5 posts tagged “haight”

I (usually) love Magnolia, my neighborhood brewpub. The food is usually first rate--though it can certainly suffer at times, and i'm talking to you, poached eggs!--and the beer is always amazing.

Amazing.

I love having fresh, seasonal grog right up the street from me--though my liver may be less enthousastic.

So, I'm really psyched that  The Alembic is finally opening. It's going to do for liquor what Magnolia does for beer. Phew! And just in time too, as my tolerance was making me pile on the pounds in order to get good and lubricated. The food looks to be just as good, if not better as what Magnolia has on offer, while the interior sounds really cool. In any case, here's the official announcement. See you there.

At long last, the big announcement we've been dying to tell you about for many a month now: Magnolia has a sibling! We are very pleased to announce the opening of the Alembic Bar, located at 1725 Haight Street between Cole and Shrader. What is it? Well, we hope it will be many things, and you will make it so. But we have lovingly assembled an library of small-batch, artisan distilled spirits, domestic and imported craft beers, premium sakes, and unique, limited production wines, creating a temple to the diverse and delicious world of alcohol.

As you might expect, Magnolia's own house ales play a key role in the draft beer selection, and we throw a little local love toward our fellow companions in the Bay Area beer world. We're excited to pick up where Magnolia leaves off, celebrating the way in which artisans near and far dedicate their lives to crafting magical elixirs and the freshest, best food.

Our bartenders are craftspeople in their own right, marrying the flavors of these wonderful spirits with juices squeezed fresh daily, soda from small bottles (no gun), premium (and in some cases housemade) bitters and other ingredients, and fresh garnishes. The renaissance that has cocktail culture picking up where it left of before Prohibition is firmly a part of the Alembic's mission.

Not to be outdone, Chef Eddie Blyden has pulled out all the stops for the Alembic's menu, with an eclectic array of small plates. Eddie's menu has regional American and global influences, all prepared with local products from folks we know, as much as possible. Chef Blyden has risen to the challenge of pairing food with the assertive flavors of our spirits list and his sourcing here at the Alembic is a continuation of his philosophy at Magnolia. Seasonal, local and sustainable remain the key elements of our vision at both places.

Building the Alembic was an extension of our sustainability philosophy, with the use of as many reclaimed building materials as possible. The wood that lines the walls was salvaged from a 150+ year old barn in Wisconsin while the floor was similarly saved from a 100 year old Pennsylvania barn. The ceiling is an historically reproduced tin pattern and the light fixtures over the bar are historical reproductions with 1890-style Edison bulbs. The highlight of the space, though, is the bar itself, lovingly crafted from the original bleacher seats from Kezar Stadium, built in 1922 from old-growth Douglas Fir. We've left the seat numbers intact for your amusement.

The name, since you may be wondering, comes from the 1200 year- old Persian word, al-ambiq, which was the name of the first distilling apparatus. It was adopted by the alchemists of the Middle Ages where it assumed an additional meaning of refinement and coaxing the purest essence from something rough and raw. Today, some distillers continue to work with so-called alembic stills and the word remains a metaphor for a place where refinement and magic intersect.

Together, Magnolia and the Alembic proudly carry on a tradition of nourishing the community, providing gathering spots for the neighborhood while turning folks on to some of the best and most interesting tastes of the local food and drink renaissance. As with Magnolia, we look forward to all of you adding your own energy to the Alembic.

The Alembic is just four blocks west of Magnolia next to the legendary Red Vic Movie Theater. Public parking is 4 blocks away at Stanyan and Beulah and the Alembic can be reached by Muni (the N-Judah stops 4 blocks away at Carl and Cole) and Bus #'s 7, 71, 33 and 43 stop within one block of our front door.

Note: I also posted this on my (new, Vox inspired, longtime Blogger-ditching) Typepad blog. But since I've very nearly abandoned that for several months now, I figured I should post it here as well. 

A little after 5 PM yesterday, Harper walked into the kitchen and said, "look at the smoke, there's a fire."

I was in the hallway, and replied with something along the lines of "I am a grumpy little man, who will never see the magic in life unless prompted. If it were not for you, I would be empty and afraid, and I am grateful every day--every single day--that you are in my life. I do not deserve you. I love you. At the moment, however, I am busy looking through my toolbox for an item which I shall later forget; I will be there shortly to view it for myself."

We live on a hill, and see lots of fires. Or lots of smoke plumes at least. And for perhaps 30 seconds or so, although I wanted to go look, I wasn't captivated. I wasn't intrigued. Merely curious to look, and wondering, slightly, if it had something to do with this freakish 78-degree heat wave. And then Harper said "I see flames."

Which was weird because: seen a lot of fires, never seen no flames.  And so then, expecting them to die out at any moment, I ran in. Captivated. Intrigued.

Where?

There, through the trees, towards the bridge.

I see smoke...

There.

I don't see... I see smoke...

There.

I only see... Holy shit! That's a huge fire!

And at that point we went out the back door, which opens directly to the roof of the apartment below us. There was a massive fire just across the Panhandle. We could see a huge orange bolt of flame through the trees of the park. There were no sirens. None.

I called 911, and after holding for a few minutes, they told me they knew about the fire and were on the way. So were we.

I've never seen a house fire before. It was the most horrifying block party I've ever been to. There were people all over the sidewalks. (It also struck me  how damned hip everyone in that neighborhood is. I remember when I used to live there, just a block from the fire, I thought that the folks who lived in the Haight were lame-os and the real Bohos lived in the Western Addition.) Police cars and fire trucks everywhere. At at a house adjascent to the corner of Central and McAllister, there was a fire on a roof.

We watched for half an hour, as the flames jumped to another roof, and two homes were devastated by fire, while another was at least badly damaged while five buildings in all were damaged. I saw what I took to be, from my experience sitting on my ass watching DVDs, a backdraft, as one window in a home suddenly lit up in an enormous fireball, causing the crowd to gasp. What amazed me the most was realizing, suddenly, that the water was coming from inside the house. Meaning that there were people in there, in that inferno, pumping water to save homes. Courage.

Eventually they got it settled, but before the roofs burned off of two buildings. It was horribly, profoundly, sad. I couldn't quit thinking how terrible it would be to come home from work and find your home burned up, all your possessions gone.

A story. In response to a request from the esteemed Mr. Fox...

A couple of months ago, all of our house plants became infested with spider mites. Spider mites! In addition to being disgusting webby little creatures, they were killing my frends the plants.

I tried killing them with some non-toxic hippie insecticide, but all that did was keep them in check. If that, even. But determined not to use poison indoors, I headed to Cole Hardware, and came home with live ladybugs and mantid egg cases.

The ladybugs cleaned house. I let somewhere betwen 50 and 100 go indoors at the base of the plants. 48 hours later they were all gone, and so were the mites. And aphids, and other creepy crawly little things. Yeah, ladybugs look sweet, with their little spots and their red coats, but don't let them fool you. They are stone-cold killing machines.

The rest I let go in the garden, and placed one of two mantid egg cases out there. The other case I took inside and, as per the instructions on the box, placed in a bowl so I could "watch them hatch." Now, silly me, I presumed that they couldn't, you know, get out of the bowl. That they'd be there for a while. In the bowl. And quite honestly, after a few weeks I more or less forgot about them.

And then last week I walked in the kitchen one evening and noticed some sort of bug crawling on the wall. It was a mantid nymph. And his 500 brothers. Oh, man.

I scooped a few dozen, or hundred, or, I don't know thousand, into a jar and took them out back to the garden. But I left a few inside because, well, they're cute. Like itty bitty aliens. They'll cock their heads over to look at you. They follow you with their eyes. It would be creepy if it weren't so cute.

They're especially cute when they drink. A few times a day I'll spritz all the plants with some water from a spray bottle. The mantids will then lean down, bending their narrow little bodies, and slurp up the water off of leaves.

I've been trying to figure out what to do with them, how to feed them. I've only seen one eat anything. That

would be the jaunty fella pictured here. He munched an aphid. I was so proud.

So last weekend I ordered some fruit flies, from an obsessive mantid site I found, and they arrived today. Special delivery, Mr. Honan. Your flies are here.

This has been a challenge. For obvious reasons, I don't want to just let all the fruit flies out. I've been trying to feed them individually, but that hasn't always gone so well. The guy on the flower here has been gangbusters. He's quite tame, and he'll eagerly lean over to take fruit flies off my finger. The rest, not so much. I've started putting a few fruit flies in a jar and then dropping a mantid in there with them, and letting them out after they've eaten.

I'm not quite sure where I go from here. The few that are left inside aren't going to starve, I don't think. But I don't know how many mantids I want to keep inside. And I don't really want to cage them, I prefer free range mantids, but how to keep them out from underfoot? From scurrying out the window to the barren wasteland of our roftop empire? And how many do I want to keep anyway? And what about when they start eating each other? What happens when I go out of town? Are there mantid sitters?

I don't know. I have a lot of questions.

I do know one thing, however. This was perhaps the most uneccessary instruction I have ever been given:

This morning afternoon while we were eating breakfast at Squat and Gobble, twenty or so naked bicyclists rode by on Haight Street. Old, tatooed, and flapping in the wind.

I love San Francisco.