February12011

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When I first moved to San Francisco, I set up residence in an oft-insulted neighborhood known as “The Tenderloin.” You’ve probably heard about it, especially if you like to follow crime blotters, volunteer at soup kitchens, or eat really delicious Thai food. I lived there for nearly 4 years before I moved to Oakland, but I still love it and visit all the time. Every workday, in fact. My newspaper’s office is in an insistently modern office right across the scruffy street from that delicious meal you’re looking at up there. On our block, my office stands out among the bodegas and stereo pawn shops. An aggressive man sells body oil on the street, Monday through Friday. He advertises by yelling “BODY OIL” at passersby. Sixth Street, with all of its sadness and withdrawal, is a stone’s throw away. One might imagine, then, that bourgie comforts like fresh breakfast and lunch would be hard to find. And one would be right. My normal “breakfast out” routine consists of picking up a $1 donut at Donut World. Sometimes I get coffee mixed with a suspicious substance labeled simply “creem.” Amid the bottom shelf offerings is a wonder of a place; Show Dogs cheerfully sells organic and local sausages in a neighborhood without a fine dining economy. I’ve been eating there often, and have delighted in all the delicious meat and onion rings I’ve consumed. Last week, they started selling breakfast. This morning, I walked in to see what the place could do for my down-trodden breakfast routine of donut and mystery coffee. Oh boy, the things Show Dogs did. I ordered their Croque Madame. Pulled pork on brioche, with an over-easy egg and saucy bechamel all over it. The rib-sticking point, though, was the crispy orange wonder you see on top. You know how when you make a grilled cheese, sometimes a bit drips over and fries in the pan, and you burn your fingertips in your excitement to hurry up and eat it? Well, Show Dogs has embraced that late night ethos and put an entire crispy cheese disc on top of their already luxurious breakfast sandwich. Crispy Cheese Disc, trademark pending! This sandwich was so amazing I had to stop halfway through and plan my own marketing strategy for it. I hope everyone eats this sandwich, so that they keep making it. Moreover, I hope Show Dogs keeps making all their sandwiches. It’s a friendly place in a neighborhood I wouldn’t call friendly. And despite their neighbors, who seem to scare tourists, Show Dogs saddled up and constructed an outdoor patio, which you can see in the background of my photo there. People really do sit there. Unabashedly putting gentrification out on the street, Show Dogs is a beacon of freshness that locals can point to when someone starts to shit-talk the neighborhood. The owners eat there, and talk to me every time. The people who work in my office building meet there for happy hour. My friends in the neighborhood jump at the chance to join me for a basket of fries and a draft beer on the patio, with all its people-watching wonders. For every person I know who avoids this area, clutching desperately to their purses, another person shows up to delight in it with me. Thanks, Croque Madame with Crispy Cheese Disc, for giving me one more thing to add to my defense of Mid-Market arsenal. You are delicious.

When I first moved to San Francisco, I set up residence in an oft-insulted neighborhood known as “The Tenderloin.” You’ve probably heard about it, especially if you like to follow crime blotters, volunteer at soup kitchens, or eat really delicious Thai food. I lived there for nearly 4 years before I moved to Oakland, but I still love it and visit all the time. Every workday, in fact.

My newspaper’s office is in an insistently modern office right across the scruffy street from that delicious meal you’re looking at up there. On our block, my office stands out among the bodegas and stereo pawn shops. An aggressive man sells body oil on the street, Monday through Friday. He advertises by yelling “BODY OIL” at passersby. Sixth Street, with all of its sadness and withdrawal, is a stone’s throw away. One might imagine, then, that bourgie comforts like fresh breakfast and lunch would be hard to find. And one would be right. My normal “breakfast out” routine consists of picking up a $1 donut at Donut World. Sometimes I get coffee mixed with a suspicious substance labeled simply “creem.”

Amid the bottom shelf offerings is a wonder of a place; Show Dogs cheerfully sells organic and local sausages in a neighborhood without a fine dining economy. I’ve been eating there often, and have delighted in all the delicious meat and onion rings I’ve consumed. Last week, they started selling breakfast. This morning, I walked in to see what the place could do for my down-trodden breakfast routine of donut and mystery coffee.

Oh boy, the things Show Dogs did. I ordered their Croque Madame. Pulled pork on brioche, with an over-easy egg and saucy bechamel all over it. The rib-sticking point, though, was the crispy orange wonder you see on top. You know how when you make a grilled cheese, sometimes a bit drips over and fries in the pan, and you burn your fingertips in your excitement to hurry up and eat it? Well, Show Dogs has embraced that late night ethos and put an entire crispy cheese disc on top of their already luxurious breakfast sandwich. Crispy Cheese Disc, trademark pending! This sandwich was so amazing I had to stop halfway through and plan my own marketing strategy for it. I hope everyone eats this sandwich, so that they keep making it.

Moreover, I hope Show Dogs keeps making all their sandwiches. It’s a friendly place in a neighborhood I wouldn’t call friendly. And despite their neighbors, who seem to scare tourists, Show Dogs saddled up and constructed an outdoor patio, which you can see in the background of my photo there. People really do sit there. Unabashedly putting gentrification out on the street, Show Dogs is a beacon of freshness that locals can point to when someone starts to shit-talk the neighborhood. The owners eat there, and talk to me every time. The people who work in my office building meet there for happy hour. My friends in the neighborhood jump at the chance to join me for a basket of fries and a draft beer on the patio, with all its people-watching wonders. For every person I know who avoids this area, clutching desperately to their purses, another person shows up to delight in it with me. Thanks, Croque Madame with Crispy Cheese Disc, for giving me one more thing to add to my defense of Mid-Market arsenal. You are delicious.

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