A crude proposition

By Paul Reidinger

› paulr@sfbg.com

In the arena of raw seafood, the Japanese are not unchallenged. They are probably dominant, of course, being masters of nigiri and sashimi and of rolls in versions beyond count. But the Spanish and French and their New World offshoots offer us ceviche (or seviche) — sea creatures steeped in lime juice, with herbs and spices; not quite raw but not really cooked, either — while Italian restaurants (here, if not in Italy) turn out variations of carpaccio with halibut and octopus. The slurping of raw oysters at Zuni Café, among many other local places, is a practice taken pretty much intact from the Ohlone, whose mounds of oyster shells can still be found in Marin County.

At Bar Crudo, a stylishly vertiginous little restaurant that opened last fall in a space overlooking the Stockton Street tunnel, one does catch a distinct whiff of Asian, even of Japanese, influence on a menu that consists largely of uncooked seafood, but the underlying slant is pretty plainly Euro-Cali. There is, near the front door, a bar suitable for the slurping of raw oysters, which are offered in a variety that would impress the Ohlone. If you prefer your mollusks cooked, you might be drawn to mussels steamed, perhaps, with beer, linguiça, garlic, basil, and potatoes — a lively chorus of Mediterranean voices.

On the other hand, we found bits of daikon radish in, and smelled lemongrass on the breath of, our plate of Hawaiian ono crudo ($11) one recent evening, along with some dainty shrubbery of sunflower sprouts, and these clues suggested high-concept sushi. The fish itself, pearlescent coins; the setting, a fine example of the rustic-industrial loft motif, with warm wood floors, zinc-topped tables, exposed ductwork, and a mezzanine — this is the dining room — from whose railing one could peer down directly into chef Mike Selvera's stainless-steel work bowls, as if from some kind of skycam on the Food Network. It felt a little as if Universal Café had been sawed in half and the halves stacked one atop the other. (In fact, Selvera, who runs the place with his brother Tim, cooked most recently at Café Maritime.) Hip sushi would not be out of place in such surroundings.

But the European and Yankee notes in the food are, in the main, ascendant, from the San Sebastian ($12) — a kind of cross between a deconstructed Spanish salad and a super-tapa, consisting of chilled, blanched white asparagus, a slice of piquillo pepper in the shape of a sail, a triangle of manchego cheese, chunks of tuna confit (a bit dry, alas), half a hard-boiled egg, a pair of caper berries, a few pitted green olives, and two slices of tomato bread — to the exceptionally satisfying seafood chowder ($10). In the latter we find a wealth of seafood, of course, including clams, mussels, cod, and squid, along with quartered new potatoes. But the big deal is the applewood bacon–infused cream broth, which you will be sopping up the remnants of with bread as fast as your server can bring it.

Half a Maine lobster can be had for $15 (the whole is $27). The meaty crustacean was split lengthwise down the middle for easy access to the reddish-white flesh and served chilled, which turned out (unexpectedly, I thought) to bring its distinctive briny flavor into sharp relief. The only condiments were some lemon quarters and a small pot of drawn butter. If you have been a waffler on lobster, if you suspect its subtle charms are often obscured by the heat of cooking or eclipsed by the other ingredients in some elaborate ensemble dish with a sauce, the Bar Crudo edition will settle the question for you.

The oft-refreshed basket of bread is a critical accessory to the enjoyment of many and perhaps most of Bar Crudo's dishes, not just the chowder. You can spread it with butter and nosh on it, of course, but you will also be dipping it into the drawn butter, dabbing some creamlike lobster viscera on it, or mopping up the leakings of the San Sebastian plate or the soy-based sauces from one of the crudo plates.

The bread itself is unassuming, a simple baguette from Acme. For many of us, that name is all we need to know. But apparently Acme's fame is not yet universal; one evening we overheard a man with a heavy European accent asking his server whether the bread came from a proper boulangerie.

"Um, it's not French, but it's good," came the reply. "It's Acme."

Was the walnut levain accompanying the cheese course ($11) also Acme? We weren't told and didn't ask, and by the time it reached us, the man with the accent and his companion had vanished. This did not matter, because the lightly toasted dark bread was good and the cheese plate itself even better: an attractively arranged assortment of green and red apple slices, a dab of honey, a scattering of toasted macadamia nuts, and pats of Pierre Robert (a triple-cream Brie from the Île de France), white Vermont cheddar, and a mild French blue cheese.

As in every other mezzanine-oriented restaurant I've visited, Bar Crudo's stairs exert a perverse fascination, with service staff trundling up and down them while balancing platters full and empty. It is a bit like watching a hockey game, marveling at the performers' exertions and wondering when catastrophe might sensationally, or crudely, strike. *

BAR CRUDO

Mon.–Thurs., 6–10:30 p.m.; Fri.–Sat., 6–11 p.m.

603 Bush, SF

(415) 956-0396

www.barcrudo.com

Beer and wine

AE/DS/MC/V

Noisy

Mezzanine not wheelchair accessible