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Shaded by trees on a residential block at the top
of 24th Street, Firefly feels like a woodsy retreat. A sculptural
firefly glows like a lantern above the door, and the wood-framed
windows and faux-rustic stucco walls are more reminiscent of a bungalow
in the Berkeley Hills than a chic San Francisco restaurant. Original
artworks dot the walls with abandon, and make the space feel like
the parlor of proud parents of some indecisive art student.
Despite the eclectic décor, the homey feel
is entirely intentional, and the restaurant's Web site (www.fireflyrestaurant.com)
even provides a "bio" -- told in a voice straight out
of a children's fable -- detailing the inspiration, challenges and
milestones in the restaurant's ten-year history. The "baby"
of chef Brad Levy and artist Veva Edelson, Firefly is intended to
feel as comfortable and personal as a home kitchen, like dining
with old friends.
To that end, the food belongs in the growing category
of "upscale comfort food." Once nouvelle cuisine
became passé and everyone tired of plates that looked
like miniature skyscrapers run amok, we found that what we really
wanted was the same old things our mothers made…only better.
Our palettes had been educated, and there was no going home again
-- well, at least not without some matsutake mushrooms and Italian
fontina.
Firefly's menu does an admirable job of mixing the
familiar with the fancy, and throws in a bit of humor to boot. It
features the now standard rhapsodic descriptions, so that steak
and potatoes becomes "Grilled Niman Ranch Flank Steak with
Chimichurri Sauce, Roasted Banana Fingerling Potatoes and Watercress
Salad." But scanning the clutter you'll also find some cute
and sassy entries like "mmmm Bacon Laced Chard." The mix
of ingredients from Asian and Mediterranean locales is subtle, almost
undetectable (at least that was the case on the evening we visited
-- menus from other days suggest a stronger presence), which left
me wondering if these ingredients have become so familiar that they
hardly register as "foreign" anymore. Compared to a restaurant
like Pomelo, for example, which wears
its globalism on its sleeve, Firefly seems to say, "it's all
down home to us."
A note to the thrifty: Sunday through Thursday, Firefly
offers a three-course prix fixe menu including any appetizer, entrée
and dessert, plus tea or coffee for $27. While this is a good deal
on its own, it's even better if you dine with two or more people,
as you can share the appetizer and/or dessert (which is usually
what happens anyway).
Although we were four (with two prix fixers among
us) we began our meal with three appetizers, as I could not resist
the Curry Kabocha and Apple Soup with Crispy Taro Strips. It was
easily the most intriguing dish we sampled that evening: fiery curry
and the sweet tang of the apples balanced nicely on the creamy base
of kabocha -- that thick, green, acorn-shaped Japanese squash, similar
in flavor and texture to butternut. The Caesar salad was by the
book, with a light, creamy dressing, just the right amount of anchovy
and a slight woodsy flavor, which made it interesting without being
distracting. And fried Hama Hama oysters on a bed of creamed spinach
managed to be surprisingly juicy and comforting at the same time.
But our entrees were more uneven. A dish of braised
short ribs was frankly, excellent. Served with mashed parsnips,
onions and mushrooms, it was homey and hearty and filling -- just
what comfort food should be. Falling off the bone, the meat struck
just the right combination of chewy and tender, and the vegetables
were savory and just sharp enough to keep the dish from being predictable.
Salmon with maple syrup (!), on a bed of that "mmmm
bacon laced chard" and caramelized onions was served with "chive
pancakes" that were a little too pancake and not enough chive.
The salmon itself was on the dry side, but meshed nicely with the
rich greens and sweet onions. It was certainly an adventurous dish,
but the unusual combination of flavors was just too weird, and much
too sweet.
Playing it straight, the fried chicken was a different
story. I was thrilled to see it arrive at table looking like a Swanson's
Hungry Man dinner on steroids -- complete with peas and perfectly
diced carrots. Unfortunately, it tasted just like it looked: bland.
For $16.50, it was a disappointment, and despite a cheeky name,
the "heavenly" buttermilk biscuit that accompanied it
was cold as lead.
Upscale Comfort Food (UCF) is as ubiquitous in San
Francisco as roadside diners are in New Jersey. But unlike diner
fare, UCF is never satisfied to just be itself. It must always refer
to something else: TV dinners, haute cuisine, Asian and Latin flavors.
When you order a burger and fries in a diner, you know what to expect,
and are comforted when that expectation is gratified. By contrast,
part of the fun of eating at UCF restaurants is never quite knowing
what you're going to get. But by the same token, it's hard to find
comfort in the unknown.
Neither entirely comforting nor loudly exotic, Firefly
is trapped right in the middle. It's not cozy or cheap enough to
be an everyday favorite, but not quite upscale enough to be a special
destination. The service is competent, but not terribly friendly.
And unfortunately, there are places that do UCF better -- Oakland's
Purple Plum, for example -- and with more confidence.
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