The beach in front of our house.

Joe and I are in love with Tulum. We just got back from our second trip in a year and we decided to return again for Joe’s 40th in May. This time we went with both of our parents and our three kids (thanks to my mom and dad who spearheaded it). It’s a great family vacation if you’re not looking for Disneyland. Lots of sandcastles to build. If you go without the kids though, it’s completely romantic.

The sand in Tulum is so white and fine that it feels like cornstarch under your feet. It’s humid enough that your legs are always a little sticky and your hair that you never knew was curly suddenly is. But it’s not stifling—in January at least. (June’s another matter.) The water is that Caribbean blue that you can’t take enough pictures of and every day has a moment where the sun and the clouds meet to make a perfect photo opp. Everyone looks great in Tulum. Just ignore the mosquito bites.

Unlike Cancun, which is where you fly in, or even Playa Del Carmen, which has changed so much since I was there 20 years ago, Tulum is blessedly free of mega resorts and guys in guayabera shirts embroidered with limes and shots of tequila. Though the small beachside hotels are all yoga-ed and eco-ed out, the town, which is 10 minutes inland, is a typically chill Mexican beach town—aimless dogs, taco stands, empty buildings next to tourist shops, plenty of Oxxo’s, the Mexican answer to 7-11. There’s no grand church to anchor it all but it still has a town square full of families at night, mixed with the occasional hippy dancing and doing weird things with ribbons.

Europeans were everywhere this time around. Thus the bikini bottoms were very, very small. Tops were negligible, if in existence. On the last night, there was a full moon and the palm trees on the beach were crackling in the relentless wind. I saw a lone kite surfer hopping the dark, small, bathwater-warm waves when I went out to get a glimpse of the salsa band playing at Le Zebra next door to the house we were staying in. I love traditional couples’ dances. They’re so generally civil and old fashioned.

Sadly, Joe and I had to head back to San Francisco last week, the city where parking meters exist—though I get the sense that if parking enforcement was an issue in Tulum, the meter maids would have machine guns like the federales patrolling the roads do. Come to think of it I’m surprised the meter maids here haven’t tried it.

Here are a few of our recommendations for Tulum should you find yourself yearning for the perfect beach vacation. It really doesn’t get much better.

Casa de las Palmas where we stayed

STAY Clearly the beach is the place to be and along it is an endless supply of mellow little “eco-resorts” that almost all run off-the-grid. The first time we stayed here, we booked a balcony room at Hotel Mezzanine, which is particularly great because it’s situated at the end of the beach, the last hotel before you get to the Tulum ruins—the only Mayan ruins situated on a beach.

But if you’re a family, or just prefer to have a kitchen to cook in instead of being relegated to dining out which can be pricey and mediocre if you stick to beach-front dining—we really loved staying at Casa de las Palmas this time around. The beautiful three bedroom house, which is meticulously taken care of, is situated right next to Le Zebra Hotel and owned by Bob and Bonnie, a friendly and helpful couple who spend part of their year in Tulum and part of it back home in Canada. And I don’t mean to sound like the princess-and-the-pea that I am, but the beds are really comfortable, which is not a given in Mexico.

Joe and his dad getting fish for dinner.

COOK To eat well, you need to know where to shop. If you’re looking for a supermarket for the basics, skip the huge market called Chedrahui and go to the smaller San Francisco de Asis market which is on the right-hand side off of the main drag of Highway 307, right before you turn to head to the beach (click here for the map). We got all our staples there (don’t forget to pick up the Microdyn which you’ll need to clean your unpeeled veggies and fruits). A warning to even slight coffee snobs: Bring your own coffee, if you care for anything better than instant.

For produce, there are plenty of frutas y verduras stands, but the consensus seems to be that Pool’s is the best (I believe it’s about 1 block to the east at the obelisk on the side street).  That’s where most restaurants get their produce.. Get a watermelon. The watermelons are so much better in Mexico. Freshly made tortillas, still warm and wrapped in paper, can be found at pretty much any store. Just look for a cooler which usually has the name of the local tortilleria written on it. Or just go straight to the source: It appears that Tortilleria Lulu is one of the main ones in town, which is on a street that runs one block parallel from Highway 307 towards the beach (forgot to write down the exact location).

For fresh fish, Bob and Bonnie recommended Pat y Pat, a little, local pescaderia. Joe made fresh fish tacos on the first night topped with fried potatoes and grilled pineapple, which turns out to be a delicious combination. Though Pat y Pat used to be on 307 it’s moved a few blocks down and around the corner.

Freshly pressed sugar cane juice for sale in the town square.

EAT The deck at Hotel Mezzanine‘s Thai restaurant (part of the hotel I recommended) sits on a bluff overlooking a wide expanse of beach. Don’t be scared of the photo on their website. At happy hour (1 pm to 4 pm, I think), grab a seat for two-for-one cocktails. The blended passion fruit margarita is great. The Thai food is super solid here too. We always get the rare beef salad, though my parents love the green curry. Breakfast here is nice as well. Service is friendly and efficient. You’re in good hands if you have a server named Lucky.

Joe and his dad were dying to watch a football game and someone recommended El Pequeño Buenos Aires, an Argentinian restaurant, because it has a TV. Though they have another location on the beach, we like eating in town better in general. It’s just gives you more of a taste of being in Mexico—not simply a beach resort. Buenos Aires is located on a corner and is open-air, festive and a lot of fun. We all got arranchera steak with peppercorn sauce, veggies, a side of French fries and a bottle of red wine that arrived nicely chilled. It really couldn’t have been better. I recommend pouring the pepper sauce over the fries and the steak and eating it all at once. After your done, head over to the little town center, just a block away, where vendors are selling antojitos, freshly pressed cane juice, as well as jewelry and other homemade trinkets.

Perfect panuchos at El Rinón Chiapaneco

Joe and I came across El Rincón Chiapaneco on our last trip to Tulum and we made sure to come back—three times, actually—while we were visiting again. (Click here for a map.) It’s one of the many little open little Mexican restaurants but you know it’s good because it’s generally busy with locals. Get an order of the panuchos (a classic antojito from the Yucatan region)—fried tortillas stuffed with shredded chicken or turkey, black beans and topped with cabbage, pickled onions, avocado and a tomato—as well as a big glass of made-to-order hugo verde (juice made of fresh pineapple and chaya, a leafy green). The friendly owner Damian speaks perfect English.

NOT THE BEST EATING We’re going to go against every tourist book here to tell you that the fish tacos at Mateo’s—an incredibly popular restaurant across the street from the beach—are not indeed the best fish tacos on earth, as the restaurant and everyone else seems to claim. They’re by no means terrible, but we thought they were oddly sparse, topped with one slice of avocado, a sprinkle of cabbage, and a bit of paltry fried fish all on a stale tortilla that had only been vaguely resuscitated from a plancha to the point of being crispy but not in a good way. The weirdest part is that they’re served with a little ramekin of sweet and sour sauce—like the sticky stuff you get in an American-Chinese restaurant. I don’t mean to be a hater, but you can do better. However, the service was very friendly, efficient and warm, which means it’s a pleasant place to sit and wile away the time, which is what beach living is kind of about anyway.

Since it’s next door to the house we stayed in, we ended up at Le Zebra, starved and exhausted from our trip on the first night. Though the food was fine, the service took forever—and I mean to the brink of death—and I’m factoring in what’s known as Mexico time. But on the upside, Le Zebra has great, strong, thick coffee for the mornings when you realize in a panic that you’re out of the coffee you brought with you, as well as good, housemade coconut toast.

Mia, Moss and Silas at the house, getting ready for some coconut water for breakfast

About 5 years ago, I received a call from friend in the restaurant business. He told me that he had a good lunch busser that was looking to pick up some dinner shifts and asked me to please give his guy a shot. I didn’t have anything available at the time, but good people are hard to find and restaurant schedules are in a constant state of flux. So I gave this guy named Manuel Ramirez a call.

Manny, As Always, Smiling and Perfect

The next day, like fate, Misael—my super star, amazing, rock star busser from heaven—got sick and needed to take a week off. Manny stepped in, working his first dinner bussing shift for me at my now defunct restaurant Laïola. Though he was kind, Manny, as a worker, was clunky, hyperactive, and sweaty—a bull in a china closet. He barely spoke any English and didn’t have the patience to listen to my broken Spanish, trying to explain what I needed him to do. No matter how many times I asked him to chill and focus, his reply was always the same: “Ok, Yo (which is still how he pronounces my name), ok”, and go right back to doing the same way. It was a tough week.

Thankfully, Misael had a great immune system and after a few painful (much more so for me than him) days away, returned to his duties leaving Manny out of a job. I told Manny that I’d call him if I ever needed him again and thanked him for his efforts. The truth was though that I couldn’t wait to be rid of him and vowed that no matter what, even if I had to bus the damned tables myself, I would never call Manny again.

The day after after Manny’s dismissal, he called me. “Yo, you need me work?” To which I said, “No Manny, I’ll call you if I need you.” The day after that, he called again. “Yo, you need me? I’m a good worker, Yo. I work really, really hard.” And of course I replied, “Thanks Manny, I’m good. I WILL CALL YOU IF I NEED YOU.”

I got this same call every day for a week. If I didn’t answer, he’d call back. He was like the worst bill collector you can imagine, and he wasn’t going to stop until I paid. Finally, I caved.

Manny: Una Persona Muy Especial Para Mi

Time went on and Manny and I found some common ground. I began to realize that though he was totally spastic, his intentions were great and that his goal in every crazy move he made, was to make sure that our guests were well-looked after and that his work area was always spotless.

As the economy started in slow in 2009, Laïola started to really suffer. Business began to dwindle and our once well-paid service staff began to look elsewhere for more consistent paying work. But Manny only stepped up his much improved game and became my rock. He was the one person that, no matter how bad things got, showed up ready to give our customers the best service he could muster.

On December 31st, 2009, Laiola went out of business and I was broke, tired and terrified. We had decided to turn the restaurant into Tacolicious, which had just been a whimsical taco stand at the Ferry Plaza Farmers Market until that point. Some of my staff found other jobs, some people went on vacation waiting for me to open Tacolicious. Manny came to work. Working with me from morning to night, he sanded, he stained and he painted.

You probably know that Sara and I have recently opened our second Tacolicious and adjacent tequila bar, Mosto, on Valencia Street. You might have heard about our beautiful Mexican cement tile or ceiling of Mason 3,000-plus jars. If you haven’t yet, I urge you to pop in for a bite and a glance at their beauty. When you do, know that Manny was at the Mission location, just like on Chestnut, at my side, sanding, painting, staining, screwing in jars, building tables and putting his caring touch on every little detail of this space.

Next month, my family and I are going to Tulum, one of our favorite places in the world. As fate has it, Manny is from Playa del Carmen, a beach community just an hour north. As we were spot-grouting the tile floors in our new, Valencia Street location yesterday morning, I asked Manny if he could please call his dad and let him know that I’ll be visiting soon. I can’t wait to have a beer with Manny’s father. I can’t wait to tell him just how much his son—my friend—has enriched my life and become the heart of our business. I’ll take lots of pictures to keep you all in the loop.

Don’t miss Mrs. Reyes’ tamales (Mosto only), the albondigas with a side of tortillas, the broccoli rabe, or the pumpkin flan. Don’t miss the homage to Lalo, our official juicer, brought to us by eBay. Or my untouched-up iPhone photos of our trip to Tulum (by the bathroom) and impending death by hurricane. Or the jars on the ceiling of Mosto which now contain the life contents of our dear friends. Look for Roberta’s signature red Chanel lipstick, the lock of Moss’s blue hair (Silas paid him $2 for it), the spare key to Stephanie’s office, Nicholas’s arty jar of text, and Lou’s thumb-drive of Joe yammering on about tequila.

And really don’t miss a peak into our private room—full of skylights, exposed rafters and original Paul Madonna artwork—which can fit 50 seated and 75 standing. Hello holiday party! (Book now before its full with Kory at kory@tacolicioussf.com.)

It’s official: Starting at 5:30 tonight for dinner, Tacolicious II and Mosto (741 Valencia St., between 18th and 19th) are now open to the public. Tacolicious will be open daily from 11:30 am to midnight. Mosto will be open daily from 5 pm to midnight. Please come stop by. We’d love to see you.

Mosto awaits you. It looks even better at night when it's open. (Photo by Tyler Gourley)

Hello Tacolicious! You're looking mighty fine. (Photo by Tyler Gourley)

Gutted

Joe getting his hands dirty like a real man.

The deck is laid.

Paul Madonna's Dolores Park mural in miniature: Ready to be installed.

Roberta and Silas signing the documents.

You never know what you’re going to get when you have children, and apparently ten years ago almost to this day, I gave birth to Family Ties Alex P. Keaton, minus the suit. Joe and I are left-leaning and I’m particularly un-business minded, to the point of fault. But Silas, our son, is obsessed with money and how to make it. He might have voted for Reagan. The other day, he asked me how much he could sell his room for.

Conversations with Silas revolve around the price and reward of pretty much everything: He unabashedly haggles over his allowance, he’s a Monopoly ninja, he wants to know how much I make a year, how much our car cost, and though he likes our house fine, he’s also said that he wouldn’t mind living in one of those “big houses” in Pacific Heights where he wouldn’t have to share a room with his brother.

So, Joe decided it was time to channel this energy into something positive—a lesson learned about investing. As of last week, Silas is now Tacolicious II’s first official investor, having ponied up $100 for a .0023-percent return. Joe took him to the Financial District to visit to our lawyer Roberta Economidis’s office to sign the paperwork and make it official. I stopped Silas today as he was on his way up to play video games and asked him a few questions.

What kind of return are you going to get out of your $100?
What do you mean?

Like how much money will you be getting back from this?
$5? I’m not sure.

Why do you want to invest in Tacolicious?
Because it’s a good place and the first one is already doing good so I bet the second one is going to do good. And it’s downtown [ed's note: ahem, the Marina] and a lot of people like tacos. And it’s like a family restaurant.

What’s your favorite thing on the menu?
The spicy beef taco.

What was it like at the lawyer’s office?
It was cool. She made me sign my name. She made me do stuff on the piece of paper. I got a Kit-Kat.

What will you do with the money?
Save it for college or something. Or, no—I’ll use it for a parrot.

Silas Comfort Phipps: Baller.

Telmo, on his way to mastering the al pastor spit.

The delicious results.

]]> http://tacolicioussf.com/1806-1806/feed 0 http://tacolicioussf.com/1792-at-the-new-t-lish-space-theres-art-everywhere http://tacolicioussf.com/1792-at-the-new-t-lish-space-theres-art-everywhere#comments Thu, 01 Sep 2011 15:07:58 +0000 Sara Deseran http://tacolicioussf.com/?p=1792

Paul Madonna posted a Xerox copy of Dolores Park on our wall

As Tacolicious II continues to get underway, we’ve been plotting out the artwork. The enclosed patio—enclosed patio! margaritas! (sorry, I can’t help my excitement about how well those two things go together)—is going to have a Dolores Park mural of sorts installed by Paul Madonna, who I like to think of as our resident artist. Paul and his wife Joen came over to the construction site the other day with some massive Xerox copies of a panoramic photo they’d taken of the park. Paul was getting some perspective for his painting. He and Joen pasted it up on the patio wall at the height that feels just right—just the right vantage point should you be sitting inside the restaurant and looking out onto the patio. Just the right vantage point should you be on the patio yourself. If you have enough tequila, you might feel as if you’re actually lying on the green grass of Dolores Park. That’s our real goal.

Elsewhere in art, our gorgeous, massive front windows are up and, in construction fashion, they’re boarded up with plywood until the big reveal. They’ve become the perfect place for street artists to do their thing. I want to keep everything that’s been posted on them. Most recently, this cool piece of the historian and activist Howard Zinn who passed away last year went up. It even got a little shout out on Mission Loc@l. I’m trying to figure out if we can preserve it when all the walls come down. But by then, I’m sure something else will be in its place. The fleeting nature of street art is really the beauty of it, isn’t it?

Even this guy has gotten into the spirit of things

The street art on our plywood-covered windows

The bright and lovely tiles that cover the floor of our friend and chef Noe's family home.

In Mexico, these tiles are made in the town of Dolores Hidalgo, in the state of Guanajuato—just a few miles from the very cool town of San Miguel de Allende. (If you’re ever looking for a cool trip to Mexico, look no farther than San Miguel, but I’ll save that for another post.)

Earlier this year, Sara and I were lucky enough to visit the family of our sous chef, Noe, smack in the middle of nowhere the Yucatan. Their home was modest to say the least: I’m not totally positive that they had indoor plumbing, but I am pretty sure that I saw a chicken in their living room. One thing I am certain of is that they, like seemingly everyone else in Mexico, had the coolest handmade cement tile floor. We decided then and there that when we got the chance to build our next Tacolicious, we were going to have cement tiles too.

a sneaky peek at the tiles that are currently being made for our soon-to-open Valencia street t-lish...I can't wait!!!

Though the tiles are beautiful when new and polished, they only become cooler as time passes and they fade and crack. Oddly, though I’ve seen them in LA, I haven’t come across them in San Francisco, a city with so much great Mexican influence and so much design savvy. I mean, they’re made (and found all over) Mexico and easy to access, so they’ve got to be cheap, too—right?

Um, nope.

As Tim, our architect, said when we got the quote: “Way to pick the most expensive flooring material on the market, Joe.”

So our flooring budget has been blown, but we’ll make it up elsewhere. I know they’ll be worth it. They’re environmentally correct too, which is some consolation. And if nothing else, we’re going to have one good looking floor.

Huevos Rancheros at the Soscal Cafe

Joe and I spent the night up in Napa on Friday night. Though the town of Napa is desperately trying to make itself as fancy-pants as a destination as say, Yountville, I just don’t see it happening. Napa’s got a little too much all-Americana in its blood.

And I don’t mean this as in quaint and cutesy small town USA stuff. Yes, Napa has a lot of darling historical buildings and tree-lined streets. But it also has its share of Harleys and the Hagrid-esque guys in the leather vests who ride them, jacked-up pickups, and restaurants called Tuscany that advertise ribs and have cover bands at night. Mixed in all this are the upscale places like Ubuntu, the vegetarian restaurant and yoga studio, and scene-y Morimoto, and Oenotri, a restaurant that serves Italian in the spirit of places like Flour + Water, Locanda or Cotogna. (We had a lamb merguez pizza there that was one of the best pizzas I’ve ever had, as well as an amazing porchetta, sliced and tossed with chili.) It all adds up to a bit of an identity crisis.

But part of me wonders if Napa isn’t best enjoyed when you just embrace its more downhome roots. Which is why we found ourselves at the tiny Soscal Cafe, a true greasy spoon where a hot, smokey griddle dangerously bubbles and snaps with everything from pancakes to fried eggs to hashbrowns. The owners are super friendly, the locals are sitting at the counter reading the Napa Valley Register, no one’s talking about cult Cabs, and there was this truck I’ve pasted below parked in the lot. I ordered what turned out to be the largest huevos rancheros on the planet. Honestly, it wasn’t very good, but the spirit of the Soscal Café was really the point. It actually made me like Napa more.

But