There's something faintly illicit about a long, bibulous lunch on a workday, just as there is about going to the movies when the sun is shining outside and the rest of the world is trapped inside an office or a factory, which I feel even if I'm going to be writing about the experience, and therefore supposedly exempt from guilt. I dragged Hiya, Joyce, and Nate away from work the other day to sample the wares of Tamal, a new wine bar and small-plates place South of Market that wittily identifies itself as "Vino y Mas(a)," i.e., wine and more, with the "(a)" signifying the corn-flour dough that traditional tamales are made with. By the time we got there, we'd discovered that Nate had stopped smoking a couple of months ago, which turned our lunch into a celebration and seemed to demand a bit more for the occasion than iced tea. We toasted him with the sangria del dia, which this Lunes turned out to be a tangy and refreshing pomegranate-based version of the wine punch. Hey! I'm getting anti-oxidants andthe bits of chopped fruit that always make me feel like I'm pleasing the more-fruits-and-vegetables gods as I swill.
Anthony Pidgeon
Mas and Masa: The snug, warm Tamal
offers much more than tamales.
Details
Gazpacho $6
Duck tamale $7
Albondigas $5.50
Crab empanaditas $7
Sopes with black beans $6.50
Crab cakes $7
Lamb brochetas $12.50
864-2446
Open for lunch Monday through Friday
from 11:30 a.m. to 3 p.m., and for dinner
Monday through Saturday from 5:30 to 10
p.m. Closed Sunday
Reservations accepted
Wheelchair accessible
Parking: fairly easy
Muni: 9, 12, 14, 26, 47, 49
Noise level: low to moderate
1599 Howard (at 12th Street)
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The two daily specials, white gazpacho and tuna seviche, sounded like just the thing (especially when our server warned us twice about the high garlic content of the gazpacho), so I ordered one of each immediately, as we perused the long, Christo gates-colored single-sheet menu, which listed five "tamals" up top, followed by the mas: a dozen small plates, ranging from $6 crema de plátano macho, described as "creamy sweet and spicy plantain soup," to tacos de atún, the top-priced item at $10.50, "crispy tacos with seared cumin seed and crushed pepper encrusted rare ahi tuna with spicy horseradish celeric-root slaw, tomatillo salsa verde, and spicy jicama sticks." It was the recipe mode of menu writing, by a clever combiner of flavors and words, and it made my mouth water.
As did the white gazpacho and tuna seviche. The gazpacho, served in a martini glass and topped with lots of halved green grapes, was a thick purée, almost the texture of mashed potatoes, dazzling white and indeed stiff with garlic, tasting mildly nutty from lots of almonds -- and entirely delicious. It was something like a savory gazpacho pudding. I would have asked for a second portion, but by then we'd ordered plenty of other dishes. The tuna seviche was also superb: I gave up trying to count its many ingredients -- a hot-colored fiesta of minced peppers and chopped fruit and shreds of herbs, including mango, red and yellow peppers, and hints of lime juice, soy sauce, and ginger -- and gave in to its mild but insidious heat and pleasing mixture of flavors and textures.
The brilliance of these two dishes made me even more perplexed when I wasn't seduced by either of the two tamales we'd ordered, the tamal de hongo, alluringly described as "porcini-scented organic corn masa filled with a fresh selection of sautéed local wild mushrooms, fire-roasted pasilla peppers and truffle oil," and the more straightforward tamal Creole, "grilled zucchini, eggplant, and roasted red peppers, roasted garlic, capers, and pineapple organic blue corn tamal served with green mole with pumpkin seeds (vegan)." Both suffered from the same problem: The masa was dry. (The vegan tamal, of course, can't use the traditional lard in its masa -- or duck fat, as I later found out Tamal's kitchen uses. Vegetable oil is the usual substitute, but it didn't do the job.) Also, I couldn't detect much flavor in the mushroom version from either porcini or truffle oil, and the extravagance of mushrooms poured over it needed salt, as did the vegetables atop the other dish.
In fact, so did a couple of the other dishes we'd ordered, including the otherwise admirable albondigas, five fat, shaggy meatballs (a combination of ground lamb, pork, and beef) scented with cumin and served in the same fire-roasted tomato sauce they'd stewed in; and the otherwise adorable sopes de Alta California, three little pastry boats filled with what the menu called Cuban-style coconut black bean salsa, sprinkled with buttermilk blue cheese, and dressed with spiky leaves of mizuna in a citrus vinaigrette bedded on papaya coulis. There wasn't any salt (or pepper) on the table, and, as we were conscientiously dividing up portions, the small helpings were being finished before I had a chance to ask for salt. We were hungry, and the freshly prepared food still tasted interesting and good.
The quesadilla de camarón -- a big tortilla mottled green with spinach and filled with melty Spanish manchego cheese, salsa verde, crisp jicama slaw, and warm, resilient pink tiger prawns -- was pleasant and easy to eat. Even better was the trio of fragile little crab cakes, called Creole, although I wasn't sure just why: They were anointed with a bit of chipotle crema and served on more mizuna, with a blood orange vinaigrette and an especially welcome crunchy fire-roasted corn succotash. I was impressed by the diversity of garnishes; I would have been happy to see that succotash anywhere, but it was made for the crab cakes.
foam order.com
