Earlier this week I had a free morning and decided to take a walk and have some coffee. Of course it’s never just that easy so rather than hitting up just one coffee shop, I thought I’d go on a mini tour of a few of my go to shops along a few mile stretch just to see how they all stacked up against each other. I started off in the Mission and knew I had to hit up Ritual. For years this was the place I’d travel across the city to visit but for some reason it seems to have dropped off a bit recently. Or maybe the other offerings have just gotten much better. Maybe it’s just that the people there don’t seem to care as much as they used to. That said, the were the only place I visited that had vegan donuts available so that more than justified the trip there. Don’t get me wrong, stacked up against most other coffee shops in the city Ritual is still very high up on the list, it just happens they weren’t the very top of the places I visited.

Stop #2 was just down the street at Four Barrel. This is my favorite spot in the mission and very much worth walking out of your way to get to. Assuming it’s not on your way of course. As some what of a nomad I haven’t spent enough time here to be considered a local, but I’ve always had a damn fine espresso when stopping by. I’ve heard from folks who I consider much more local than me that sometimes the employees here aren’t the nicest but I’ve never experienced that and this is till the place I take anyone when I need to have a quick meeting in SF and want to show off some amazing coffee.

From here I ventured into SoMa to visit the not yet completely open but already much talked about Sight Glass. Anyone who remembers the early days of Four Barrel will appreciate the set up here – It’s basically a small cart with a machine and limited menu stacked in front of a curtain that hides what promises to be a really amazing set up once construction is finished. Because of this it’s not much of a place to hang out yet, but I think that’s going to change quite a bit once they are finished building it out. As far as the coffee itself goes, this was my favorite stop of the day and the espresso I had was bright and interesting, exactly what I wanted at that point. I can’t wait to go back here in the near future.

From there I walked way over to Cento. I used to go here anytime I was working near south park and dig the secret back-alley-ness of it. You really feel like you are in the know or something. And as far as the other coffee shops for a good many block radius, this is definitely your best option. That said, my espresso wasn’t the greatest and I think in the future I’m going to stick with the lattes here.

To wrap this trip up I doubled back and hit up Blue Bottle near Mint plaza. This is again one of my fav spots in the area and when everyone else suggests Starbucks it’s always excited to skoff in their face and take them here for something much better. Also the mad scientist lab set up of this shop and the fact that they carry Tcho goes a long way in my book of awesome. Usually I rave about their coffee as well, but in comparison to everything else I’d had so far this was kind of boring. Not bad at all, really good in fact, but predictable. It’s entirely possible I’ve just been hanging out with people who are excited to push the limits and haven’t been drinking the normal stuff recently so my perspective is skewed. I’d also walked several miles in the sun and had enough espresso to kill a normal person.

Regardless, everything I had was damn tasty and I’ll probably do this again soon. Anyone else want to join?

This morning I went to my favorite café, Progressive Grounds at 21st and Bryant. As I sat there reading The Savage Detectives I became aware of a woman with a braying voice having a loud phone conversation — unusual at that café. “I’m twenty-six,” she was saying. “I’ve got long hair, almost down to my ass. I’m 36 double-D. I’m real pretty, I work at Centerfolds…”

I looked up. The speaker was a frankly ugly woman with thin, straight shoulder-length hair. She was in her mid-30s at least, fat, and dressed like a Capp St. hooker in a dirty pinkish party dress and a bright pink puffy jacket. She had on weird hookerish tinted glasses and high-heeled shoes, and she was saying “I just got off work at 4:00 a.m. Yeah, I have pictures on disk that I can send you. Well, what are you looking for? No, I don’t have a cell phone camera. Well, why is that important?”

Then the party she was talking to apparently hung up. The woman went to the counter and ordered a complicated vanilla latte with lots of whipped cream. (The staff at the café treated her with as much respect and politeness as they treat everyone, I noticed. Did I say I really like that café?) Then she took her drink back to the table and, with her finger on an advertisement in the back pages of the SF Weekly, phoned another potential employer.

I was thinking two things at the same time: She is atrocious, but also, she is awesome. She had probably never been pretty. Her voice sounded like the dregs at the bottom of a bottle of beer. But she was working that camera-less mobile phone and lying up one side and down the other about how gorgeous she was. What was the point? What were people going to say when she actually showed up at whatever strip club or massage parlor she was calling? Did she look in the mirror and see herself as she described herself? And how much of the way we all present ourselves is mostly bluff and squinting in the mirror and hoping that other people never call us on it?

After the second phone call she checked her messages, collected her things, and departed.

But as the crowd — demonstration? religious rite? — grew closer, I saw all the kids. And then I realized it was the town’s Little League parade.

In my hometown of Edwardsville, Ill., the Little League parade was one of the big events of the year. At least it seemed so to me when I was 9 years old. But we really did parade down Main Street for a mile and a half to the main Little League diamond, and it was a larger parade than Albany’s — one of the years I participated there were 60 teams, ranging in age from 8 to 15, with even the youngest players suited in full wool flannel uniforms. The day was made extra-special because it was that morning that the adults passed out the caps — because they were afraid that if they passed them out in advance, along with the uniforms, the kids would lose them and not look sharp for the parade.

The Albany Little League parade was smaller, and showed rather less emphasis on looking sharp, I must say; uniforms were more informal, and in Edwardsville the idea that your team would actually shuffle along such that it would mix with the other teams would have been unthinkable. But Albany’s parade had its charms, chief of which were the girls’ teams with names like the Atomic Sweeties, the Racoons, the Purple Panthers, and the Mighty Molars — the last sponsored, no doubt, by a dentist.

I first discovered that I could take dogs into some bars in SF when I visited one of my favorite establishments, Bender’s Bar & Grill on S Van Ness. A large mastiff Sweet Pea frequents the joint along with other regulars. I took Funston there to meet up with Ridley and they happily hung out as we downed our beer.

Funston and Ridley join us at Bender's Bar & Grill

Unfortunately some not so well behaved dogs and their even more misbehaved humans can ruin it for everyone. Just the other day I went to Four Barrel Coffee and noticed this sign:

I spoke to barista Jeremy about the sign and he explained that a couple of people complained to the health department and now he can’t even bring his own very well behaved dog in. He lost one of those intrinsic job perks that keeps him motivated.

The Mission is a very walkable part of San Francisco and you see people with their pooches out all the time. Eric and Mark and doggie Karl came by Four Barrel expecting to go right in, but stopped when they saw the new sign. Eric had to wait outside while Mark got them coffee and Karl was left confused.

It seems pretty overboard to complain about people bringing their dogs into grab some coffee. The floor at Four Barrel is cement and the coffee and the donuts being served can’t be accessed by dogs. The only explanations I can think of are that some people are allergic and/or a dog got up in the face of a non-dog friendly patron.

I’m not sure how to resolve this to everyone’s satisfaction. Clearly there are the dog lovers, and the not so much. So we don’t continue with the negative trend, I ask San Francisco dog owners to please keep your dog in check if you are going to take them into food establishments so the rest of us can enjoy this privilege. And for those of you that aren’t so dog friendly, have a heart. Nobody wants to see a sad dog!

My hope is that we can try and be the friendliest dog city in the world and add more signs like this one at Sidewalk Juice:

As I circle to find a parking place, which is difficult in the Mission even on a Saturday afternoon, I notice an unmarked police car with a plainclothes driver keeping an eagle eye out for something. And a couple minutes later I see three cop cars come roaring up the street. They turn the corner by the cafe.

When I reach its front door I see the cops have detained two Latino teenagers dressed in the baggy, neutral uniform of the neighborhood: white t-shirts and black shorts. There are now five cop cars for these two kids, whom I had idly noticed walking quietly along a block away when I was looking for parking.

Inside the cafe, most of the tables are occupied with people studying or working on laptops. A young woman and young man are playing guitars — mostly ragtime and songs from the 1920s. They play a few choruses and then the woman sings one of those old songs in a clear tenor voice. (Their names, I found out when I looked at the CD they had for sale, are Craig Ventresco and Meredith Axelrod, and here’s a YoutTube video of them performing at the Atlas earlier this year.)

The cops let the two kids go and the police cars drive away. Almost no one in the cafe noticed the roust taking place across the street.

After several songs, the woman’s place is taken by a young man, who plays instrumentals while the woman passes a hat. Then a couple in their thirties — the man in a straw fedora, a woman in a sundress — stand up and begin to dance the tango. The guitarists are still playing ragtime but the dancers are good enough to do the tango to ragtime anyway.

Yesterday’s piece on Valencia Street, “Hipster Hunting Ground,” wasn’t quite as offensive, but it still seemed to view the Corridor through a Brooklyn lens. The Curiosity Shoppe, Paxton Gate, Spork, and Ritual Roasters were all featured, and fairly. I was surprised, however, that Dosa was featured while Range didn’t get a mention; the same for Little Star (maybe I’m just a sucker for the jukebox and heirloom tomatoes). The piece, while limited in length, doesn’t capture the neighborhood’s character and even gets lazy toward the end: “Like the street itself, [Amnesia's] lineup is full of surprises.”

I’m a big fan of Clara Seasholtz, the founder of the organization that raises money for a low-cost bicycles that farmers use to transport supplies and 130-pound bags of beans. Seasholtz helped the group provide more than 250 bikes to farmers last year and is currently focusing on opening bike shops in Rwanda to teach communities how to care for and build bikes. She’s on a Northern California trip this week, and I admire her unique approach to using what she knows (the American coffee industry) to impact what she saw as problematic (Rwandan farmers lacking transportation to increase their marketability). Now that deserves some table tennis.

I’m hardly breaking new ground by reviewing Zuni, but more and more, I’ve run into people who’ve lived in San Francisco for at least a couple of years and have never eaten there. My advice: invite some out-of-town guests to visit and take them to Zuni.

Zuni Café
1658 Market Street (btwn. Franklin and Gough)
415.552.2522

• What kind of food is it? Fresh, sustainably grown / harvested ingredients prepared in French and Italian styles.
• What can you get to drink? Full bar with some spins on classic cocktails (I like the balsamic bloody mary), a one-sheet wine list with a good breadth of choices, nice selection of non-alcoholic beverages.
• Would you eat there again? I do. Probably too frequently.
• Would you eat there once a week (or more)? Short answer: Absolutely. Longer answer: It’s a little pricey for weekly dining. That being said, you can spend under $30 by getting a burger and plate of shoestring fries. Unfortunately, they only serve the burger at lunch or after 10 p.m., but it’s completely worth altering your plans to eat at those times. The burger is wonderful.
• Would you go out of your way to eat there? Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes.
• Would you recommend the place to your friends? I have and will continue to do so.
• Would you take your parents there? The in-laws, even. I’d suggest going after 10 p.m., perhaps after a night at the symphony. Order the caesar salad and some raw oysters to start and the roasted chicken (Sweet Jesus, the chicken!), a burger and fries for entrées. Depending on how much you like your in-laws, I’d also advise a bottle (or three) of wine.
• Would you take a first date there? Absolutely. I’m not going to get along with any girl who doesn’t like the food here.
• Would you take kids? I suppose. Point of fact: the children I’ve seen eating at Zuni are some of the most well-behaved I’ve ever seen. My deepest thanks to those parents.
• Do they take reservations? Yes, and I would highly recommend making them. However, the limited bar seating is first-come, first-served and the full menu is available there.

What more can I say? I’ve never had a bad meal at Zuni. In fact, one night a couple of years ago, they made a truffle burger (hamburger patty studded with chunks of black truffle) that might have been one of my most transcendent burger experiences. I check the menu for that burger to this day.

Before you protest about a totally positive review, I must admit, the chicken was a touch dry the last time I had it, which merely brought it down to the level of a normal restaurant’s instead of head-and-shoulders better as is typical. But, for my money, Zuni is consistently one of the best eateries in The City and will continue to be one of my must-dine-if-you’re-in-San-Francisco restaurants.

Curious, I ordered the book (seen at left). It’s a square booklet about 4 inches on a side, and about 56 pages long. It lists a few cafes, restaurants, art galleries, community events and so on. The list is pretty standard hipster fare: Blue Bottle Coffee, Red Poppy Art House, The Crucible, Maker Faire, Burning Man. In other words, nothing you wouldn’t learn living in San Francisco for one week, or by reading this blog, SFist, and BoingBoing for a month or so.

I got through the whole book in about 90 seconds, and when I was done I understood even less what the book was for. Suppose it is absolutely essential to know that the most snobbish coffee fanatics go to Blue Bottle. If I’m in the advertising industry, what is that knowledge going to get me?

In fact, I was much more interested in the booklet as a product of the Blurb publishing website, where you can upload photos and text and have them print a pretty little book. If I were a photographer, or preparing a booklet for my mother’s 70th birthday or something, it looks like a great service.

A little more insight into the business Piers Fawkes is in can be gained by going to their page describing the one-day conference they’re planning in San Francisco in July. The list of speakers includes representatives from Microsoft, Apple and Facebook — and also from Critical Mass, NASA, and several “branding” and advertising firms. In other words, they take the smallest hint of the innovative or truly original, suck it up like a graphic artist deploying the eyedropper tool in Photoshop, and spit it back out in mass-culture consumer products designed and marketed to make the buyer feel like he’s doing something truly original just by participating in the marketplace.

I can just see these twerps standing in front of whiteboards trying to discern the essence of cool in, say, Blue Bottle Coffee. Is it the tiny, difficult-to-find, impossible-to-park-at location that suggests only the truly dedicated and thus somehow superior are worthy of partaking in the bliss the product bestows? Is it the surly staff that encourages patrons to think they might not be cool enough to go there, but perhaps if they come with their cooler, more attractive friends the counter person won’t sneer? Is there something blue about it? Does it really come in a bottle?

Coming soon to a Costco near… not you, but the rest of America.

Trouble is 225 sq feet of space, most of which is behind the counter. Very clever, in my opinion. The owner is named Julieta (Giulietta?), and she said it was about the size of a hotel room. Less is more, or as explained in her manifesto and the sign outside, “Make your own damn house!” Well, it looks like she’s done just that, and you’re invited. Except Tuesdays and Wednesday when it’s closed.

Besides espresso drinks and drip coffee dubbed “elbow grease”, she serves toast and whole coconut. Seriously. Every cafe should offer toast, and yet they don’t. So don’t be dumb. Order the toast. She gets the bread from Just For You Cafe. The toast was perfect, and came with cinnamon and sugar on top even though I didn’t ask any, nor did I complain, because I got the last piece of toast that day, which I think was some sort of omen in my favor.

Order a coconut. She gets them from trees. But don’t just drink the juice with the straw, use the spoon that was given to you. Don’t waste the good stuff even if you have to work for it. I’m not being bossy here, it’s just my advice.

Are you like Charlie Brown and say, “blech!” to the idea of coconut? Okay, fine. But be honest here, have you ever tried a whole coconut? I’ve had coconut in things like cookies and candy bars, but it was the first time I’d ever walked in to a place and said in a clear voice, “May I please have a coconut”… and I’m here to tell you today you won’t regret the experience.