Après Vous

 Kitchen Anarchy, East Side Paranoia and a Reprieve

    Don't get me wrong. I love to cook. I cooked professionally from 2005 to 2014 and then continued doing so on my own terms. I love it, I was made for it. It is in my bones at an atomic level. But let me tell you, there is nothing like trying to prepare a meal with a 16-month-old child in the kitchen. It is complete anarchy, worse than any kitchen I've ever worked in. You think the Bear is bad? Try making a grilled cheese while your child roams around the kitchen banging a sippy cup into all of the cabinets yelling, “Dappapa, Dappapa!” at full volume. My commands to Chamaca go unheard, “Don't touch that. Don't climb on the chairs. Don't put that in your mouth. Stop licking the dishwasher door. Stop licking the refrigerator. Stop licking the trash can. Why are you licking everything? Are you a dog?” Frustrating and exhausting at the same time.

     So one day I said forget cooking, let's get out of here and find some grub. Now, I'm not some kind of elitist who never eats fast food. I love chicken McNuggets and a greasy burger just as much as the next person. But what I will tell you, is after eating the above-mentioned items, I can feel my blood sugar spiking and the arteries in my heart constricting. But the food coma bliss that washes over me might just be worth the extra minutes it takes from my life. 

Moments like this I can understand why people decide to eat at fast food chain restaurants. It's just so darn easy, too easy in fact. For a parent who's tired, frustrated, slowly losing their patience, beard turning gray, it's the answer after a long arduous day. 

But fast food doesn't always have to make you feel like garbage after you eat it, and fast food doesn't always have to be fast and deadly. There is a small group of restaurants out there trying to change the way we think of fast food. Or dare I say, slow food, fast.

    One such restaurant is located on 14th and Taraval in what Google Maps identified as the Inner Parkside neighborhood.  It's called Après Vous, which translated from French means, “after you.” I must tell you, that's how it feels when I walk in there. The people behind the counter are genuinely nice, and it actually does feel like they care about us. Chamaca is often shy at first, but occasionally she'll smile at the employees before hiding her face in the stroller fabric. We did a quick lap inside of the store and I saw a lot of interesting stuff that I can't normally get anywhere else. Lots of specialty cheeses, oils, sausage and they even carry Acme Baguettes in store. During lunch they have one hotline with various items ready to go. They have a rotating menu and at dinner time they break out a whole second hotline with other items. It's like every steam tray feeds a different part of my soul. Do I get the pulled pork or the tri tip? Do I get the polenta bars with tomato and mozzarella or the salmon with the beurre blanc sauce? Do you see what I mean, restaurant quality food at a reasonable price that you can take home. 

     On our first visit we decided to go with the pulled pork sandwich, and I nabbed a cucumber salad from the grab-and-go area. We sat at a table near the window so Chamaca could look out and people watch. I'm slowly beginning to learn that distractions are helpful when I'm trying to feed her, so she doesn't get bored and start smashing the food between her hands and rubbing it in her hair. Chamaca enjoyed eating the cucumber salad and little bits of pork that I fed her as she sat in her stroller. The pork had a subtle hint of citrus, it kind of reminded me of a cleaner, less heart attack version of carnitas. The sandwich was loaded with spinach, tomato, pickles and red onion. For $11 it's a decent sized sandwich. I went back a second day with my wife and tried the white beans with blood sausage. Which was so good, it made me wish we would have gotten a bigger portion. We also grabbed a pre-made sandwich for $6 consisting of a baguette with Jambon de Bayonne, brie and butter. My wife mentioned it reminded her of eating breakfast in France. 

I honestly can go on and on about this place. 

    Something I've come to notice about San Francisco is that people are genuinely friendly here. Now, I'm from Los Angeles, born and raised on the east side. I love it, I bleed blue for my Dodgers, Danger Dogs and so many different types of tacos that it makes my head spin like al pastor. But I just don't get this kind of genuine interaction down in L.A. Restaurants in Los Angeles always make me feel like I'm inconveniencing the counter person if I ask questions about the food. I’m a curious guy and I admire food done well. So when I ask you something, I'm complimenting your skill. I can also do without the fake hellos and how are you. There is a definite vibe of, “Grab your shit and go, I don't want you in here.” 

    San Francisco on the other hand, consistently feels like businesses recognize you and want to see you again. If I walk into a place I've been to a couple times without Chamaca, they ask me, “Where's the baby?” I went into a coffee shop the other day and was served by a barista I have never seen in my life and she said to me, “You're the guy that makes bagels and bread, right?” I was taken aback, I thought maybe the only reason they recognized me is because I'm the guy with the baseball hat, sunglasses and a baby. I pulled to the side and started feeding Chamaca an applesauce packet while I waited for my horchata coffee. It seemed like every customer that came in was recognized and had a little chat. I was suspicious as to why these people were so friendly. What did they want? I checked my pocket for my wallet to make sure it was still there. I call this growing up in the hood paranoia. You always think someone is out to fight you,  take something from you, or have an ulterior motive. 

    But when I walk into Après Vous, they don't want to take anything from me, they don't want to fight me or take my watch. They want to give me something. They want to help me out, they want to give me knowledge and answer my questions without making me feel like an idiot for asking them. More importantly, they want me to feel like I'm not alone in feeding Chamaca. It is not helpless and exhausting, as most parents can sympathize with me. Après Vous will do the hard part, all I have to do is show up. 

And I will, again and again.  

Après Vous

345 Taraval St, San Francisco, CA 94116