Ah, the ever so affluent Financial District houses some of San Francisco’s finest restaurants–One Market, Boulevard, Aqua. Would Perbacco hobnob with the aforementioned heavyweights?
As the host ushered me to a table, she asked if I had ever dined here before. I told her I had not, but mentioned that I had eaten at neighboring Aqua not long ago. This is not like Aqua, she said. Ever so right she was.
Perbacco exudes a brasserie ethos, interested more in turning tables rather than allowing diners to patiently peregrinate through a meal. When the server arrived to take my order, he proceeded to tell me what he would order–crudo, risotto, and the striped bass. I politely thanked him for the advice and went on to order what I wanted to eat.
Before commenting on the food, I ought to describe the interior. A long, narrow path runs from the entrance through to the kitchen with seating areas bordering on both sides. When dinner service starts and men and women strut through the dining room, it looks as if an incondite fashion show is taking place.
The terrine–or libamáj if you are from Eastern Europe–just so happened to be my favorite dish tonight, for it reminded me of childhood lunches at home with libamáj spread liberally on sandwiches.
It seems, then, that French-inspired establishments still dominate the upper echelons of gastronomy.