I’ve never subscribed to the “Los Angeles vs. San Francisco” competitive narratives, the ones that play off our obviously very different cities with broad, facile stereotypes. My brain fixates on dining cultures, and in some profound ways L.A. and S.F. fit together to fill in the Golden State puzzle. They big-picture complement each other.
A few recent weeks in the Bay Area reminded me of what a culinary marvel San Francisco continues to be.
Its latest generations of chefs, and diners, still produce winding lines for new spins on warming noodle bowls, season-driven pastries and bring-it-on takes of, say, retro Hong Kong-style black pepper steak sizzling on a fajita platter. (See: Four Kings.) Reservations for the most high-flying tasting menus are certainly easier to score post-pandemic, but despite the vagaries of the tech industry and tourism the region endures as the nation’s fine-dining capital. I know, I know, New York, New York: It has the talent but not the mind-blowing produce.
The restaurants in this guide lean into my personal tastes. I have a relationship with San Francisco that spans most of my adulthood, including a brief tenure as a food critic for the San Francisco Chronicle in the mid-2000s. (The current critics, MacKenzie Chung Fegan and L.A. native Cesar Hernandez, are worth the price of a subscription.) When anyone asks my parents about my career choice, they bring up a family vacation to the Bay Area in which they’d planned a week’s worth of activities, but my 16-year-old self mostly wanted to talk to the hotel’s concierge about which great restaurants we should try.
It had been since before 2020 that I had spent real time in San Francisco, and in the wake of the city’s persistent doom-loop storylines I wanted to experience things for myself.
Some aspects were jarring. True to her word, San Francisco Mayor London Breed launched an assertive sweep of homeless encampments through the city. At the end of August, I walked Market Street one evening from the Ferry Building to the Castro and the thoroughfare was empty. Eerily, apocalyptically empty.
Some aspects were as timeless as ever. Walking to early dinners some nights, the fog rolled in fast and low, cutting off the blue sky like a stealth alien force encircling the city.
In acknowledging its many facets, San Francisco remains an exceptional dining town. Rather than chasing all the latest openings, I sought to convey a holistic taste of the abundance, from taquerias to once-in-a-lifetime extravagances. They’re ordered according to my own ambling intuition.
One note: Other corners of the Bay Area, especially Oakland and wine country, deserve their own focused considerations. I’m spending time on the road this year, dining through much of the state, and I’ll have more thoughts on Northern California in the coming months.
