Zzzzuni

At the IACP conference a few months ago, a single restaurant kept coming up in conversation. It seemed like the air was practically buzzing and hissing with this name as people murmured it back and forth in seminars, networking events, and happy hours.

That restaurant was Zuni.

Until last month, my only encounter with the food of the magical Zuni was in aromatic form. Specifically, I knew the smell of Zuni’s famous roast chicken with bread salad because my lovely friend in France made it one evening in her tiny portable oven while we were both recovering from a shared bout of food poisoning. Nothing like foodborne bacteria and Vin Diesel movies to bring two gals together. At that point I was still too green around the gills to actually eat, but it smelled delish.

When I moved to San Francisco, I really was more interested in trying Zuni than in unpacking my bags, but life got in the way. Eventually I got there with Alison, my oldest friend from childhood. We grew up about half a mile apart and used to meet up at the mid-point between our houses. Now we’ve ended up across the country together, still living about half a mile apart, and still meeting up with each other at the mid-point between our apartments. Thankfully, many other things about us have changed over the years (no more pastel scrunchies, braces, or in my case, permed hair matched with dangly tropical fish earrings).

So, Zuni. I had been forewarned. In spite of all the buzzing at IACP, a subsequent informal survey of the trustworthy eaters in my life produced the occasional rave, but more frequently a generous helping of apathy. “Inconsistent” and “underwhelming” were two common descriptions.

Atmospherically speaking, I give Zuni very high marks. It didn’t hurt that we had a fabulous table next to a big window looking out on Market St., right in the center of the action. The space is open, airy and bustling. I remember wood and white, and a pretty oyster bar.

I also give it a good grade for people-watching potential. It does feel like a generous slice of San Francisco life -- fashionably casual, quirky, sophisticated, but not super snooty. In fact, food aside, to me Zuni exuded a rich, well-loved feeling that you can’t construct in a place. It just has to happen.

But then the food happened. What can I say? I wanted to love it, I really did. I wanted to adopt Zuni and take it to meet my friends and relatives when they come from out of town looking for a representative San Francisco gustatory experience. But dinner was a big, mouth-wide-open yaaaawwwwnnn. A starter of ho hum anchovies (or were they sardines? It was a few weeks back...), olive oil and celery that didn’t taste like much. Stuffed squash blossoms that also didn’t taste like much. A pleasant piece of pork rubbed with a nice crust of dried orange, chilies and spices, on a lukewarm plate with some blah-tasting beans. The ideas were there and it all sounded great on paper…but somehow it just didn’t have any heart.

Yeah, we didn't order the roast chicken. We debated over it, but when we asked the server she said, "Well, it's good, but in the end, it's a roast chicken. If you want adventure, order something else." Fair enough. Also, apparently we made a grave mistake by not ordering any oysters. I am told that they are delicious at Zuni. Duly noted.

By this point, I was feeling a little deflated. And then… dessert arrived with a capital D. It was simple, perfectly executed, gorgeous. A nectarine tart and a nice deep dish of espresso granita layered with robust poofs of whipped cream. I doubt I will ever have another granita that wows me as much as that one did. Come to think of it, granita had never once wowed me until Zuni's version crunched under my spoon.

After dinner, we headed around the corner to Hotel Biron, the first wine bar I've visited in this city. We settled into our table with lovely, giant glasses of red and kept the conversation going. As far as I'm concerned, my wine bar search began and ended with Hotel Biron. It felt like a cozy little cave, complete with perfect music and a cute, hipster guy behind the bar.

After our topsy turvy dinner, I'm not yet prepared to strike Zuni off the master mental restaurant list that constantly hums in my head. Problem is, there are so many intriguing places to try in San Francisco that it may take a long time for me to get back there. But next time I do, that damned roasted chicken and oysters will be on my order. Then we'll see whether there's anything worth kvetching about.