Hearts Afire

Set next to Liverpool Lil's at the quiet edge of the Presidio, Curbside Too -- the California-French Curbside Cafe's full-blooded, Gallic sister -- is what you might call a tiny, undiscovered spot: 10 tables, one waiter, plus some of the most cleverly prepared, classic French cuisine you'll ever eat.

Just about everything Too strives for it achieves, which is all you can ask of a restaurant. It is the kind of place you can't help but talk about afterward, as my friend Barrie can attest, as we've been discussing it quite feverishly since I took her.

Like me, Barrie isn't a big fan of crowds (if traffic-related fulminations could kill, both of us would have been locked up for murder long ago), and was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at 8 p.m. on a Wednesday to find Too barely half-full. A perfect date restaurant -- three booths are proper yet intimate, service is leisurely, and soft music fills silences but disappears when you speak -- Too's small menu is supplemented by a few specials scrawled on a chalkboard, and takes the heartbreak out of dining in that just about every dish hits the right notes.

The wine list -- 21 reds, 17 whites -- provides variety without overwhelming, and yielded an elegantly dry glass of Fritz sauvignon blanc ($5) for Barrie and a splendidly buttery, Curbside chardonnay ($5.50) for me. Our waiter -- who was, of course, French -- offered a taste before pouring, a thoughtful gesture that, as it turned out, was also quite fortunate, since Barrie preferred the chardonnay, promptly winejacked me, and that first sip was all I got.

Soups, salads, and appetizers are understated and well thought out. The soupes du jour ($5) -- a tangy celery root with garlic and a smoother zucchini with cream -- eased us into our nearly two-hour meal, very light, subtle purées served in shallow bowls, each graced with a dab of dried parsley. Barrie more or less lives for Caesar salads, and was pleased by Curbside Too's classic version ($7) -- a heaping pile of greens, croutons, and shredded Parmesan, imbued with a hint of anchovy. Fortunately, she isn't quite so entranced by fine-ground animal products, allowing me to eat my pâté du jour ($7) in peace. Accompanied by a modest pile of greens, fan-sliced cornichons, and three crisp slices of toasted bread, the rectangle of creamy, chilled pork proved rich but by no means overwhelming, and could have been a meal in itself for a light eater.

With our entrees on the way, we moved on to reds, which likewise treated us kindly. Though Barrie's dryish, very muted Judd's Hill pinot noir ($8.50) proved a wise selection, my bold, bracing William Hill Reserve cabernet sauvignon ($8) proved even wiser, and was promptly heisted. Normally, I would have upbraided Barrie for such egregious behavior, but as it turned out I was preoccupied by my entree.

During two visits, I've been fortunate enough to try four of Curbside Too's entrees, and not one has disappointed. Each was accompanied by a breathtaking selection of vegetables -- a tiny pile of red cabbage, a dab of puréed parsnips, two baby carrots, a fan-cut yellow squash, a baked half-tomato, a sprig of broccoli, and half of a steamed Brussels sprout. Beautifully arranged on a large white plate and sprinkled with bright green parsley, the vegetables were for the most part unseasoned, providing a perfect complement to the real reason to visit Curbside Too: les sauces.

For example, the two steaks I've sampled -- a filet mignon ($20) and a top sirloin ($16) -- were elevated to seemingly impossible levels of savoriness by the fiery green peppercorn sauce and decadent blue cheese sauce that accompanied each, respectively. Barrie prefers a lighter grade of flesh, and chose the chicken breast stuffed with crab ($15) -- a boneless breast so bursting with crab meat it resembled an overfull purse, bathed in a silky velouté. The sauce proved so cunning, so exquisitely rich, we begged our waiter to tell us how it was prepared: After a bit of mumbling, a few gestures, and a quick, unreadable shrug, he left us with the impression that this miraculous potion had simply emanated from the two meats of its own volition.

If you prefer to step straight into the light, order the rack of lamb with rosemary demi-glace ($17). No sooner had I tasted the first of five delicate chops than I decided this rack of lamb would, like first love, be the one against which all others would be compared. By the second I found myself marveling at how a sauce could be so perfectly suited to a cut of meat; by the third, I was moaning; by the fourth, I was spewing adjectives -- luxurious, restrained, poignant, subtle, unbearable, ungodly -- I think you get the picture. And by the fifth, after I'd swabbed up the last of the sauce with a bit of bread, died a small death, and gnawed the final morsel of flesh from the last rib, words had failed me, and Barrie, who doesn't eat lamb, issued a soft "baah."

Yes, my sentiments exactly.

For dessert, I selected a gorgeously honey-tasting 10-year-old Porto ($7.50), and a bread pudding baked with bourbon, cinnamon, brown sugar, and raisins, served with caramel sauce and crème anglaise ($5). Though a lovely pot of happiness, the pudding wasn't nearly as enticing as Barrie's something-for-everyone "promiscuous" chocolate mousse ($5). Two lovely orbs of bittersweet mousse set in the fold of a voluptuous tulip crust, then topped with an erect sprig of mint, the mousse -- well, like I said earlier, Curbside Too is a perfect date restaurant.

And if the mousse doesn't get things rolling, bop over to the always-intimate Liverpool Lil's for a nightcap and find a new sweetheart. After all, if this charming little corner of the city can't fan the flames, I doubt anything can.