Next month, the Mission outpost of sausage and craft beer emporium Rosamunde Sausage Grill marks its third birthday. Partner-owner Josh Margolis shared some meaty updates with Bay Area Bites recently: plans for an East Bay Rosamunde location are in the works.

His longtime passion has been to open a beer restaurant, and he first came to San Francisco and worked at Postrio in 1990. The UC San Diego and Culinary Institute graduate is from Los Angeles, and gravitates to Saison and Belgian beer: “Duvel in the bottle is one of my go-to drinks.”

Margolis lives in the Bayview with his husband Raymond Lobato, who is a graphic designer, DJ, artist, and feng shui artist. The two have also lived in the Mission and Noe Valley. “We met in college and have been together 25 years... he DJs here on Friday nights. He did all the artwork. We've been married four times. In 1991, we became domestic partners. Then we did a ceremony in 2000. 2004 was the best one. We saw Gavin Newsom on the news. Then we got in line and we’re probably 80th or 90th in line at City Hall. The place was on fire! The energy and ceremonies were happening every 5 minutes. It was just the two of us, and we saw our old next-door neighbors. They took pics--via cell phone--and became our witnesses.”

How did you open Rosamunde? Any chance of bringing the Tuesday Rosamunde burger to the Mission?
I partnered with Jennifer Tucci to open the Mission one. We’ve decided to keep the Rosamunde burger at the Haight only. There is a steak sandwich now every day in the Mission. We started the steak sandwich in the summer, as well as a mushroom sandwich. Our vegetarian orders are significant, and we are one of the biggest destinations for veggie diners in the city.

Lady Gaga visited in August 2010. Do you get Gaga fans trying to see where Lady Gaga hung out?
People still ask about it. It was around three in the afternoon, and only a few people were around. She came in with her boyfriend and bodyguard and was wearing a red leotard outfit. She said to the bartender Claire, “I'm Gaga” and Claire told her, “I’m Claire.” Then Claire came into the office to look her up online. Gaga hung out, drank several glasses of white wine, and stayed for two to three hours. Apparently she was on her way from San Jose to dinner in the city. She wanted Mexican, and a friend told her to go to the Mission. She saw the sign for sausages, and decided to go to Rosamunde instead.

Raymond Lobato, Josh Margolis, Jennifer Tucci - Rosamunde First Year

What’s new at the restaurant?
We’re getting ready for our 3rd anniversary on January 18. There’ll be a party of some sort. Then, there’s SF Beer Week February 10-19. We’ll host some breweries and also have a beer drinking & sausage-eating contest that will be something classy. Teams of two will compete together. Rosamunde will choose the sausages cut in 1/2 while each team will choose a unique beer. Eat as many 1/2 sausage as you can with as much beer as you need to get it down in 15 minutes. The winner gets $100 in Rosamunde gift certificates. Everyone gets $1 off the winner’s beer choice the rest of the day or $2 for the beer choice with winner’s sausage choice. All contestants get a Rosamunde T-Shirt. Team signup begins January 25th at the Mission Street location.

What are your favorite spots to shop for food?
Rainbow is my standard go to for dairy, pantry, vinegars, oils and sauces.

Sun Fat Fish Market is the cleanest, nicest of all old time seafood shops. Since November 15, I’ve been visiting them every day. I’ve been eating a lot of crab.

On Saturdays, I go to the Alemany Farmers’ Market.

I also like the European Market on Clement. They have whole walls of refrigerated cured meats, salami, sausage, and things like that. They also bring in really good German bread. It’s frozen and they bake it off. That’s the only place in town you can get that. They cure and smoke own fish, salmon, white fish, herring.

Where are your favorite date spots?
Besides home?... We drive down to Santa Cruz and make a day of it. We usually take our bikes and ride on the north side of Santa Cruz. It’s such a beautiful place and one of the best times to go is not summer. On the way, our favorite lunch spot is Sam’s Chowder House in Half Moon Bay. I like both their red and white chowder, and fish and chips.

What is your favorite meal to have with your family?
I’m pretty famous for not cooking the same thing twice. Ever. Restaurants and farmers’ markets constantly inspire me. We may have pizza once a week at home, but I’ll never make the same pizza twice.

Do you have plans for the holidays?
Kathleen is my friend from San Diego. Together we make “Turkey Prince Edward”: take the skin off a turkey, and completely debone it. Lay the meat down on the turkey skin so that you basically make a roulade. You can do Turkey Prince Edward with two turkeys, rolled and stuffed with prunes, port and chestnut. Kathleen fed us when we were opening the new place (Mission Rosamunde).

"Turkey Prince Edward"

What’s your guiltiest food pleasure?
Which one should I choose? The burrito mojado al pastor at Taqueria Cancun is a huge, swimming in sauce delicious meat thing that you pay for later. Then there are super nachos, but I don’t treat myself to that anymore.

2008 Block Party. Photo by Calvin Tsay

Two years ago, Bi-Rite and Delfina threw a large birthday block party on 18th Street. Many have labeled the block as a blossoming Gourmet Ghetto, and the party was a mix of gourmet food and the desired "community building" fundraiser that has people chatting and hanging out over plates of food. Getting the block to close down required planning and permits, but the attendance levels were boisterous, meaning a lot of people showed up. Spit-roasted Niman Ranch pork shoulder was on display and for sell, and adults sipped in a beer garden while kids dug in to sundaes and ate farm fresh corn or Fulton Valley brick-grilled chicken. It was a warm weekend day, and seemed to match the ideal of a San Francisco summer day.

The Whole Hog at the 2008 Block Party. Photo by Calvin Tsay

The prep work for the 2008 block party was for multiple days made up of cooks from Delfina and Bi-Rite. It turned out to be a party with major organizational effort that led to months of planning. Eaters camped out in Dolores Park, drinking aguas frescas and mulling over plates of pig. This blogger participated as a prep cook for the 2008 event, and learned that the costs and details for the Block Party may have provided a challenge that was tough on the organizers, who are in the business of selling food rather than putting on street events. Hence what led to a two-year wait for a repeat performance.

Post-event analysis got the organizers (mainly: Bi-Rite's Sam Mogannam and Delfina's Craig Stoll) thinking it was a great idea, but one that should happen every other summer. "We'll make it a bi-annual thing," said Mogannam. This year's 18th Street Block party happens on Saturday, August 28, from 12 p.m. to 5 p.m. Mogannam said, "We want to create some fun energy and bring people together. That's what we're all about." The uniting factor will be food, as well as beverages of all stripes. Regalito will offer suckling pig carnitas, and Delfina will have porcetta pork loin for sale; no whole hog to ogle this time.

The SF Brewers Guild has been brought in to do craft beer. Products from Out the Door, Regalito, La Cocina, Kasa, Unti Vineyards, and Earl's Organic Produce will also be used and highlighted. All proceeds will benefit the neighboring Women's Building, as well as the BuenDia Family School, literacy org 826 Valencia, Next Course, and Pie Ranch.

There is also a pie contest for the first time. Mogannam said, "We want it to have a county fair feel. So folks can make pies, and be judged based on flavor and appearance. There will be one judge, who is a non-professional, chosen as a raffle prize." Bakers need to fill out an online entry form, and the rules are:

• Entry Fee is $20 which will be donated to Pie Ranch (paid on day of contest).
• Entrants will be chosen on a first come/first served basis.
• Entrants accepted into the contest will be notified via Email by August 23rd.
• Entrants are required to supply two 8 inch pies (same) on August 28th (location to be announced to accepted entrants)
Pies must be able to be served Cold or Room Temperature

Event Information:
Women's Building events: Party on Block 18
Women's Building newsletter: Party on Block 18

2008 block party coverage :
SFoodie -- Tamara Palmer: Party on Block 18 This Saturday
Jalapeño Girl (aka Mary Ladd): 18th Street Block Party this Saturday afternoon

For five years now, Manivanh, a smallish place on 24th Street near Hampshire, has been one of my very favorite neighborhood restaurants in town. It's a completely unremarkable-looking Thai joint unceremoniously dumped at the grimiest edge of the Mission District, out of step with the strip's bevy of taquerias, hair salons, and, more recently, art galleries and hipster donut stands. For three years, I lived two blocks away, not far from 24th and Utah, where Jack's Club cheerfully presides over the corner. Manivanh holds just over a dozen tables, half of them empty most nights. The servers frequently look as fried as Krispy Kremes, their eyes distant and glazed. Between orders, they crane their necks to stare up at the television hovering above the counter. One afternoon, when all the area liquor stores were closed for a holiday, the host sold me a few beers to-go without so much as a blink. Manivanh is not a hole-in-the-wall, some Bourdanian treasure where fears of gastrointestinal trauma accompany each tasty bite. The interior is clean and warm, even pleasant. The neighborhood is fine, even though the 24th Street drunks' hacking coughs rattle through the window panes and swaying grocery cart barges skitter along the sidewalk outside. Satay and pad thai don't spark the excitement food-obsessed city residents work up over tacos. Everyone has a favorite Thai lunch place socked away somewhere -- the stuff of cheap lunch specials and coconut-creamed ice teas in tall plastic cups. Manivanh is a true find, unusual precisely because it's so good yet so relentlessly unexceptional in its design and scope, a regular, everyday restaurant without a whiff of marketing mojo and no rugged street food cred. Few would think to sniff it out and even fewer would bother writing about it, but I beseech you all the same to discover it, to walk down 24th Street until you can clearly hear the hum and screech of 101. Look to your left, see the sign, sit down, and order the larb-ped.

Isn't it larb-ly?

Larb is not a sludge-metal band from Florida or a faintly embarrassing medical condition. Larb may actually be those things as well, but the larbs I know first-hand are meat salads: fish sauce-y melanges in innumerable lovely variations, popular throughout Laos as well as Thailand. Refreshing and bold, Manivanh's larb-ped -- minced duck, lettuce, mint, and red onion laced with a chili-flecked lemon dressing -- is heady, almost druggy in its deliciousness, unsettlingly, crazily flavorful -- a sweet, benevolent Klaus Kinski on the palette. In the past four months, I've taken three different groups of people to Manivanh, and every single neophyte has gone batty for this minor miracle of taste and texture. I wandered down with a friend on the eve of his flight back to Philadelphia and he, upon spooning up the last bit, wondered out-loud if he could pack a few orders to bring back to the city of brotherly love. "The duck -- it's like bacon, except somehow better," another friend remarked on the night of his conversion, reaching for a third helping, unsubtly trying to snag more than his fair share of the chewy, crispy bits. Manivanh's menu beckons with many very good things, like grilled pork, chicken with chiles, onion, and fresh basil, and fried bean cake with cashews and roasted curry paste. Yet this one dish -- the transcendent larb-ped -- sends the restaurant over the top, searing it into heart and memory. Again and again, I recommend Manivanh to anyone interested -- because I want others to know it and cherish it as well.

Still, a few weeks ago, in bed, watching the long-awaited "No Reservations: San Francisco" on my laptop, I was happy not to see forkfuls of that fine ducky goodness disappearing into Anthony Bourdain's gaping maw.

Over the course of that episode, he painted a broad strokes portrait of the San Francisco he wanted to hate, a city where the good stuff has to be pried out from beneath sheet-rock layers of weak Chez Panisse-y silliness. It's a pretty cool town, he seemed to say, so long as you keep it real among the hordes of smug, self-righteous yoga mat people telling you how to eat -- in his mind, villains more onerous than greedy landlords, creeps, loud-talking Muni lunatics, and fickle fault-lines.

His pal Zamir's meltdown in Romania, however bizarre and mortifying, was, as Bourdain might intone on a clips show voice-over, good television. Making fun of vegetarians in San Francisco is not. The tall, gray host is usually much more insightful than he was here, using food as a trusty lens through which to respectfully experience the ways people live around the world. He likes delving into the preposterous, the campy, and the down-and-dirty. When it comes to eating on camera, fried squeazel, pig's eyes, chicken asses, and seven-pound tortas are his ripe texts, ideal, semi-shocking stuff he can stretch into funny, alcohol-soaked, highly watchable lessons of cultural interest.

A pedestrian pleasure such as Manivanh wouldn't interest Bourdain, at least for the sake of his show. For that, I am thankful. I like my larb line-less, my beloved local gems broadcasted via whispers, not ear-splitting bellows from some perch on Foodie Mountain where he sits every Monday, leather-jacketed, hung-over, racked with indigestion, clutching his megaphone. That's It, the deli with the seven-pound torta, sits a block away from where I currently live. One day, it was my corner store, and, the next, I had to squeeze through a mob just to get a tall can from the cooler in the back.

It may not make for good television, but you can learn a lot about the way we live from something so mundane as a neighborhood restaurant and its way with one dish -- maybe not from Manivanh specifically, but from establishments like it. In my reality, of which I am, of course, captain, Manivanh serves the best Thai food in the city. The rest of the world doesn't have to agree. Manivanh's Yelp reviews are high, four stars, on average, with some disgruntled customers, as usual, chirping up to soil the spread. Interestingly, the gripes people air about Manivanh are often very specific and personal, super-subjective criticisms unbound by universally persuasive criteria. One reviewer complains about too many onions. Another bemoans the absence of white-meat chicken. A vegetarian whines about fish sauce in the silver noodles she'd thought were meatless, claiming that the waitress rolled her eyes when she shared her grievance, which Bourdain, had he been there, hovering in the corner like a spectral watchdog, would have done too. People are inclined to be inflexible about what they eat at cheap neighborhood restaurants, particular to the point of weird, preschool-y pickiness. We want what we want, when we want it, how we think it should be made -- usually the way we've learned to like it somewhere else. Eggplant is not my favorite vegetable, but I wouldn't tell Thomas Keller that if he prepared it for me. Yet if I ordered larb-ped at another Thai restaurant, and for some stupid reason, it arrived topped with a heaping portion of soggy eggplant, I might not go back to try anything else. In such restaurants, perhaps we're really seeking personal chefs challenged to solve the mysteries of our individual tastes without clues, or an unwavering Applebee's from the block, consistently supplying whatever specific eating experience it is we desire, wherever we go. For those who've learned to love it somewhere else, it takes a lot to go out of your way to try larb like this, to begin a new relationship with a familiar food rendered foreign all over again. But, if you do, as Rick said at the end of "Casablanca," as he strode off into the mist with Captain Louis, it might be the start of a beautiful friendship.

Manivanh
map
2732 24th Street
(between Hampshire and Potrero)
San Francisco, CA 94110
(415) 552-3534

It was the season of sauce, it was the season of toppings. It was the spring of onions, it was the sausage of despair. We had pies before us, we had crusts before us.

No lesser authority than The New York Times says artisanal pizza is on the rise. Just last week, the Gray Lady blew the trend up, making a case for the elegantly appointed pizzeria as a cost-conscious diner's best bet amid rotten economic circumstances. In San Francisco, this sub-genre of the pizza form is currently encroaching on the Mission District's once-fior di latte-less expanse with great success. Pizzeria Delfina and Beretta are delicious examples of what's sizzling in Burritoland, though only the former would probably describe itself as a pizzeria first and foremost. Flour + Water just opened on Harrison in the last few months, serving pasta, salumi, and a familiar stripe of 'za: smallish, thin-crusted rounds decked out in classic and occasionally inventive combinations of toppings with a traditional bent and heavy, local-centric nods to seasonality. As if that weren't enough upscale crust and cheese to blanket a few square miles of coveted real estate, Pi Bar will soon start slinging (whole pies and cheese slices for, ha ha, $3.14) on Valencia near 25th, at a renovated space once home to Suriya Thai.

You might not have heard, but in Fall of 2008, Pizzeria opened its doors on a humming stretch of Valencia Street, not far from its intersection with 18th. As of press time, the establishment has garnered 45 reviews on Yelp, most of them quite positive. Yet, for all the times I've wandered past its wide windows, I've never seen a customer populating one of the dining room's handsome circular wooden tables. I've stared at the menu. I've contemplated the helpful photographs of Pizzeria's offerings pasted to the front window. I've watched cooks bustle, a waiter mop, and a manager meticulously refill and reposition jars of red pepper flakes on the long counter, but, never, not once, have I witnessed a person, sitting down, napkin on lap, actually tucking into a plate of anything.

And I've always wondered why. Location could not be the problem. Valencia is a major thoroughfare for night-time revelers and day-time shoppers. The product itself is not immediately suspect either. It's pizza, after all; everyone likes it. Unlike Beretta and Flour + Water, and to a lesser extent, Pizzeria Delfina, purveyors of an ostensibly fancier kind of pizza, the vibe is not glamorous. Apart from the wood oven used to bake them, the wares are not authentic but fairly pan-pizza in approach, though, in this age of hyper-fusion frenzy, that shouldn't deter the masses. You won't find habaneros, chicken tikka masala, or barbecue on pizza in Naples, but, these days, in the United States, thanks perhaps to the influence of California Pizza Kitchen, they're not exactly unusual toppings, and perfectly appropriate in the right context.

Pizzeria is also Halal. The pig is on a big muddy pedastal these days, and there's a chance the absence of house-cured prosciutto, guanciale, and an occasional trotter special throws potential customers off the scent. In addition, Pizzeria sells no alcohol. One Yelper reports brown-bagging some brew, but the restaurant doesn't specifically recommend doing so. Unless you're willing to ask and perhaps plead, the closest thing to a dinner buzz or a perfect pairing you'll get here will have to come in the form of a $2.50 soda. For many, this will prove a bigger sticking point than the pancetta non grata situation.

Could cost be the issue? Probably not, though, as far as pizza goes, Pizzeria's is not particularly inexpensive. In fact, its pizza margherita costs a dollar more than a similarly sized version made by Flour + Water, when the ingredients are obviously the same: tomatoes, fresh basil, mozzarella, and olive oil.

Generally speaking, when a restaurant's always empty, no passer-by wants to play guinea pig. Delivery customers write the majority of Pizzeria's Yelp reviews, and they tend to gush about speedy delivery and the endearing customer service, signs a few people have been curious enough to phone in orders, and the business owners are working hard to amass devotees, one at a time if necessary. Pizzeria is not open for lunch, which seems like a curious choice to make, especially if the owners want bodies in the dining room. Walk-in customers are more likely at lunch-time, especially on the weekends, when weary shoppers from other parts of town, quivering beneath the weight of new purchases, and stoned folks staggering in from Dolores Park make impulsive dining decisions based on whatever is in front of them.

Unlike Pizzeria, Flour + Water, the sort of sleek, self-styled "neighborhood" restaurant that employs a publicist, has been hot. A dozen local press mentions and reviews popped up within days of its opening, many before, and over 118 reviewers have since weighed in, many charmed by the food, a number irritated by the crowds and clientele, and more than a few disparaging of the hosts' demeanor. No one likes a line, and Flour + Water's perpetually snakes out the door like links of runaway sausages. In shaping their doughy vision, the heads behind Flour + Water actually followed a pizza principle not unlike what was outlined in the Times piece, figuring rustic fare in a lovely dark wood-enhanced setting might rake in diners trying to scale back on spending without sacrificing the level of ambience regular restaurant-goers tend to favor. According to Flour + Water's website, the restaurant's design and construction "are all about the mantra of the triple r: refurbished, repurposed and reclaimed," a triptych of buzzwords pretty much designed to make people feel as if they're sitting down to something real, hip, and happening, yet non-indulgent, and even -- gasp -- responsible.

Pizzeria and Flour + Water don't serve the same kind of pizza, so reviewing them in tandem wouldn't make sense. I'm interested in why one restaurant is full, and the other is empty. Does the press machine get behind whatever they're told to get behind by whomever gets to decide what should be gotten behind? Is herd mentality a lot of what's keeping Flour + Water packed tighter than a jar of oil-cured anchovies and Pizzeria as forlorn and lonely as a marinara-deprived breadstick? Does a Halal pizzeria without a pizzaiolo or a publicist stand a chance in this city?

On Saturday, I decided to seize the pizza by the box and give Pizzeria a real shot. At 5:15 p.m., I slowly and deliberately walked up to the door. I looked in through the smudged glass. I couldn't do it. The prospect of being the only person in the place stressed me out. A lopsided ratio of cooks to customers makes for awkward dining, a rigid, uncomfortable experience, like at a show, when a band dwarfs the crowd. I turned tail and scurried back to my apartment where, furious with my lack of courage, yet quite relieved, I immediately dialed in an order for delivery: a $12 small "Popeye" pizza (baby spinach, slow-roasted garlic, and red onion) to which I, for an extra buck, boldly added beef pepperoni. Minutes later, Pizzeria's pizza and I were face-to-face.

The mystery was over. The crust's bottom was black and blistery; the gnarled sides and top were beautiful, rutted in all the right places, tunnels of taste within, perfect pockets of air crunching, wafer-like, between teeth. The toppings were fine. I liked the cheese. The sauce was unmemorable. The thick slices of raw red onion didn't do much for me. I prefer them cooked, semi-pickled, or, if raw, very, very, very thinly slivered. The beef pepperoni didn't taste weird until I tried it cold on Sunday morning. Overall, Pizzeria makes a really good pizza in keeping with its intent: flavorful, timely, unpretentious, and very pizza-like. Everyone should go there ... or at least get something delivered.