I had a really happy food moment last week.
We’d been doing the thing you do when someone comes to stay and you really want to show them things but it’s raining - wandering around, leaping from shop doorway to covered walkway to mode of transport. And attempting to make the best of the piss wet weather by pointing at things and saying “See That? No? Oh. Well, that’s REALLY pretty view when it’s not raining. Honest. No, it really is.”
And then we ended up going for lunch at The Cliff House. Because while walking on a beach in a thick cloud, your shoes filling with wet sand is fun … watching other fools do it from a large picture window a hundred feet above while eating lunch is always better.
It’s not the cheapest place in the world. It doesn’t have the best menu. Midweek it’s filled with Ladies who lunch and meetings of the ‘retired self important men who talk too loudly’ society - as well as bedraggled new incomers trying to show their very most loved a good time. But - and it’s a big but - there’s ONE THING that will mean I will be going back to that place every time I feel a bit sad and homesick (it isn’t often, but when it is, it’s more for food than anything)(sorry to my lovely friends and family, but, you know, if you WILL keep coming to visit, how am I ever going to find time to miss you?)
We walked in and sat down.
The waiter, who was singularly terrifying and apparently on castors, glided up to the table when we weren’t looking. When I turned around, having drunk in the beauty of the several miles of view, there was an enormous face inches from mine.
“GOOD AFFFFERNOON?!” the face bellowed, deep from under a moustache somewhere. “IS RAINING”
“Um. yus?” I wasn’t sure how much more clarification was necessary, above and beyond looking like I’d recently been standing in a wind tunnel while an ocean was poured through a sieve on top of me. Because I did. Because I had.
“YES! LOOK IS RAININ!” He said, pointing out of the magnificent window.
“Yis.” I agreed, meekly.
“YES!!!! DRINKS?! that moustache nowhere-near muffled, as a hand floated up and indicated a menu we had been too busy looking at the beach to read.
There were general mumblings of coffee all around, in a quiet British way.
“WHA?!”
“We’re ALL gonna have CAFFEE, please!” I translated, with my almost-six-months of knowing how restaurants in my new home work. For what it is worth, mumbling and bashfulness never, ever work.
- On a side note, also asking for water also never works, in a great majority of places.
Asking for waahder? Yes. that works fine, because US restaurants are lovely and eager to please and want to provide whatever the customer needs. But, because of accents being different (not wrong, mind, just different), they just don’t expect a ‘t’ in the middle of ‘water’.
“Can I just get a glass of water?”
“Orange juice?” someone perky will say, helpfully. Honestly, this is the most frequent understanding.
“No no. Water?” Sometimes I mime water at this point, because I’m an idiot.
“Iced Tea?”
“Water?”
“Root beer?”
I tell you what, forget that. Can I just getta glassa waahder instead?”
“Sure! Be right withya!”
It is one of the only times I will knowledgably and willingly give up my accent. Because god knows it’s hard to get a glass of water without doing so sometimes. -
Anyway. The waiter rolled away again, soundlessly. In his moustache.
He wasn’t the reason I want to go back to the bistro. I should come back to that.
(I’m just enjoying writing because it’s my day off, sorry)
He arrived with the coffees. They tasted like brown water. They weren’t the reason I’m going to be going back whenever I’m homesick either. Just as I was critiquing the strength of the coffee, I turned to look at the restaurant and discovered a large moustachioed face inches from mine, asking if we were ready to order. No one was able to tell where he’d approached from. We ordered. “YES!!! ESSELENT!” came a bellow from whoever was under that lipwig. Again, not the reason I’m going back.
The reason I’m going back EVERY DAMNED TIME I miss particular British food that I can’t cook because my oven’s doesn’t get bloody hot enough.
Three minutes after the coffees arrived, a bus boy arrived with a large basket of Yorkshire puddings, and some butter.
That’s not a large basket of Yorkshire puddings of course. That’s a large basket with a yorkshire and a half left because we were so excited and bemused and - well, aroused is the wrong word, but you know what I mean, right? Doesn’t everyone get slightly over-excited by Yorkshires? - that we’d eaten most of them by the time we thought to take a photo.
They were basically a very plain batter, from what I could taste - baked in a very hot oven; light and fluffy, crispy on the outside, battery on the inside - what the butter was for I have no idea.
“What did you order?” We asked each other.
No one, it transpired, had ordered roast beef.
Gravy didn’t appear to be forthcoming.
They’d just brought Yorkshire puddings. I was in heaven.
You have to understand, I would go for a roast meal, and take less than a nibble of any other component, as long as I could have the Yorkshires. If in need of comfort, I will order anything with Yorkshire puddings and leave everything else on the plate.
Unless it’s good sausages, because that would just be a dreadful dreadful waste. Anyway.
My darling mother refused to believe we’d simply found the North American repository of awesome Yorkshires.
“I’m going to ask the waiter what these are called” she declared.
“No!” I said. They were clearly Yorkshire puddings.
“No, I am. You’ve complained about the lack of them, these are slightly different, I’m going to ask what they …”
“No DON’T!” I begged. For some reason I just wanted them to be Yorkshire puddings.
“Excuse me!” said my wonderful little mother, suddenly perfectly loud enough to be heard by the gliding moustache… “What do you call these?”
“POPOVERS!” he said.
“Oh! Thank you” she said, Britishly. “They’re popovers.”
“They’re bloody Yorkshire Puddings” I said.
“They’re clearly bloody Yorkshires.” I grumped “They’re Yorkshire puddings, look, they just are.”
“I think popovers are something else. I think he meant these are Yorkshires.” I said, in denial, “Can I have yours?”
So: ex-pats of San Francisco - go to the Cliff House - order the cheapest thing you can (most of it isn’t very good.) Then sit and wait for your enormous basket of Yorkshire puddings. Finish them as fast as you can - perhaps put some in your handbag for later (I totally didn’t do that)(No, really, I didn’t: too wet, for a start); and if you’re brave enough, ask for another basket.
And some gravy.
It’s all they’re missing.
Top San Francisco tip for the day, there.
Oh Balldanglings, now I’m hungry…
You should tak to the waiter to increase his menu knowledge:
(from wiki)
“A popover is a light, hollow roll made from an egg batter similar to that used in making Yorkshire pudding. The name “popover” comes from the fact that the batter swells or “pops” over the top of the muffin tin while baking. They can also be baked in individual custard cups.
Food historians generally agree that popovers are an American recipe, albeit derived from Yorkshire pudding and similar batter puddings made in England in the 17th century, etc…”
and:
http://etherwork.net/ejmtph/recipes/yorkshire_pudding.html
or:
http://www.5min.com/Video/How-to-Prepare-Yorkshire-Pudding-Popover-962863
or…just let him call them Popovers.
I am some expert about cooking but used to live in Yorkshire and know exactly what you mean:o)
Love your blog, which is a kind of good English lesson for me (I are a foreignah).
Take care, Ann
Comment by eva — 28 February, 2009 2:10 am
I know there is at least one trying-to-be-a-country-pub place somewhere in the area - North I think? Because I was dragged there to admire how English it was. It was built about 80 years ago I believe, and at least in my memory was even thatched which must have been a job as I can’t imagine anyone knowing the least bit about thatch. It has walls crammed with “art” and probably a collection of brasses somewhere. It does serve quite good ale and doubtless promises fish and chips at three times the price. On the day I went it was stuffed with locals who drive ten miles to call it their local, and contained one slightly stunned couple from Norfolk. They had a glass of lemonade and crept out as quickly as possible.
Nice place, nice staff, nice beer. I’d avoid it if I were you.
Comment by Megan — 28 February, 2009 7:43 am
That would be the Pelican, at Stinson Beach. Don’t knock it –its ingle-nook is a great place to be on a windy winter night, even if the beer is, er, spendy.
Comment by expat Stu — 28 February, 2009 9:26 am
I very much wished for a photograph of the moustache.
Next time?
In my head he looks like Mario. But with roller skates.
Comment by MissT — 28 February, 2009 1:39 pm
Oooh, Yorkshires. Whenever anyone mentions them I want them. However, even though I live in Yorkshire, with an oven hot enough to cook them, it never seems to occur to me….
Comment by Cleo — 28 February, 2009 1:39 pm
For some reason your side note about ordering water made me think of Sullivan/Keller…you playing Sullivan and desparately trying to get the American “Keller” to understand that you want w a t e r. :)
Hilarious writing as always and thank you for making this American aware that whenever I say “water” a “D” sound has mysteriously appeared where there should be a “T” sound. Or what I used to think was a “T” sound.
Cliff House is a horridly over-priced tourist trap but I’m glad you found a yorkshire pudding substitute!
Comment by Rebecca — 28 February, 2009 1:41 pm
“I tell you what, forget that. Can I just getta glassa waahder instead?”
I spent two weeks in New York last year hoping I wouldn’t need tomatoes.
Comment by Cliff — 28 February, 2009 2:47 pm
Perhaps because it’s something I’m far likelier to order, I have the same problem with ‘butter’. Looksee:
http://northgare.blogs.com/paul/2008/12/shibboleth.html
Comment by PaulatNorthGare — 28 February, 2009 5:04 pm
After 5 minutes of miming rain and the ocean and enunciating very, very clearly (worst thing to do I now realise) I resorted to Agua which worked immediately, one may then run the risk of being attacked with machine gun spanish, but not with my pronounciation. Have you tried the Shalimar Cuzzer houses? Cheap, good, BYOB and the one on Polk is next(ish) to an offy. Has it stopped raining yet?
Comment by Mark — 28 February, 2009 5:16 pm
Popovers? I never even knew that Merkans had their own name for Yorkshire Puds, considering my bible for their recipe is Merkan. And calls them Yorkshire Puddings.
Comment by Mr Farty — 28 February, 2009 5:36 pm
I just railed at the staff of the Norwegian Jewel because they claimed to have given me Yorkshire pudding, and then on my polate there was a popover. Animals. The ingedients are exactly the same, only popovers are baked in a popover pan, and yorkshire puddings are not made in a pan but the batter is dripped on to hot roast drippings, then they puff up.
But I’m with you on the popovers -
http://tinyurl.com/avwvxq
- Still, that’s what you had.
Comment by TheQueen — 28 February, 2009 5:49 pm
TheQueen - Are you REALLY the queen? That would be alarming. You’re right, that is what I had - but we make Yorkshire puddings in very similar tins/pans at home too…
Miss Tickle - next time, there will be stealth photography. But yes, it was pretty much exactly like that. But silent rollerskates. Silent, and TERRIFYING.
Comment by anna — 28 February, 2009 6:34 pm
I loved this, especially the description of the waiter who sounded like something out of Chorlton and the Wheelies.
Comment by Vicky — 1 March, 2009 1:18 am
Yorkshire Puddings in a basket? Sounds bizarre. I get a sudden urging to go and make some though.
Comment by Sam — 1 March, 2009 8:29 am
Of course I’m the queen. Just not your Queen. (I heard of you blog initially from the late Queen Mother, by the way. She enjoyted you.)
Comment by TheQueen — 1 March, 2009 9:43 am
Enjoyted. It’s even better than enjoyed.
Comment by TheQueen — 1 March, 2009 9:44 am
I think that man once served me at a restaurant in front of the Pantheon..
Comment by Sophie — 1 March, 2009 4:31 pm
Unrelated to the post, but I just wanted to thank you for the Joss Whedon catch-22 article you wrote. A lot of people in the fan community have been far far too critical and depressing regarding Dollhouse (and Firefly way back when), and it is *so* tiresome. It’s like JW’s shows don’t get the fair chance they deserve anymore, and it was really nice to see someone notice that. :) So thanks again!
Comment by Anneke — 2 March, 2009 4:31 am
Eee by gum… Popovers! Why in the name of Nora Battys wrinkly stockings can’t our merkian cousins not also have adopted Yorkshire’s capacity to call a spade a bloody shovel? I think you’re right Anna, if it looks like a duck, walks like a duck and quacks like a bloody duck .. it’s a basket of yorkshire puds!
Comment by Simon — 2 March, 2009 8:16 am
Believe me, cousin, if my mother and I knew popovers were called Yorkshire puddings in England we’d be making them every day just so we could say “Yorkshire Pudding, love?” in our affected way. But then, where did Betty Crocker get the idea that you cooked them in drippings like dumplings? Are they still called Yorkshire puddings then?
Comment by TheQueen — 2 March, 2009 10:52 am
By ‘eck luv, Reckon it don’t much matter whether its a Mallard or a Widgeon. When its on the plate its still a duck… (scratches head.. erm.. I mean Yorkshire Pud). On which note: I’m off to watch Emmerdale so’s I can brush up on me own affectations! ;o)
Comment by Simon — 2 March, 2009 11:23 am
When I lived on 47th Avenue in SF, my parents used to go to Cliff House. (This was in the 60s-70s.) They often saw famous people in there, like Ringo Star, and some other famous jazz drummer who I can’t remember now. Their fascination with this overpriced restaurant was its name - we had lived at Clift House Road in Bristol. Not even the same name, but it amused my parents.
Comment by Maria — 2 March, 2009 11:30 am
I’ve been living here for 2 years now and more times than not I also get orange juice and occasionally a bottle of corona. Once, excitingly (in New Mexico), I got a big shot of tequila to wash down my lunchtime bowl of soup. Do you think it’s deliberate? An anti-english conspiracy?
Comment by charlotte — 2 March, 2009 2:21 pm
I have exactly the opposite problem with water and never have to ask for it (which is a blessing as no one understands a WORD I say and my attempts at an accent are insulting and embarrassing for everyone involved) and if I even take a tiny sip, someone silent appears to refill it instantly, as if they have been watching our every move.
Comment by Karen — 2 March, 2009 2:47 pm
Here, we used to say ‘water’ [with the 't'] and ‘tomato’ [as in tomahto] but with all this ‘Merican tv going on, folks are starting to say ‘wahder’ and ‘tamaydo’.
One day, they might even pretend to not understand me when I ask for water [with the 't'] and tomato [tomahto].
The most interesting local pronunciation of tomato is ‘tomatee’…that’s been around for ages.
Comment by guyana gyal — 3 March, 2009 3:38 am
Even my mom (a Londoner) refers to them as popovers now. They’re the same thing (well, the name’s interchangeable in my family). I was going to suggest the lower priced restaurant they have on that cliff (perhaps it’s not there anymore?) but when I saw the Yorkshire puddings I realized there would be no other options. There’s a restaurant called the “Popover Cafe” in NYC. Perhaps there’s one in SF?
Comment by Jennifer — 3 March, 2009 7:37 am
At the weekend we found ourselves stuck in a room with an American friend of a friend who fell firmly into the category of “obnoxious know-all w***er” and who took great pleasure in deriding his partner’s English family who had dared to provide him with Toad in the Hole, made with “this tasteless pudding thing that’s made with only ingredients which have no flavour”. It was one of the very many things he said that made me want to give him a good kicking, but it was probably the most unforgiveable.
Apart form anything, exactly which eggs and milk has he been consuming up to now that have no flavour?
I’ve heard highly mixed things about The Cliff House, but this might make it worth a quick look.
Comment by Jon — 3 March, 2009 5:50 pm
How does one mime water? I would love to know…
Comment by Zenta — 7 March, 2009 10:20 pm
funny your post should mention yorkshires… the new york times recently ran an article about “popovers” http://www.nytimes.com/2009/03/15/magazine/15food-t-000.html?ref=dining hahaha
Comment by gee — 15 March, 2009 3:12 pm