SF Weekly has written about another sandwich maker, Rhea's Deli (800 Valencia at 18th St., 282-5255), before (see "Pal's Takeaway, Rhea's Deli, and Mission Burger Offer Handheld Delights," Matthew Stafford, 10/21/09). It bears repeating: James Choi's Korean beef sub ($8.45) is one of the best Korean fusion snacks in the city. Choi's father bought the Mission liquor store and deli in 1991, when James was 17; they stopped making crappy sandwiches as the neighborhood gentrified. Once James took over from his dad three years ago, he decided, "The liquor store business was not challenging me. It's hard to get excited about Doritos. I wanted to do what I had a passion for, which was food."
Last July, Rhea's started selling sandwiches again. Though most are Italian-American classics, Choi has gotten the most attention for his chicken katsu and Korean steak subs, the latter using bulgogi marinated according to his wife's recipe. Like all the sandwiches, it's made with some of the city's best bread. Underneath the sweetly marinated beef, shredded lettuce, and tmatoes, he spreads a precise smear of homemade aioli and Sriracha — enough for a kick, not enough to overpower the beef. For a while, he was selling Korean steak tacos, too, but decided they weren't original enough. He's re-engineering them, testing recipes for a kimchi chutney, and planning to relaunch the tacos as soon as next week.
Jen Siska
Stoners take notice! Namu presents the killer whale of Korean fusion junk food: gamja fries with chopped short ribs.
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The most upscale of the growing genre are the street snacks and sandwiches Dennis Lee and his brothers have been selling at the Namu stand (www.namusf.com, Twitter: @namusf), which has been a staple at the Thursday Ferry Building farmers' market since July 2009 and just scored a space at the Saturday morning market, which is like wearing a new outfit to the winter dance and having the A-girls compliment you on your look.
The Lees thumb their noses at Kogi by selling "the real Korean taco," a $3 ssam (wrap) of seaweed wrapped around rice, beef, and daikon relish, Mexican fusion only in name. The wrap needs to be eaten the moment it's handed to you, while the seaweed is still crackly, the rice still warm, and the juices haven't dispersed to the corners of the paper tub it's served in. Some days a kimchi-topped hot dog appears; on other days, a chicken sando ($8), free-range thighs half-heartedly basted in teriyaki sauce and glooped over in toppings, and an underseasoned, unintentional mess.
Namu also makes what may just be the crowning glory of Korean fusion junk food: gamja fries ($5), which Dennis Lee says are designed as stoner food. He smothers a paper tub of french fries — the potatoes (gamja in Korean) fry up to have fine, crisp shells — in chopped short ribs, a ground kimchi relish, green onions, and intersecting drizzles of gochujang and Japanese mayonnaise. Sure, the gamja fries may foretell a day when our obese children whine after Xtreme Kimchi Doritos and White Castle Bulgogi Sliders. Ponder that morbid(ly) obese thought as you're ordering seconds.
