John's Snack and Deli

While the Financial District seems unlikely to be a source of good, cheap Korean food, John's Snack and Deli was absolute gustatory heaven with a surprisingly friendly price tag as well. Crammed between a parking garage and a watch repair shop, John's had a menu posted above the counter for ordinary sandwich and soup fare that no one was ordering and the more magical menu taped on the window. John was inside taking orders, and his mother and two assistants behind him hurriedly assembling tacos and burritos. There was kimbap on the counters and customers everywhere in the tiny space. They were already out of kalbi burritos at noon, so Rosie ordered a bibimbap burrito and Cheney ordered a kimchee burrito. With no space to sit inside the deli (which was more like an indoor stand), we retreated to the glamorous environs of the entrance to the Montgomery BART station. Once we unwrapped the foil and bit into the steaming and spicy burritos, the scraggly, battle-worn pigeons and grimy stone faded into the background as the crisp bean sprouts, marinated beef, grilled vegetables, and rice combined into something heavenly. Rosie is not even a fan of kimchee usually, but couldn't be happier as runny egg and delicious hot, red sauce spilled everywhere with each bite. We were pretty much silently and undignifiedly wolfing it down for fifteen or twenty minutes. Another trip is definitely warranted soon.

Chabaa

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At the halfway point of our stroll to Saigon Sandwich, we realized it inopportunely closes at six o' clock. We settled for the nearest decent Thai place to staunch a mutual craving for roast duck. Cheney ordered duck fried rice and eggrolls, while Rosie had duck noodle soup. The soup broth was a bit sweet and the bok choy not quite softened enough to belong in a soup, but the flat rice noodles were chewy and good. Cheney remarked that the rice had taken on the flavor of the duck, a rare thing to find in that particular dish, but that it was otherwise unremarkable. The most memorable thing in fact, was how swiftly the our dishes were whisked away the instant we made any motion that might have been mistaken for finishing the meal. Luckily, we didn't set down our chopsticks at any point only to take a break or vigilant waitresses would have been disappointed. A lackluster write-up about a pretty lackluster meal, sadly.

Sushi Aka Tombo

The searing second afternoon of the heatwave found us in Japantown, where Rosie indulged a frivolous urge for a Jonathan Adler mug and bought an even more frivolous (though significantly cheaper) lantern at Goodwill. We then consigned ourselves to Japanese dollar stores where all sorts of adorable lunch accessories and ridiculous beauty products were rummaged through. At Ichiban Kan, Cheney zeroed in on bunny and bear shaped molds for hard boiled eggs, but alas, they were 75 cents for a reason, and did not even last through their first use. Hopefully the yet untested juicer is hardier. Daiso, on the other hand, was woefully unblessed with A/C and seemed to be in between restockings. Cheney was in search of cold soba noodles, but with our mobility compromised by the lingering heat and many parcels, we ended up at the nearby Sushi Aka Tombo. After summoning up the fortitude to drink steaming miso soup, Cheney ordered a decadent Uni-don and Rosie opted for a tamer gyoza and Alaska roll pairing. The potstickers were nicely crisp and the salmon topping the Alaska roll was fresh and buttery good. The Uni-don was a thing of scrumptious beauty, with generous helping of sweet, rich sea urchin nestled on glistening pearls of ikura. When we finished evening had fallen outside, and the city was finally slightly cooler, perfect for a bit of white wine in a newly acquired Daiso mug-- unless you don't realize your bottle is twist-off until you've tried the corkscrew on it. Rosie figures that's what she gets for buying the bottle entirely on the basis of the fact it had a goat on the label.

Ike's Place and Birite Creamery

We decided a that freak heat wave was the perfect time to contort ourselves into unnatural positions at Yoga to the People, and after sweating more than we ever had before in our lives, we felt like we deserved some sort of gratuitous reward. And reward ourselves we did! Trekking to the Castro, looking truly haggard, we dreamed of too popular for their own good, soon to be evicted, Ike's. Having called in our order that morning after getting a busy signal for the first six tries, we avoided the typically heinous line at and only had to wait fifteen minutes or so to get our Ex-Boyfriend sandwich with dirty sauce (which both sounds and tastes depraved). We blasphemously settled on the steps of Mission Dolores to share the unholily good combination dutch crunch bread, salami, bacon, avocado, and cheddar. Rosie was formerly of the opinion that the Can You Smell What Barack Is Cooking sandwich (rib-eye steak, barbecue, smoked gouda) couldn't be topped, but was soundly proven wrong. It was pretty much the tastiest sandwich ever. Upon seeing a woman impatiently dragging along a comically reluctant Scottie dog, Rosie commented pathetically, "I feel like I am that dog, and the woman is Life." We still cannot fathom how Palo Alto could possibly appreciate Ike's like SF can. Oh well.

The next stop was Birite Ice Cream, which predictably had a wait time proportional to the soaring temperatures. It was completely worth it however, to get our salted caramel, toasted coconut, and creme fraiche ice cream and hunker down in the blissfully air conditioned shop to eat. Cheney very accurately characterized Birite as ice cream you eat not to feel refreshed, but as an indulgence perfect for when you want to eat your emotions. She thought it was a bit too sweet, and that Ici's creme fraiche muscat was superior to Birite's. Rosie is still a die-hard Birite groupie and adores the pure intensity and creaminess of the salted caramel. She dreams one day of buying powdered sugar-dusted, chocolate covered salted caramels from Fiona's Sweet Shoppe, crushing them, and sprinkling them over ice cream. We then went home and took naps like healthy people who practice moderation.

Katana-ya

(Excuse the shoddy photo and the strange purple glow, we were at the end of a dim sushi bar)

A mere block away from our home, Katana-ya promised soupy ramen delights in a little hole in the wall lit with Christmas lights. Recovering from the worst coffee ever at the putrid Sugar Cafe, we got there early at 5:30 to find groups already waiting outside the door. Things got off to a promising start as their outside menu unabashedly stated "MSG added." Though supposedly the Katsu Ramen is their specialty, true to the title of this post, we both opted instead for the gleefully excessive Katana-ya Ramen. Afloat in the miso broth was fried chicken, potstickers, barbecue pork, butter corn, an egg, and chewy delicious noodles. The portions were so huge that after finishing (which naturally, we had to), we felt compelled to take a evening stroll up a ridiculously steep hill to watch adorable, well-groomed purebreds frolic in Nob Hill.

SF Street Food Festival

We had a battle plan for the Street Food Festival that involved getting there early, having a map in hand, and following an orderly list of stands we wanted to sample, but it got quickly derailed as we were distracted by the shiny signs advertising alternate foods. The first stand we hit was Namu's Korean tacos, as recommended by 7x7's 100 things to eat in SF before you die. However, faced with limp seaweed, scanty lukewarm bulgogi, bland rice, and a dab of salsa, we started questioning the authority of the publication. As the festival wore on, we became increasingly regretful of what else the $5.00 for the underwhelming tacos could have procured. Though we were headed hopefully for Asian-Mexican redemption at Kung Fu Taco, we got distracted by Kitchenette. After a soul-searching decision of whether to get the guinea fowl and cheese curd poutine or the sliders we, somewhat regretfully in hindsight, got the still delicious Little Marin Sun Farms Burgers topped with blue cheese and pickled mustard seeds on housemade english muffins. Cheney also got a refreshing peach soda with thyme while Rosie retreated to the deserted, chain link fence beer garden (it was still before noon) -- only to discover that there were no basil gimlets, but a satisfactory mint julep. Disappointingly devoid of duck tacos with mango salsa, as promised on the website, Kung Fu Taco got our patronage instead for their wonderful lemon curd mochi. Their powdered flesh was tender and fresh and the curd within was tangy and sweet. When it turned out that Flour and Water's appealing-sounding duck, melon, and prosciutto salads were miniscule, we adopted the herd mentality and stood in the longest line - Nombe's yakitori. It was completely worth it. The takoyaki was quite possibly the most delicious thing ever. Octopus balls topped with benito flakes and pickled radish in a delectable sauce, it had us thinking longingly about it for the rest of the day and planning our own takoyaki making adventures. (Which compels us to share this delightful ditty.) At the last moment we decided to get the honey and chili sauce chicken wings with cilantro and green onion as well, seeing as we had waited in the ever expanding line. Sadly, Rosie dropped one of the morsels in pulling out her camera. Moving on to the second longest line, we snagged two of the last vanilla bean creme brulees from the creme brulee truck, and then fled as the festival was quickly becoming claustrophobically packed, with larger crowds still trying to enter. All in all, a terrific morning.

Mo's Grill

Lured here by mention of volcanic rocks after the line for Mama's turned out to be ungodly, we had a brunch that left us in a serious food coma. Cheney had two eggs with tasty bacon, toast, homefries, and a disgustingly warm grapefruit wedge. Rosie had an Alpine burger, which was spilling forth with 'imported' gruyere cheese and mushroom, and also far too much coffee for someone who had been abstaining for months. We had to lug ourselves up a hill to the North Beach library afterwards, which was unfortunate, but our stomachs were very happy.