Last week, my parents came to visit. They are always up to things, but my mom found a window to swing by the Financial District on a sunny Friday afternoon. After some hugging and mutual dress compliments, she said those magical words of parents everywhere: "Well, sweetie! Where would you like to go for lunch?"
I replied, "Just let me get my list." (Commence rummaging through oversize handbag.)
And because she is a particularly indulgent mother, she suggested we go to Perbacco. Now, keep in mind that my mother used to be a young urban professional herself, back in the day, in 'frisco, no less, during the 80s. Rest assured that she knows how to treat a working girl to lunch.
Perbacco it was. Is it just me, or does San Francisco have approximately a bazillion upscale/Italian/Californian/rustic/house-cured/house-pickled restaurants? I don't really care. If they are all this good, keep it coming. Per 7x7's recommendation, we had the salumi misti. Made in house using "traditional Piedmontese recipes." You heard me.
But we really fell in love with some Brussels sprouts. Now, Brussels sprouts and I are old friends, but I understand there are people in this world who feel otherwise. If you labor under any delusions that you don't like Brussels sprouts, for heavens sake, I beseech you to stop boiling, steaming, and otherwise abusing them. Roasting really makes their nuttiness sing, but Perbacco does one better. Panfried, crispy-edged, bathed in (most likely an unconscionable quantity of) brown butter, tossed with burst capers, and sprinkled with a generous handful of Reggiano, they were to die for. Little cabbages to die for, I say. (Slams fist clenching fork to table.)
Then, after you've polished off your exquisite Italian/Californian/house-cured lunch, I highly recommend blowing off work for the afternoon, and going shopping at Loehmann's with the original working girl. One never knows. That next Diane von Furstenburg could be just around the corner.
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