La Vache. Kuh. Ku. Ko. Mucca. Vaca. Internationally, the cow is the most prized red meat animal. Every great city around the world has a steakhouse. And they don't all serve lamb, pork, salmon, venison, duck, chicken, boar, or many other options. However, they all do serve some part of a cow. Be it a ribeye, a t-bone, porterhouse, tenderloin, filet mignon, skirt steak, or whatever other car part, that's what all steakhouses around the world serves.

Here in Scandinavia, there's a chain of steakhouses called Jensen's Bøfhus that supposedly serves great steak cuts at a competitively reasonable price. It looked good from the outside and beckoned me to enter. I had walked about the whole afternoon, exploring the city and finding places with WiFi access (most places do have it).

At first glance, it looks pretty tasty. The sides are kept separate, in an OCD-acceptable way. I had potatoes au gratin, sautéed mushrooms and béarnaise sauce. The 'shrooms and the taters were tasty. The sauce tasted sort of artificial. The wine, a tempranillo, tasted more medicine-y than the soft and round that it was advertised to be.

Back to the meat. Practically, every cut attempted on that piece of shoe leather ended up sawing on a piece of gristle that just could not be sliced through. Every morsel had to be eventually pulled apart from the anchor slab.

You know what's tough about eating gristly meat? You can't chew the meat. You have to just swallow that piece whole. Chewing only tires out the jaw. If a sharpened steak knife with a serrated edge can't cut through the sinewy sheathes, what can 50-year old worn down choppers gonna do? Worse is when attempting to chew the morsel, a piece of it would get stuck between the teeth. Well, that's often an inconvenience. But what's worse here is that when you try to swallow the remaining chunk, it doesn't get swallowed, as it's still connected to the stringy bit stuck between the teeth, so the morsel is dangling in your throat, dipping in and out, forcing you to gag on the half-swallowed meat. Ack!

After dinner, I walked about some more, trying to burn up the unmasticated meal sitting in my gilliver. Dropped by an old friend, 3 Brødre to check on the piano bar. Alas, tis not open on Tuesdays. So the stroll then took me along the shopping district of Karl Johans Gate, then over to Bogstadveien, and then finally back to the Majorstuen neighborhood where I was staying. With a constant, although mild, shower raining down, the whole evening could have been better.

*   *   *

The old part of Oslo, Gamla Oslo, definitely has its charms. There's still lots to see and try. Coffee houses abound, with only one Starbucks in sight. (Deli di Luca, Espresso House and Wayne's Coffee are the three most common sights.)

The Scandinavians have a love affair with sushi and southeastern fare. The whole city is teeming with sushi bars. Some are huge, high-end places (Hanami in the Aker Brygge district) but most are small hole-in-the-wall operations serving tasty selections at very reasonable prices.

An Addendum

So now, I'm in search for a great steak place. Or at least a not-so-bad place. Maybe it was just Jensen's, or just that piece. Two days later, I went by Cafe Christiania, a nice, dark wooded restaurant that just oozed warmth and experience. It just happened to be right next door to the Jensen's. I ordered a rack of lamb and it was somewhat flavorful, but still lacked texture (and again, some gristles again). Unlike Jensen's, the sides were served on the plate and not in separate bowls.

Still, the food and wine was quite good at Christiania.

Two days after that, I stopped at the Big Horn Steakhouse in the Aker Brygge district. Now, what can go wrong with a quintessential American-style steakhouse restaurant, right? It's a chain, but I figured it should have the taste and style of an American steakhouse, even though I wanted something not-so American. (I can always get something American when I'm back home.)

Well, I'm just going to conclude that Norwegians have a different standard for what is a good tasting piece of meat it. First, I think they raise them to be too lean. There were hardly any marbling in any of the samples I tried. Second, there is just no taste to them (probably due to the leanness of the cuts). If you were to tell me these meat were actually lab grown man-made meat-like products, I wouldn't immediately doubt you. Again, there was gristle that made slicing a piece difficult.

I was again left with having to pull the pieces apart instead of cutting them apart like any other piece of meat would require. And again, I couldn't complete my meal because I just didn't have the patience to chew on the blandest piece of meat I've encountered in a long while. The dinner was served almost exactly like Jensen's: two sides were placed in their own individual bowls. Béarnaise sauce was likewise offered, although all it tasted like was yellow. I guess Norway has never been known as a haven for foodies, and certainly, my experience here has confirmed that.

Sensuous: Adjective. 1) Relating to or affecting the senses rather than the intellect.

Sensuous dancing is a type of dancing that affects the senses of the dancers, as well as those watching. It involves as many of the senses as possible: sight, sound, smell and touch. The sense of sight is really for the spectators, but the feeling of being gazed upon is itself a unique sense, heightened by give and take between the dancers and the spectators watching. Sound is elemental to dancing, as it is the language through which the dancers communicate. The sense of smell can be quite activated when the dancers are in close proximity to each other. And of course, it's the sense of touch that uniquely defines sensuous dancing. While the music is the language, it's touch that is doing the communicating.

Social dancing, ever since its first recorded history and specifically noted in the western civilization cultures, has been partner dancing. It was only in the late 1950s when three major factors brought the rise of solo dancing into the realm of social dances.

The first factor was the change in the type of music to the less-danceable-with-a-partner genre. Specifically, the development of counter-cultural music such as the psychedelic music of the later Beatles, Grateful Dead, and the Byrds; or the introduction of heavy metal. Neither genres are particularly amenable to dancing with a partner. A lot of rock'n'roll of the 1950s and 1960s are not partner-danceable. It's fun to do the twist to Twist And Shout, but try and figure out a decent dance style for it. Hmm...

The second factor was the counter-cultural movement where the younger generation - the late baby-boomers - rebelled against the overly paternalistic rules-conscious parents. At that time, parents dictated everything in the lives of the baby-boomer teenagers. Those who rebelled grew out their hair, wore short skirts and jeans, smoked and took drugs. And in dancing, where parents attempted to instill the rules of partner dancing, the youths rebelled by dancing solo.

The third factor was the advent of television and the vast broadcasting reach of American Bandstand and other afternoon dance shows. Such shows gave validation to dancing solo and not touching one's partner.

Oh, there's a fourth factor: Elvis Presley. Elvis's gyrations on stage captured the lustful desires of every woman and envious ideations of every man. Gone, instantly, were the days of leading or following with a partner. Elvis's act also engendered another cultural aspect that erupted in the mid-50s and early-60s. Elvis crossed the racial divide with music that included much of the negro style of that era. Racial desegregation, or what amounted to it, did not extend to partner dancing in mixed race situations. An adventurous woman might be inclined to dance with black men, but not so much as to be touched by them.

And thus, a whole generation missed out on the joys of partner dancing within the social realm. Fortunately, partner dancing is coming back, helped by Dancing With The Stars, and the movies Ballroom, Shall We Dance, and the Antonio Banderas vehicle, Take The Lead.

But partner dancing, as taught at most dance schools, cannot escape the two main complaints. The first complaint is the difficulty in learning all those steps for a particular genre of music. The second complaint is the lack of spontaneity: the dance steps are so rote-like. Oh, and there's a third: "So I'm learning cha-cha. When the heck do I get to dance cha-cha outside of this ballroom studio?"

What is needed is a new dance style that addresses these three complaints. It should be easy to learn without a lot of different steps for each dance music, ability to make improvised and spontaneous dance moves, and something that can make me (and my dance partner) look great at the next nightclub. Well, here it is, Eric's very own sensuous dance.

What is sensuous dance? It's the culmination of over twenty years of dancing, combined with many years of impromptu dancing at nightclubs and bars with lots of different women and a clear understanding of how to teach these actions in a way that anyone can understand. The first main difference between sensuous dance and whatever dance steps one learns at ballroom studios is that there are no steps to memorize. The dancers, both the leader and the follower, are free to make up any step they want.

How does it work? Well, obviously, it would be very difficult to explain it in written words. The main point is that, through touch, one can get a more enjoyable dancing experience than just shaking one's booty. There are some people, of course, who prefer to individualize his or her movements. And, there are some who are difficult to lead (or follow). The end result of sensuous dancing is mutual enjoyment, a sense of connection, and a meeting of souls.

I've lived in the Nob Hill/Russian Hill neighborhood for several years and never knew that there's a steakhouse right on California Street, between Taylor and Jones. I must have walked by it many, many times and never realized its existence. The restaurant is hidden on the ground floor of the Gramercy Towers, a chi-chi high end condominium complex at the top of Nob Hill. One evening, while walking home, I passed by the front gate of the Towers and noticed a menu posting. I looked at it and realized that there's a restaurant, the Osso Steakhouse within the premises of the Towers. Looking into the driveway, I espied the restaurant facing the front parking area. Well, well, I thought, I should try this to see what's it got.

That was several months ago, and tonight, I thought I'd give it a shot. Osso Steakhouse has a very elegant art deco theme. I like art deco and so the decor appealed to me. That, pretty much, was the extent of what appealed to me with this restaurant. After being seated, I pretty much got the gist of what I wanted to order: a glass of zin, caesar salad, filet mignon and two sides, portobello mushrooms and creamed spinach. But, there I sat. And sat. And sat. Finally, about 15 minutes after my arrival, someone bothered to come by to get my order.

The bread came in, a large half-boule sourdough. Standard fare, nothing to write home (or here) about. My zin came. Ok, that's one other item that appealed to me. The zinfandel was quite tasty.

The salad came quite quickly, which I wouldn't expect otherwise. That was all right. No anchovies and a bit too heavy on the dressing. After finishing the salad, I then sat. And sat. And sat. It was probably another fifteen minutes before the entree was served. Hey, all I ordered was a medium rare filet mignon. How long does that take to cook?

The filet mignon was more medium than medium rare. That's not good, as filet mignons should be eaten as close to rare as possible. The portobello mushroom was too salty and the creamed spinach was not.

But it's not the meal that makes or breaks a restaurant. It's the service. It's often the service. Here's the problem with Osso: when I need the server to come by, like for taking my order, no one comes by. When I don't need the server to come by, like when I'm putting a piece of food into my mouth, the server comes by and asks how's everything. "Mmm-gharrghs. Thank you," I reply.

Time to pay? Where is everyone?? And it wasn't just me. A party across the aisle also had to deal with long waiting time, complaining to their server about the tardiness. They did get free desserts. Maybe I should have complained as well, but I was too full.

Osso steakhouse has great potential: wonderful ambiance, exquisite location, sharp looking servers in tuxedos, and a fairly mouth-watering menu. But the servers seem jaded and have no interest in offering top service. I passed by this location many times before noticing it. I recommend that you too pass by this location as well.

What makes a successful restaurant? If you can answer that sixty-four billion dollar question, you will have all current and future restauranteurs at your beck and call.

Restaurants come and go and this little corner of my neighborhood has seen its first casualty. When I moved to this neighborhood, there was a light-hearted tapas restaurant called Lalola. It seemed like a trendy and happening place: every time I walk by it, it seemed full of very attractive, young, engaging people. Heck, they even expanded into the next door to more than double their space, during the time they were around.

Then, last fall, they closed shop and the restaurant was under wraps for a while. The new owners and new management came in and, behind the sheets covering the windows, worked feverishly (I'm guessing here; they could have done nothing by smoked reefers and drank bud-light all day) to remodel the inside into a very chic, nouveau european decor. Comparing the Lalola's before to the Mason • Pacific's after, I give major props to the after of Mason • Pacific. The current decor just oozes elegance with a hint of a beaux art feel. The exterior has a more outdoor parisian cafe look, which doesn't quite jibe with the interior.

I went there for the opening night. Since then, I've dropped by another four times. They're a really friendly bunch, waving at me whenever I walk by. Admittedly, opening night is not the best time to go to a restaurant, unless you're part of the friends and family or investment partners. The servers were all pros for opening night, but one dish I had was a bit too salty.

I wish their website has the menu up, so I can comment on what's great. 

First great: a great wine list. They do have some really choice wines, although I've been conservative and sticking to the few I really enjoy. I haven't tried everything on the menu, wine-wise, but the several I've had have been excellent.

Second great: the tagliatelle. I like pasta, but really, it's pretty generic. I can't distinguish my home cooked fettuccine with pesto from a similar dish from most run-of-the-mill italian restaurants. Even those I attend regularly in North Beach, there's nothing much to write home about (except the Linguine Nere). It's usually the sauce that makes the pasta. Of course, no one likes a pasta that way too over-cooked. So what did Mason • Pacific do? The tagliatelle is amazing. The texture has just the perfect mouth feel. But there seems to be something in the pasta itself and not just the sauce that makes this pasta's taste pop in your mouth. YOU. MUST. TRY. THIS. TAGLIATELLE.

Third great: I can't really yet recommend it, as I have not actually tried it, but I have seen it served several times. It's an off-menu item, and that's all I'm going to say. Wait a few weeks before I get a chance to try this item and review that for you.

I fully expect to be back here a number of times, experimenting with all the items they offer.

Had Thai food lately? I haven't. Not really my bag. But for a while, I've been hearing good words about this place on Larkin, called Lers ros. It has an interesting thai font and certainly a memorable name. So tonight, after another fantastic performance of Tosca at the San Francisco Opera, I walked by Lers ros and decided to give it a try.

It was packed when I arrived at around 9:30PM, so that gave me hope that this will be a great dining experience. I sat at the bar since all the tables were taken and I was alone. The very pretty thai gal placed the menu and a glass of water in front of me.  I glanced through the menu and saw all the usual thai options. Something new and interesting here! They had frog legs. I chose the garlic frog legs appetizer and a rice noodle with prawns plate for the entree, topped off with a bottle of Beck's.

On the flat screen monitor in front of me was ESPN showing the highlights of this evening's basketball games, pro and collegiate. The Beck's was wonderfully refreshing, although it spoke little about what was in store for me at this restaurant.

The frog leg appetizer came first. I had once eaten frog legs. Tasted like chicken, and this plate tonight was no different. It had the same stringy texture and taste of chicken. The main difference was that frog legs have more small bones (great to choke on) and harder to get the meat off of. I wonder whether all those snakes are happy trying to eat an overly boned chicken. But the real irritant of this appetizer was that garlic frog legs meant there's a chunk of frog leg and there's a chunk of minced garlic. The two weren't mixed together. Generally, garlic is used as a garnish for whatever is the main item. Here, the frog legs is the main item. So the garlic is supposed to complement the legs. Perhaps the legs are coated with garlic. Perhaps the garlic is sprinkled on top of the legs. But no, there's a clump of leg parts and there's a clump of chopped garlic. Who eats garlic like that?

Another problem was that my entree was brought to me at just a few minutes after the legs arrived. Is that bad? Well, I'm still working on the legs, nibbling around all the little bits of bone. So while I'm nibbling, my entree is cooling off. The rice noodles with prawns is actually not that bad. But service here is amateur because they didn't time it right. When I cook for myself at home, I don't have the luxury of timing my dinner. At a restaurant, that's really a major deal. (Compare this meal with the one from La Folie, where the chef presented the next course just as we're finishing the current course.

So the noodles got cold. The garlic and legs were separated. The food is certainly adequate, though nothing to write home about. But the service was sub-par because they did not take into account how a person would eat the appetizer and then the entree, so they threw everything on the table for me. Another problem was the abundance of plates in front of me. There was a main plate, which was used as a place holder for another plate. The frog legs was on another plate, oval shaped. The main course was on yet another plate. This one being a long rectangular shape. My little space on the bar counter was cluttered with plates, two of the four were not properly utilized.

In the end, I would not recommend this place. It looks more like a trendy hipster restaurant, but I'm not buying into it.

Let's say you're new to San Francisco.  You want to go somewhere trendy, meet the trendiest group of people.  See and be seen among the hip and elegant.

Dives are exactly not the place to do so.  Yes, go there to complete your parole of college hangouts.  Relive your junior and senior years digging that dark cellar, sipping your first legal brew.

But now, you're on your own and you want to move up in the world, all the while wanting a notable -- and noticed -- social life.  Welcome to the Bravo!Club.

Bravo is the booster club for the venerable San Francisco Opera.  It's main age demographic objective is to attract the 20-somethings through 40 years old, although a number of people older than 40 remain with the club, as it's such a popular club to belong to.

Ok, so you say, "I don't like opera."  Probably, that means you haven't heard many operas.  You might have been dragged to one when you were a kid and had no clue what all that cater walling was all about.  And, if you like music of any sort, you will have a great opportunity to open your ears, eyes and mind to a whole new sensation.  Operas are really a great total audio-visual-mental entertainment.

But Bravo! isn't just about operas.  No one joins Bravo! just to get discounted tickets to the opera.  There are the parties.  And the networking.  But mainly, the parties.  The annual membership fee is $60, but you get several parties and lectures to attend.  At these parties and lectures, you'll meet lots of interesting people, all very nicely dressed, and enjoy free appetizers and drinks. Yup, at most of the parties, the basic wine and beer are free, although the cocktails may be charged.  In some parties, like the Opening Night Gala, all drinks are free.

If you trip the light fantastic, most events also include DJ-led music to dance to.  And if you're not, no big deal!  The club members are all very open minded, LGBT friendly and not at all pretentious.  You get to meet your future upstanding citizens of the city.  There are bankers, brokers, start-up entrepreneurs, VCs and a whole host of other professions represented among the membership.  Beautiful people, elegantly dressed, witty and poignant discussions, tasty tidbits and flowing drinks, hopping tunes, and an easy-going, laid back atmosphere.  What else does one need?

Join the hottest and hippest group in the city, Bravo!

Columbus Street bisects North Beach from Broadway to Union. Along Columbus, particularly between Vallejo and Green are several italian restaurants seeking to earn your patronage. Which one to go? What is the best? Here are my answers.

First, here are the restaurants: starting on the south end are Trattoria Pinnochio and Colosseo Ristorante. Up north a bit is Caffe Puccini and across the street, Calzone's. Then Caffe Greco and ending at the confluence of Stockton, Green and Columbus is Panta Rei. There are several others on Columbus south of Vallejo: Mona Lisa, Franchinos and the Stinking Rose. But let's limit ourselves to the six that's battling on that one block on Columbus.

Among the six, Caffe Greco isn't a real restaurant. Caffe Greco is a real coffee house. It serves coffee (Illy) and some desserts. There may be some snack-type food, but no full-on dining. I'm not even sure it serves alcohol.  The chairs are rickety and tables small. They also lack a nice TV screen for watching games. Of the six, it's my least favorite. But again, because it's not a real restaurant, I don't think it's fair to compare it to the others.

Colosseo is a nice family style restaurant with very solid italian fare. It's rather low-key with the excitement kept to a minimum. However, the food is quite good and the price is reasonable. For myself, it is a great place to go to because the proprietors are a great bunch of people and I can really enjoy myself there.

Calzone's is the most ornate. It features plenty of al fresco dining, amply helped by the large heaters that would be essential during the evenings. It has a full bar and an upstairs section as well. The food is more than pleasant: their seafood pasta dishes are delicious. The wine offerings are tasty. It's a great place to go to sit on the sidewalk tables and watch the people walk by. As a tourist trap restaurant, I would only wish to be trapped by such restaurants. For us regulars, it's a great place to go when having guests over. I wouldn't mind going there for regular patronage.

Panta Rei is a great place to take your hot first date. The food is very good. Try the linguine nero for the shock value. It's a hip and happening place, fancy bar with a large screen for those important soccer matches or the Giants games. The crowd is mostly the younger late-20s group. I think it's the high-energy look of the place, as well as the fetching gal standing at the front luring you in, that makes this place a really popular spot for the twenty-something newly minted locals.

Trattoria Pinnochio is also a great date restaurant. But, it's more suited for the 40+ crowd. There's no blaring music, and the staff and clientele all seem a bit older. Bring your cougars here for your first dinner date. Like the above mentioned, it too has a bar, but it's not situated out of the way of the dining portion of the restaurant layout. The food here is the most expensive of the five restaurants, although all the restaurants mentioned have comparable prices. There aren't any prix fixe $80 per person restaurants among the six. Trattoria Pinnochio also has outdoor seating and a fetching receptionist, but neither work as well with the outdoor seatings at Calzone's or Colosseo, or the receptionist at Panta Rei.

Finally, there's little Caffe Puccini. Caffe Puccini, to me, is my little home in Italy. It's my favorite among the six. Caffe Puccini serves almost only pasta-based dishes. You're not going to get a steak a la Florentine here. But the food is pretty darn good while the atmosphere is great. They don't have a bar, but do serve beer and wine. They also have a juke box with many opera arias available for playing. That's what makes this place a welcomed spot for me. I get to sit in the corner, watch the Giants, listen to Domingo work his magic with che gelida manina. Have a cup of cappuccino or a plate of linguini con vongole. Mmm. You could bring a date here, but I'd imagine bringing your spouse of 25 years here as being more appropriate.

Ciao!

Wow. What's going on? So here I am, at a singles event. Lots of people: lots of men, lots of women. There are many people I know from seeing them at these and other similar events before, as I'm no stranger here. I check out what's happening. Guys are hitting on the women, as expected.  It has to be expected. I mean, why would a woman attend such an event if not to meet guys and vice-versa? I'm a decent dancer, and several women are appreciative when I take them out to the dance floor. Some more so than others, but that's not the topic of this story.

In between dances, I sit around chatting with people. Sometimes, I chat with other men, sort of comparing notes and seeing how we're doing. Sometimes, I chat with women, because that's why I'm there. We men are there to meet women and women are there to meet us guys. I think we are all on board on this, right?  It's pretty black and white.

So I'm talking with this one woman who seems asian, but I could be wrong. She looks a lot like Diane Keaton. She has the eyes and the smile of Diane Keaton. I ask, "So how's your night?" She answers that it's been fun, her legs and feet are a bit tired from dancing. She's been having a great time.  So I go in for the killer pitch: "Hi, I'm Eric.  I don't see your name tag, what's your name?" "Nope, I'm not telling." What?  Was that answer specifically for me or was that her great counter-intro? I was about to just say, "see ya," when I decided to chat along for a bit more.

She didn't want me to know her name at a singles get-together. I don't get it. I go back to my beer. Another woman comes by. She, at least, has her name tag on, but it's hard to see because it's placed near her hips, to the side. It looks like Karen, but could be Karina or Kristen. She's more direct: "Hey, I saw you out there dancing.  Want to dance?" Wow, great. Here's a woman who's direct and honest, no beating around the bush.

I answer in the affirmative to her request. It's fine, because most women who are brave enough to ask are also capable enough to trip the light fantastic. We go out to the very crowded dance floor and have a great time grooving to the tunes. The DJ did a great job. I gotta commend him for that.

Ok, this Karen/Karina/Kristen has seen me dance. She knows what I can do. So, we're dancing and I calmly catch her right hand with my left. I'm bringing her closer for some dance moves. She calmly jerks back, pulls her hand out of mine and says, "I don't like to be spun. I have a headache." Huh? I guess some people have limits.

On the other hand, I'm looking around and tall-blonde, who was grooving to several other dance partners over the course of the evening, has decided to stand pat with her catch of the evening: an equally tall gentleman who is unfurling his tongue down her willing throat, while they're still dancing. Rounding first and heading for second base, I noticed.

Then there was this woman whom I've met several times at these gatherings. We actually went out one momentous night a few weeks back.  After that date, she turned incommunicado, claiming her back pain has kept her immobile. I've no reason to disbelieve the claim, so other than some soothing texts, I didn't push on asking her out again. But, here she is, at the event. She sees me and waves at me. She comes over at one point and says that her back still hurts, so she won't be dancing at all tonight. No sooner than that sentence was uttered, she's out there dancing with her date of the evening.

So why do women make such lame excuses?  I'm sure men are equally guilty of piling on the BS, but I wouldn't know, as I'm usually not on the receiving end.  But at the end, is there a reason to be evasive and deceptive?  There's a recent meme on FB and other places that many people at the event would wholly share on their FB pages, "Life begins at the end of your comfort zone."  Yet, people stay within their comfort zone and mask reality with little lies and deceptions, more for themselves than for the recipient, I gather.

So all in all, it was a fun evening of dancing and socializing. But it was a uniquely interesting opportunity to study human social dynamics. It's quite fascinating and rather odd at the same time. The internal conflicts that people - men and women - have are palpable. One can see the anxiety and fear emanating from even the most suave and confident man or sexy and gregarious woman. Maybe in this milieu, we're all gun shy after having been up and down the dating roller-coaster once too often. Maybe we're still newbies to the new millennium's social codes and conducts.  Whatever the case is, I do at least enjoy watching and being a part of this curious social experiment.

I guess I never did contemplate what I was getting myself into when I signed up to host a dinner at Incanto Restaurant.  Nestled amidst the sleepy homes of Noe Valley, this darkly stained wood paneled italian restaurant offered a whole new experience for those adventurous to try something different.

Incanto is famous for serving pig parts.  That is, the offal.  Some diners dismiss offal as being, well, awful.  But the cognescenti view the texture and flavor of the offal as being the best part of an animal.  De gustibus non est disputandum.

So in early August, I signed on through Meetup.com to host a whole-pig dining experience at Incanto.  At first, I signed up for the Leg of Beast.  But with enough people voicing approval for the whole-pig experience, I shelled out the $600 for the deposit and prayed that those who signed up will actually show up.  Our reservation was for October 2, making this a two-month planning.

Incanto's fee structure for this feast is simple, but complicated.  First, because the dining experience is held in the Dante Room, there is a maximum occupancy of 17 patrons.  Next is the minimum $1500 not including tax and gratuities.  Third is a prix fixe of $55 per diner.  To get to $1500 from $55 per diner, you add in the piglet, $375, and all the beverages you can consume to bring the total to $1500.

Fortunately for my tastes, Incanto has a great selection of italian wines.  For the main meal, I chose the Brunello di Montalcino.  Very tasty.

Up to the day of the event, I was still not sure of who would or would not be arriving.  There were seven of us for "almost" sure, as they paid the deposit through Eventbrite.  Another nine had said yes, but didn't put down the deposit.  Two were guaranteed no-shows as the group's organizer mentioned to me that those two were frequent no-shows-ers (one being an unemployed student wasn't going to be plunking down $160 for dinner, that's for sure).

So that brought the total attendees to 15.  As it were, 12 showed up.  One of the no-shows had the audacity to sign up that day.  Brilliant move there, guy.

We arrived at 5:30, just as the restaurant was opening up.  After we got in, we sat by the bar and had a drink or two before dinner.  Me, I was running around looking to see if any others were coming.  Finally, by 6PM, we were ushered in to the first circle of hell (or heaven), the Dante Room.  It was a long narrow table with yours truly sitting at the top of the table.

We were first served the Boccalone antipasto platter consisting of various sorts of salumi.  Very tasty.  While the appetizer was delicious, I think most of us were wary of over indulging on the appetizers before the big meal came out.  The appetizer was followed by the salad, or soup, for some.  Now, the salad was quite a refreshing and tasty salad, too.  It wasn't your Fresh Choice salad bar option, to be sure.

During this whole time, the group was getting into the mood and had a swell time chatting away and enjoying the company.  Seated to my right were this 50+ somethings couple, who met through a meetup event (Meetup.com beats all dating sites for getting successful dates by far.)  To my left was a person who worked with VISA in their security detail in Foster City.  Can't recall all the other guests, but there were five "regulars" besides me.

Then came the piece de resistance.  The whole pig.  It was a suckling piglet, about forty to fifty pounds live.  But in this roasted condition, where most of its innards have been taken out, it was probably twenty-five pounds not including the stuffing.

The first thing one notices is that, yup, it's a pig.  Chris Consentino, the head chef of Incanto, came to carve into the pig.  Each one of us was served a generous helping of the very tender, very tasty meat.  The crispy skin was also delectable.

It was a daunting meal: one just had to look at the huge pig and realize that it's impossible to divide that into twelve and have all of us finish it there.  Of course, we all brought home leftovers.  The meat was quite tender. I couldn't find the parts that would be where pork chops would come from. Most of the meat, at least the portions I ate, were the fibrous type; the type one would see in pulled pork or other southern-style pig feasts. We finished the meal off with a terrific dessert.  For me, it was the panna cotta.

Now the opinion.  I was slightly disappointed.  And it's nothing to do with the cooking or Incanto.  When I queried the servers as to when we get to try to pig brains or other organ meats, I was told that federal law prohibits serving those parts along with the rest of the pig.  Well, I was sorta looking forward to grossing myself and others out and, hopefully, enjoying the wonderful taste of the organ meats.  That was too bad.  It was like getting nothing but turkey breast on white bread with water to wash it down.  Satisfying, but unexciting.  Well, nothing we can do about it.  It's a federal law ferchrissakes.

Would I do the whole-pig experience again?  Perhaps.  But certainly, I would come by Incanto to sample some of their other menu items as the perparation made the food really dance in my mouth.

Well, yes and no. There's this neat little wine-bar cum cafe in my neck of the woods on Hyde and Jackson. It's one of the prettiest and coolest neighborhood in the city, quiet and unassuming like the suburbs, close to urban area (two blocks from Polk Street, another block to rock-and-shock Van Ness), lots of very picturesque and pretty restaurants and other commercial enterprises nestled among residential homes whose outside looks sixty years older than the superbly modernized interior. The cafe is Nook.

How can I explain Nook?  I've walked by it more than a few dozen times as the route that passes by Nook is my common walk after a night of fencing (and I don't detour for grocery shopping).  Even though I walk by this cafe numerous times and have stopped by to check on the menu posted at the front door, I've not been inside until tonight.

It's a quiet, unpretentious little euro-style cafe.  It is, however, populated by the most amazing beautiful and gorgeous group of people known to man.  Holy shiat!  It's like entering a modeling convention's cafeteria, except such a cafeteria would be devoid of people because they're too thin to eat at such a place.  No, Nook has these amazingly photogenic people sitting around chatting a la "Friends" while slowly noshing on their classic caesar salad or slowly sipping their double latte.

But, because the beauty factor is so high, your typical guy will be an AFC for sure.  Yeah, you can walk in looking like Pierce Brosnan (or is it Ryan Gosling, who is now the "it" guy?) and you'll never so much as catch the eyes of the cool cats there.  Yeah, you can be Mr. PUA and wind up LJBF in twenty minutes.

I sat down by two women having salads and wine and chatting about nothing special.  The blonde(r) one was doing most of the talking, as well as downing the pinot, while the less blonde was quietly listening and barely sipping her wine.  I had a classic caesar, which can't be classic because it's missing real anchovies (the server didn't understand) and a sandwich with a glass of my own pinot.  The conversation I was overhearing was dreadfully dull and mundane, as I can also surmise from the less blonde's indifference.  The food, eh.  The wine selection, meh.  I probably won't come back again, except to take full advantage of ogling the tens populating the place.

In an area where one wants to belong to a neighborhood spot, the Nook is a worthy competitor for that affection.  Maybe for the supermodel wannabees, the Nook is the place to rest their behinds while pushing forward their laurels.  For me, I still ache for comfy location that is not too loud, above average in the eats and drinks selections, and above average populace.  No need for a group of tens for me.