monday through Friday for lunch 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., Monday through Saturday for dinner 6 p.m. to 1 a.m. The dining room is wheelchair accessible, the restrooms are not. Reservations strongly advised for prime dinner hours. Parking: Street parking usually possible, several lots nearby. Muni via the 12 Folsom, 42 Downtown Loop, and 83 Pacific.
After a day of dodging bears on the stock exchange or cross-examinations in court, what's a weary worker to do but head for Globe? If nearby mc2, chic and handsome, serves as the natives' date and business-dinner destination, then the smaller, louder, less exorbitant Globe is where the Financial District hangs out with colleagues after work.
When we arrived, vintage Ellington was playing at the bar, but the only instrument audible over the weeknight roar was the bass. With plain brick walls embellished only by a glassed-in set of rotisseries at the far end, the small room holds so many tables that a geometry genius must have arranged them.
The hostess greeted us cordially and gave us a wine list to study while we stood in the narrow crevasse between the no-vacancy bar counter (where patrons were doing more eating than drinking) and another short, crowded counter hung on the outer wall of a staircase that plunges to a basement banquet room and the restrooms. The wait for our table seemed nearly eternal as we danced two-steps
with scurrying servers and were battered by the booming voices of six shirt-sleeved young businessmen at a nearby table, vocally exorcising some work-created testosterone crisis.
Despite the restaurant's name, the menu isn't global but California-Mediterranean, and as we contemplated our choices we were mollified by a bowl of warm house-baked breads. A focaccia variant had bubbly looking squares of atypically sweet, soft dough, bedecked with whole, juicy sun-dried tomatoes and hints of garlic and onion. And there were dar-ling little oval rolls, light and sweet. Globe's energetic staff keeps the meals moving smoothly despite slightly undersized tables and cramped paths between them. Our server asked if we'd be eating "family style" and, at our affirmative, set up three wire towers to hold the service plates, with room underneath for lighted candles to keep the food warm and for the appetizer-sized eating dishes. Bussers checked frequently and replaced emptied plates with fresh ones.
We began with smoked salmon ($8.50) with grilled bread slices and a dollop of delicious dilled creme fraiche. The moist, cold-smoked fish was of superb quality, sliced translucently thin, with a dreamy soft texture and a jolt of sweetness from the smoke. A small, deep crockery bowl held a salad of baby greens and goat cheese ($6.50), lightly cheesed and even more lightly dressed with a finely tuned balsamic vinaigrette.
In a special that our server described as a "signature" appetizer, we received a round glazed ceramic platter pocked with little holes layered (from bottom to top) with a mussel, a shrimp, and a scallop, baked under a glaze of light tomato and herb sauce. The seafood was tender but we found the sauce nothing special. A portobello mushroom and spring onion pizza ($9.50), however, was delightful. About 8 inches across, and thick-crusted like a Chicago pizza, the dough was light and airy, with the simple, terrific topping resting on a cushion of the richest mozzarella. Although pizzas are listed at the end of the menu, they make good shared appetizers; nearly every table seemed to have one.
The bubbly sommelier (if she were a wine she'd be a Moscato Amabile) periodically returned to pour for us. Even at the bar, most patrons were choosing wine -- rather than cocktails -- from a list that's both interesting and solid, albeit a bit scanty on by-the-glass selections. Our choice was a Viognier ($22) bottled under the RHP label, which turned out to be an alias for jug winery R.H. Phillips. It was on the sweet and simple side but within normal bounds for this grape. Selections include French, Italian, and California bottles over a wide price range, including a Tavel Rose and the reliable Guigal Cote de Rhone for under $25, up to a $69 Puligny Montrachet. Beers include Pabst Blue Ribbon, a flash from the past. The sommelier told an amusing story about it -- I deduce it was amusing because my tablemates nearest her smiled at it, but from my seat, all I could hear were the shirt-sleeved businessmen and their stentorian siblings around the room.
Almost every table had an order of grilled ahi ($19), so who were we to resist? This refreshing remake of the ubiquitous pepper-crusted seared tuna was rubbed with balsamic capers and roasted red jalapenos, then cut thin for searing, giving it a higher ratio of spicy crust to meat; it sat on a bed of perfectly roasted Asian eggplant wedges. Even better was the high-rent revision of "Mediterranean bouillabaisse" ($22). The authentic Marseillaise version, although wonderful in its own way, usually has fennel-touched fish stock loaded with whitefish and only as much shellfish as the cook cares to buy. Globe's full-bodied shellfish broth was redolent of anise and cloaked a wealth of barely cooked clams, shrimp, mussels, bay scallops, some tiny cubes of a classy white finfish, and a large cracked claw of Maine lobster -- a cold-water species wholly absent from the warm Mediterranean -- plus the lobster's tail shell stuffed with saffron couscous and some meat from the upper carapace (including, alas, some untrimmed lungs). I'm not usually a couscous fan, but the tiny grains provided a texture equivalent to the minced pork in a good Lobster Cantonese. It was, simply, a sublime dish.
