Movie Palace

Ana Mandara

For years -- generations, even -- it has been the local's prerogative to regard Fisherman's Wharf as one big crowded honky-tonk where polyester is the dominant aesthetic and the only good eating is the corned beef hash at the Eagle Cafe. (Once it fell to me to entertain a friend of a friend who was visiting the city from the Midwest. She wanted to try some seafood. I suggested Tadich's or Swan's. She asked if they were on Fisherman's Wharf. I said no, the fish wasn't as good on Fisherman's Wharf. She looked morose. We went to Fisherman's Wharf.)

When I was a kid I liked the show biz of Ripley's Believe It or Not! and the Wax Museum and the Human Jukebox, and strolling today in the general vicinity of Taylor and Jefferson can certainly furnish one with some bizarre Chamber of Commerce-approved mental snapshots. But by and large, one's general instinct is to rendezvous anywhere to the south of this T-shirt-infested place.

A new breed of Wharf theatrics raised its curtain in early February. Ana Mandara, an elegant Vietnamese restaurant inhabiting the brickwork of Ghirardelli Square, is anything but ticky-tacky: Native artworks, intricate detail work, thick foliage, and acres of polished marble dominate a towering space at once dazzling and intimate, and the menu and presentations reflect a unique culinary aesthetic. But it is also as atmospherically entertaining, in its sumptuous and well-heeled way, as a foray to Disneyland or the quieter reaches of the Vegas strip.

Anthony Pidgeon

Location Info



891 Beach (at Polk). Neo-Colonial Splendor Via Las Vegas: Ana Mandara chef/ partner Khai Duong.891 Beach (at Polk), 771-6800. Dinner served 5:30 to 10 p.m. (Friday and Saturday until 11 p.m.). Reservations accepted. Wheelchair accessible. Parking: improbable; valet available. Muni: 19, 30, 42. Noise level: unobtrusive.

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This should come as no surprise, since two of the restaurant's co-owners are Don Johnson and Cheech Marin, and the rumor is that the venue will make repeated guest shots on their TV series, Nash Bridges. (There's even theatrical lighting way up in the rafters, adding to the overall movie-set atmosphere.) Towering archways lead to curved staircases and softly lit chambers edged in bamboo, the whole gleaming with indigenously crafted bells, gongs, and voluptuous icons, palm fronds, heavy wooden shutters, deeply cushioned wicker, burbling fountains, and an attentive waitstaff attired in dazzling brocades and Running Dog Khaki, soon to appear in your neighborhood Gap.

Associations abound: Over the course of two meals I was reminded, in turn, of Caesar's Palace, the Jungle Cruise in Adventureland, and this one time I sneaked onto the Paramount back lot in Hollywood, as well as such local forays into ambient culinaria as Le Colonial and Shanghai 1930. Like those downtown examples of Asian-fusion elegance, Ana Mandara recalls the days of Far Eastern Euro-colonialism; its setting is meant to evoke a Vietnamese plantation house of the French colonial era, and based on my experience of that milieu (the movies) it does, it does.

But the food is better here than at the other two: It's crisper, livelier, more inventive, with a striking sense of balance and cultural transgression. Executive Chef Khai Duong was born in the coastal Vietnamese village of Nha-Trang, graduated first in his class at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris, and most recently worked at the Beverly Hills Le Colonial as well as New York's trendy La Bernardin; this confluence of French training, American experience, and seacoast Vietnamese birthright results in many a delectable dish.

First, though, a visit to the upper-level bar (accessible via Ghirardelli brick walkway) is in order. The Ana Mandara cocktail ($6) -- lemongrass-infused vodka shaken with ice, fresh mint, and lemongrass and served with a spear of lemongrass wrapped in an orange-peel twist -- is like Southeast Asia in a martini glass, and is absolutely refreshing. Another specialty is the Silver Needles ($6), in which Brazilian Cachaça rum and blue curaçao are shaken with ice, strained into an ouzo-rinsed glass, and floated with star anise, resulting in a sweet, tasty, cobalt-blue concoction. Enjoy them at the bar's lovely bayside window or in one of the comfy armchairs (there's a grand piano in the corner for live weekend jazz), and when you're finished, the bartender will buzz the hostess to escort you to your table downstairs.

Starting things off are seared oysters served en casserole with water spinach ($7); the suppleness of the oysters comes through despite nice spiky accents from their peppercorn-based braising sauce and the earthiness of the greens, making this a prime example of the chef's dedication to lively, disparate flavors. The striped-bass seviche ($10), similarly, is marked by both the creaminess of the fish and the brightness of its cucumber-shallot-chili oil accompaniment. The Dungeness baked in green bamboo ($9) is like a good, moist crab cake, spicy and dense, presented, like all the other dishes, with a sense of geometry and culinary feng shui -- the three lobster ravioli ($8), for instance, are served in a triangular dish to emphasize their visual simplicity and rich cilantro-ginger complexity.

Among the entrees, the Happy Pancake ($15) is a Saigon version of an empanada or a pastry, as a light, chewy pancake crust encloses an earthy-briny blend of scallops, prawns, mushrooms, and Southeast Asian spice. Outdoing it in glitz, the lobster tower ($22) is served in a vertically aspiring lobster shell, antennae aquiver; remove the carapace and you've got big, healthy chunks of sweetly unadulterated lobster meat with thin slices of perfect avocado on a bed of chewy, sticky, spice-fragrant rice; it's like a high-end California roll, down to the invigorating dots of wasabi sauce decorating the platter.

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