SAM WO 三和酒樓: IT"S WHAT YOUR DRUNKEN SELF CRAVES

As I often do, I was loafing with my pipe on the street in Chinatown when two fabulous gay guys came up, looked at the doorway behind me, and one of them wistfully remarked "oh, it's closed.... huh."
Yep. Since Saturday morning, third week of April, 2012.
I passed by with the Amphibian to look at the line.
Mostly young; the post-Edsel generation.
One last experience at an institution.
For old times. It was beloved.
A final meal at Sam Wo.


SAM WO RESTAURANT
813 Washington Street,
San Francisco, CA 94133.


The infamous Sam Wo restaurant closed down on April 20th. Or, if your persnickety, in the very early morning hours of the 21st.

The Amphibian and I went past it again later, after getting snockered at 寳寳; the line was still there. We decided not to eat.

We weren't hungry. Just drunk.


PORRIDGE, RICE STICK, NOODLES: 粥粉麵

What you really wanted was congee (粥 juk) with a yautiu (油條). During the life of Edsel Ford Fong, the irascible headwaiter, that might not be what you got. He knew better, and would tell you what you needed. Or suggest that you shouldn't eat so much, mister, you're fat. Then plonk something impossibly greasy in front of you, and stalk off without giving you utensils.

Enough has been written about the legendary rudest waiter in San Francisco that I needn't go into details; you can find him all over the web. He has attained mythic stature, and joined our culinary pantheon.

The restaurant itself, however, must be described. The downstairs was the kitchen, which was chaotic, cramped, crowded, and mediaeval.
A wooden chopping block bespattered with the juices of whatever had gotten whacked there most recently might make you quail, but enough boiling water was poured over it on a regular basis that your chance of food-poisoning was considerably less than at hospitals or fast-food joints. The floor, was, after a full day of slinging noodles, grimy and verging on swamp-like, but the foods that awaited slicing or cooking never touched it. Dining rooms were upstairs, you had to pass through the kitchen to get there.
Small, grim, Spartan. And often packed.

The chance of eating at the same table with intoxicated strangers was great. Especially if you were by yourself. "Here, sit!" You sat. "You there, say 'hi' to Charlie!" And the other people at the table would obediently mutter "hi Charlie". It did not matter that your name wasn't 'Charlie', when the waiter returned, he'd ask "Charlie, whatcha want?"
Errrrm, perhaps panfried charsiu noodles?
"No Charlie! Eat vegetables!"

The vegetables were actually pretty darn good. At the perfect state of crisp tender. It's where I fell in love with small cabbages (菜遠 choi yuen).
They were brilliantly green; sweet, juicy, and delicious.
The entire meal cost less than three bucks.


The functioning of the entire enterprise depended on an antiquated dumb-waiter, by means of which food was hoisted up to the second and third floors, new orders were sent down, and conversations were conducted by yelling into the shaft. Everything was antiquated.

There was no bureaucratically approved modern refrigeration, the fire-escapes looked rusted and rickety, the floors were uneven, and the walls were the buildings next door.
It worked.


The city government finally closed them down.
None of us can figure out why.


They still continue to exist in cyber space: Sam Wo Restaurant.
Drop by their site and say 'hi' to Julie and David.
Tell them Charlie sent you.


Last I heard, they're likely to open up again a different location. The old building will just take too much work to bring it up to code, and should probably be torn down instead.



There are a number of vacant spaces within two or three blocks of 813 Washington that might be perfect. The Chinatown neighborhood is a little depressed at present, and more rentals are opening up.
So I expect we'll see a new Sam Wo sometime soon.
I certainly hope so, we need late night eaties.
Not having 宵夜 is a hardship.




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