We had booked rooms for tonight in the Pacific Heights Inn, a convenient non-chain old-style motel on Union Street where we’d stayed in San Francisco twelve years ago while making our first two PBS programs: “An Ice Cream Show” and “Shore Things.” Bob had written it down because it was so unusual to find such a motel (where you could back the van right up to the door of the room) in a big city. It worked out well again.
The two guys who ran it back on our earlier trip were not around. There were still friendly boxes of donuts and a coffee pot in the little office, and the young Asian man behind the desk said we’d have no trouble walking to a nice dinner. We said we were thinking about seafood. “Just walk down Union Street, stay on this side, and you’ll come to several excellent seafood places, one of them is Chinese, about 5 or 6 blocks down.”
“What about Italian?” asks Bob.
“You’ll pass three or four Italian places before you get to the seafood places. All are good. I recommend any of them.”
We wander that way. One of the first places we come to is a small Italian place called Capannina, and we pause. We’re looking for a menu. There’s a guy leaning on the parking meter across fro the door. “You guys looking for a good dinner?” he asks. “Yes we are,” says Mr. Bob. “Well, you’ll be very happy here. The food is excellent, the service is superb.” “Oh yeah,” says Bob, “and who are you? The owner?” The guy laughs and says, “Well, actually I am.”
We think all the signs and unexpected pushes are friendly and good. We go in. There’s one tall slim ebullient waiter with an Italian accent taking everyone’s orders, and there are many other waiters delivering all the plates. It’s crowded and bustling but that usually makes for an exciting and interesting dinner. We order. Bob gets the tuna. Jarrett goes for the cioppino. And I get the special, braised veal shanks, some sort of osso bucco.
Have I mentioned that I realized at the motel that I’m zonked? I’m exhausted. I didn’t even bring my camera to dinner. Maybe the end of the trip has just allowed my eleven days of exhilarating travel and heightened sensory intake (everything we’re seeing and doing seems so bright and exciting) to catch up with me. I am happy to be here in the restaurant, but I’m looking forward to sleep.
The food is excellent. Jarrett may have made the best choice: his cioppino is a bowl full of seafood in and out of shells, a delicious looking tomato-y broth and a bright red lobster on top. My veal is very good, and Bob shares bites of his tuna, but next time I will seriously consider the cioppino.
We like the Capannina very much. And we find it amazing that we stumbled onto two wonderful places in one day. It must be California.
Bob is still buzzing on wild energy, and he decides to go for a postprandial stroll. Jarrett and I are going to head back to the motel. We all agree to meet for breakfast at 8, and then we’ll head for home. Jarrett is very eager to be back in Pittsburgh. Homesick? Lovesick? Whatever. He says he’ll work on the video postcards before he goes to sleep.
I need sleep now.