Our traipse through Pier 39 was an adventurous one and for the time being, not even over. But it was for the moment, I mean, how much tack can you possibly handle? And so, I took Sandy by the hand and liberally dragged him down to the Cannery.
The guidebooks also tell you to stay away, away! from the Cannery, but in this case, I really can’t understand why. It’s a marketplace of quaint shops and restaurants in an ancient warehouse that was once the largest peach cannery on earth. The building and surrounding olive trees scream old California, and the stores sell the fashionably unconventional: handmade pottery, gourmet tea, instruments of the world; John Deere fashions.
Alright, the John Deere store is a little much. I can’t recall a time when I ever wanted to match a tractor.
Oli and I fell in love with the Cannery the first time we ever visited to San Francisco, and had breakfast there every morning at an outdoor café. Then, we would cross the courtyard and browse in our favourite store, a wine shop selling wine country vintages in old wooden crates on one side, and gourmet foods on the other. There was even an entire wall devoted to hot sauce.
Showing Sandy that store was not to be; the Cannery had suffered a terrible fire a few years back, and that vendor didn’t return. I only pouted minimally before taking him to the instruments place, which was still there, and Oakville Grocery.
Oakville Grocery was new one for me, too, and what a wonder. Part supermarket, part gourmand deli & part wine cellar all arranged meticulously on a Terence Conran platter, then sprinkled over with aged parmesan. That good. The front is the gourmet boutique and prepared foods counter; the back is books, walls lined with wine, and a table that looks like a gigantic, worn down butcher’s block, set up for wine tasting.
A place like this is heaven for Sandy and I. Why don’t we have this at home? After picking our chins back up off the floor and stuffing our eyes back into our heads, we lost ourselves in fermented grape bliss, and read label after label with the intention of bringing something back to the hotel.
He: Hey, Cheech?
Me: Yeah, Ace?
He: This stuff’s expensive.
Me: Tell me about it! I thought locally grown would’ve meant some deflated dollars!
And etc. We did walk away with some Chianti, cookbooks, and cheese knives. How snobby is that?
Stomachs a-growling, we walk back to Pier 39 with a quick detour through Ghirardelli Square, and a camera store selling black and white prints on outside racks. Sandy stocks up on some John Lennon and The Beatles; I get comedic with Stanley Laurel & Oliver Hardy.
Why are we going back to Pier 39? To eat at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. Sandy had been to the one in Hawaii a few years back and was eager to go again, since it’s yet another establishment we don’t have at home.
It’s quite interesting, that place; intolerable crowds, a cesspool of highchairs, sawdust on the floor and every TV screen showing Forrest Gump on perpetual loop. There’s a sign on the table that says RUN FORREST RUN on one side, when you don’t need your waitress handy, or STOP FORREST STOP if you need more napkins, drink refills, and so on. The wait staff even quizzes patrons on movie trivia as the evening winds down.
Waitress: (to Sandy) Which leg was Lieutenant Dan missing?
Sandy: Both!
Waitress: Right on! (to me) Where did Mrs. Gump purchase Forrest’s leg brace?
Me: How on earth should I know? How come he gets the easy question? Is tonight’s theme ‘legs?’
Waitress: Just try, it’s easier than you think. Just name a department store.
Me: Sears Roebuck?
Waitress: Yes! You win!
Me and Sandy: Alright!
Waitress: You win free condiments for the rest of the night!
Bugger.
The food was fantastic, though. Eating at the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. is not terribly ideal for waistline watchers, but superb vacation fare for the starving, who have been walking all day. Sandy and I each had a Lava Flow to drink, which is creamy pina colada with a strawberry twist, and he ordered the dinner portion of the Shrimper’s Net Catch, which is shrimp steamed in beer and served with garlic bread.
The amount of shrimp he had in the bucket – that’s right, bucket – was ridiculous, and I’ll never forget that weak “Help” that came out of his mouth halfway through the meal. While I would have loved to save him, I was drowning in the Shrimp New Orleans, yet another bucket of shrimp drowned in a broth of garlic, butter and spices.
Butter. Oyvey. But damn, was it ever good.
Waitress: Would you like to see a dessert menu?
Would you like a case of congenital herpes? I didn’t say that out loud, but the look on our faces, and mountains of dirty napkins around our plates did the talking. No dessert.
Sandy and I may have Walk Forrest, Walked into the restaurant, but we Crawl Forrest, Crawled our way out of there. It was still early, but back to La Victoriana we went for a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow was wine country.
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4 comments:
My very first job was at the Bubba Gumps on Cannery Row in Monterey. Here's an image for you: I was a lowly hostess, and as I was shamelessly flirting with the 24 year old bartender (he had 8 years on me at that point) one night I world around and ran smack into a server carrying not one, but two big buckets o' shrimp. I haven't been in awhile but the buckets they used to use did not have flat bottoms and at the slightest jostle would tip precariously. In that moment I ran into her shrimp went a'flying everywhere, she fell, I fell, it was a disaster.
But it was a seriously fun place to work!
ok - I just spelled "whirled" as "world." Good lord.
My old roommate and her sister both worked for Bubba Gump. Her sister just finisihed managing the Times Square location actually. As a vegetarian there isn't much to eat there but the drinks are damn good and even better when discounted!!!
Mood, you were sitting in a mountain of shrimp? Oh, man! Just how much shrimp is delivered there on a daily basis, anyway?
Natalie, I have to agree with you, those drinks were awesome. We flowed with the lava all night long!
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