Bookings: 001 415 771 4383
Scoma’s is difficult to find after a few scoops, despite the twenty foot illuminated sign you can see from L.A, but if you should ever find yourself in this neck of the woods and enjoy the fruits of the mere, I can thoroughly recommend this mad part of California.
Having been tipped off by a seventy-something Hell's Angel lookie likey in a motel in Las Vegas (Who we met while we were waiting for a room and got into one of those where you're from and where you're going conversations) I wasn't too sure, but, having a wee penchant for all things fishy, shell fishy in particular decided to give it a whirl. This angel in disguise suggested a 20$ note in the palm of the hand whilst meeting the guy on the front desk, this proved worthwhile as it cut the waiting time from 45 mins to seven and a half (to hell with the tight arses waiting patiently), a good idea as there are quite a few bars around San Francisco that required a visit before eating.
Clam chowder is as rare as a Chevy in this part of the world and, having tried one or ten in other less salubrious establishments, we decided to see what an obviously top class gaff would serve up. No disappointment here: ‘twas to die for. The better half enjoyed a serving tray of melt-in-your-mouth calamari with a little (unrequested, of course) help from me in dealing with the generous portion. Starters over with and feeling really hungry now, the shellfish beckoned. Tagliattelle á la fruits de la pacific arrived, no froggy portions here: prawns, snapper, squid, crab, and scallops in a creamy seafood sauce, washed down with a very palatable Californian chardonnay had me, if not in heaven, as close to it as I want to be for a long time yet. She who must be obeyed, not being a lover of all things fishy, still reckoned it was the best bit of poached salmon with a creamy saffron sauce ever.
Many thanks to the angel from Vegas.
Dessert not being my forte, I surprised our waiter John, a good man, who having worked there for 8 years was still surprised to hear an order of clam chowder being placed for afters. As they say, there has to be a first time for everything and the second bowl was as delicious as the first. Head office thought the chocolate mousse had a slight aroma of - oh what was it - fish, about it: surprise, surprise.
Suitably and pleasantly stuffed, a stretch limo complete with Indian taxi driver happened to be waiting outside to take us over the hill to our hotel thereby avoiding the many people in SF who constantly talk to themselves and who sometimes get answers.
Magical. Go there.
Fat Expat Guest Reviewer Derek Kirkup and his long-suffering wife spent much of this summer wandering around