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Meeting an old friend for lunch (another "P"), I suggest my regular joint: Nordstrom cafe. It’s the most convenient option near my SF office (barring of course, the unacceptable greasier neighbors).
P insists it’s my birthday treat (I get to celebrate for 4 whole months!!) & recommends a Bradley Ogden restaurant.
Hmm. Yankee Pier at Santana Row was just kinda all right…but that’s his more casual restaurant (doesn’t take a culinary degree to do clam chowder.)
Off we go to Lark Creek- it’s lovely and airy inside, yet the entrance consists of an imposing dark wood panel, which had always led to me think "steak house" whenever I looked at it. Of all the Bloomingdale "restaurant collection" selections, Lark Creek is the only one I haven’t visited. The others including the Mexican place with the $12 guacamole, and the bakery with the $9 croissant sandwich…and Straits cafe, which while lovely, serve fare no tastier than that of many other Singaporean joints (which charge less.)
Initially I was rther distracted yt he fact that the menu advertises $69 designer shirts that the waitstaff/servers all wear available for purchase. Do I really want to dine at the same place I buy a striped work blouse?
Fear not, as it turns out-
The extra belated b-day lunch was "a bloggable meal" by definition.
Afternoon delight for the legally employed…
Indeed there was an entire page of steaks of all ages, cuts, and sizes on offer. But I’ve now a limited tolerance for large slabs of meat in my system.
"No meat shall ever enter this body." was the motto of my more strictly veggie youth. (one can imagine all the double entendres that one incited…)
Sans steak, we opted for the Lark Creek stated aim of serving local and fresh as much as possible,
We split the entrees:
a softshell crab lightly fried & in a sanwhich with advocado and aioli (perhaps a touch of chipotle), with plaintain chips of perfection (not greasy, just crisp enough).
local asparagus and black truffle risotto- which was melt on the tongue heavenly. Such a velvety tongue teaser that we both laughed and said we did not want to ever know how much cream or butter was in there with the truffle bits.
Ah, bliss!
If only, If only, I was not booked with clients that afternoon there were wine offerings which would have improved even more upon this culinary interlude. P urged me to seize the day "just have coffee afterwards, too!"
Alas, I don’t think those who pay me more than 100 bucks an hour would do so if I showed up boozy/drowsy/tipsy.
My spouse has previously informed me he thinks I am much more fun when drunk, but my clients… not so much.
We’re about to make a break for it outta Lark Creek and hit the bakery case elsewhere - when our server points out that their "malted milkshake" Panna Cotta won SF magazines "Best Panna Cotta" award- much to the chagrin /woe of Italian restaurants throughout the city.
Hmm. The best?
Oh, really…
Is this culinary blasphemy that the American panna cotta dares take on the Italian classic?
"Well, I do like malt balls," P says.
"Me too! I love malted everything!!!"
and, I note, it has salted caramel too.
The Panna Cotta arrives in a generous sized glass, a sheen of salted caramel across the surface, broken malt balls accenting the lot.
P and I tentatively taste; then dive in. Where do they get these delish non-Whoppers quality malt balls?
Likely in our Lark Creek lunch I consumed enough calories to power a small farm for a week, but hey, it’s my birthday…(again!)
Bradley Ogden, you’ve won a convert! That dessert alone could lure me back weekly…
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