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Casual but chic, Limon (3316 17th between Mission
and Valencia) is moderately priced and has a limited, but well-balanced
(unless you are vegetarian, then it's slim pickins) menu, providing
a comfortable, low-stress dining experience for that rare San Francisco
occurrence: a hot summer evening. We were a party of 4, which turned
out to be a good number for a place as tiny and noisy as Limon.
I would hesitate to show up with more than six people, as the 2
adjoining rooms are close and the noise levels at times deafening
(especially when the tipsy man at the next table starts singing).
When we arrived, shortly before 8 pm, there were several
groups of people waiting on the sidewalk, but we had reservations,
and were seated promptly, despite the fact that everyone in our
party had yet to arrive. Service was a bit slow, but when it occurred,
it was courteous, friendly and attentive -- water and Sangria glasses
were promptly refilled, all service items were cleared between the
appetizer and the main course, and our server was all solicitude
without an hint of saccharine.
We started with the Limon Ceviche appetizer, which
is a collection of halibut, squid, shrimp and mussel ceviche, garnished
with thinly sliced red onion, cilantro, a hunk of sweet potato,
and those swollen corn kernels that I think are called pozole, both
fresh and roasted. The roasted pozole was the most fun to eat, crackly
and brown, kind of like a softer version of corn nuts, with a nutty
(as Jorge remarked, peanut-y) flavor. This dish was full of entertaining
contrasts: the tartness of the ceviche against the sweetness of
corn and yam; the crunchy roasted corn and the smooth, slippery
shellfish, all chilled, refreshing and perfect for the first warm
evening of summer.
The lushes among us indulged in a pitcher of Sangria,
which was fruity and light, and went down easy. The lone teetotaler
was served a beautiful fluted glass of passionfruit juice: deep,
rich orange in color and very sweet.
For the main course, I had the Parihuela, which is
a Peruvian bouillabaise. I'm afraid I was completely distracted
by the crab leg perched on top (I'm not used to eating crab in polite
company and can usually be found tearing at it with bare hands and
then wiping them on my pants). Although a crab cracking device was
provided, I managed to struggle interminably with this one appendage
while everyone else made good progress on their dishes. I emerged,
victorious at last (and not too splattered) to taste the rest of
the ocean's bounty on my plate. The clams, shrimp and mussels seemed
to stand up to the peppery red broth better than the fish and the
scallops, which added meatiness, but not much flavor. Actually,
the broth -- sopped up with bread instead of the too-dry rice that
accompanied it -- seemed to be the whole point of the dish in the
first place.
Alas, I had been too absorbed in the crab leg to beg
tastes from my fellow diners' plates. I did sneak a bite of Oliver's
Lomo Saltado, a beef dish which was nicely spiced and not too greasy,
although I regret that I did not get to try a yucca fry. Generally,
portion sizes were perfect, and everyone cleaned their plates, although
I would not recommend skipping appetizers (which are usually the
tastiest course anyway).
We did however, skip dessert, in favor of a trip to
Mitchell's Ice Cream, which was an absolute mob scene. I took a
number, 33, while Oliver parked the car. The voice on the loud speaker
announced that they were currently serving...number 65. I'm no math
whiz, but that's a lot of ice cream that has to get scooped before
I even get up to that divine, bullet-proof window. But I will do
a lot for a sugar cone topped with a scoop of Mitchell's inimitable
avocado ice cream, and the wait turned out to be not so bad -- something
like a sidewalk ice cream social, complete with on-duty, double-parked
paramedics (with holsters for scissors!). When our number finally
came up, my good friend avocado was as creamy, rich and satisfying
as ever (and the scoop seemed super-size, perhaps to compensate
for the wait), although Oliver fared less well when he blithely
ignored my recommended cantaloupe for the bitter after-tasting soursop.
Why do you think they call it SOURsop?
All in all, it was a lovely tropical-like evening.
Limon turned out to be an excellent warm weather selection (despite
the lack of air conditioning -- but perhaps that was part of its
charm), or perhaps it was the weather that conspired to make us
like Limon.
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