Eat Here Now is a first look at some of the newest, hottest restaurants around – the ones we think are worth visiting. We dine once, serve forth our thoughts, and let you take it from there.
On my fourth attempt to eat dinner at La Cigale (opens in new tab), a live-fire-fueled Glen Park restaurant that showcases Occitan cuisine from southern France, my party of two managed to get wait-listed for the second nightly seating. We were sixth on the list, which felt dicey, as there’s only one communal table with seating for 12 to 14 around the open kitchen. A host messaged that our seating would be around 8:30 p.m. — but didn’t confirm that we’d gotten two seats. Unsure, I said we’d be there by 8:15. In reply, I received one of the least tantalizing texts of my life: “If you do arrive a little early, we can try to get you started with a glass of water in the standing window.”
Womp womp.
I had long since given up on La Cigale’s sought-after 5:30 p.m. seating, which requires showing up by 4:30 to put your name down. The noncommittal booking policy, plus a maybe on the offer of water, grated on my nerves. Worse, the restaurant is designed to function this way. Chef Joseph Magidow concocted a cumbersome online quasi-reservation system that demands enough flexibility from patrons to keep the restaurant neighborhood-focused, rather than a magnet for destination diners.
“I’m not saying, ‘If you live in Redwood City, screw you,’” Magidow said. “But so far, having 30 people a night who live pretty close by and are happy to come in is a dream. What more do I need?”
Raclette is part of the fun. | Source: Erin Ng for The StandardThe restaurant has two seatings per night. | Source: Erin Ng for The StandardMagidow operates mostly solo. | Source: Erin Ng for The Standard
At this point, I should say our dinner turned out fine — truth be told, it turned out fantastic. La Cigale’s reservation system is weird and annoying, but those who brave the gauntlet will be rewarded with one of the coziest, most satiating dinners to be had in San Francisco right now.
Magidow has put together an ingredient-driven experience that loosely follows the rustic precepts of Occitan cuisine, which involves more fowl than beef and more foraging in the woods than agriculture. He knows his craft intimately, serving dishes like an unspeakably delicious dry-aged leg of rabbit in a sauce of red wine and garlic or roasted chanterelles with herbs. He’s also a dexterous, easygoing performer, feeding 15 people at a time with minimal help from assistants, who are largely out of sight during service.
A meal at La Cigale works like this: Diners choose a starter, a main, and a dessert from a rotating menu of three choices per category, plus optional supplements like a plate of house-cured ham in mustard-anchovy aioli or dabs of caviar on whatever you want. Various accompaniments, like a citrus-and-chicory winter salad or delicata squash with gooey raclette, are part of the package, which is priced at $140 per person, inclusive of taxes, tips, and fees — a reasonable sum considering the quality of the food.
Bring a date who’s willing to share, and you can eat through two-thirds of a given night’s selections, among them hits like pork sausage with wild nettles, and a peasant broth (described as “whatever the hell you have in a pot, with some beans”) served with a few drops of olio nuovo that Magidow claimed to have snatched from Alice Waters’ fingers. The fennel pollen on the pink turnip was foraged in Glen Park. Minus the rabbit, the meat all came from one 700-pound pig, butchered in-house. Her name, we were told, was Betty.
The three-course dinner has accompaniments like oysters and a winter salad. | Source: Erin Ng for The StandardThis fire runs exclusively on oak. | Source: Erin Ng for The Standard
La Cigale’s hospitality unfolds gradually — which is a generous way of saying, slowly. The chef’s physical position in the kitchen, tending to an oak fire, resembles that of a solitary sushi master at an omakase counter. Magidow pivots to work the room, joking and explaining the dishes, and although a meal is languidly paced — the first bites dropped at 9:15, and we left around 11 — there’s little lag once the show gets going. We even got our semi-promised water in the standing window and managed to wheedle a wine recommendation from the somm, too.
This is a restaurant that looks to tradition. Magidow won’t cook over charcoal or caramelize anything with a butane torch, and he eschews gimmicks like white truffles. Instead, he relies on equipment like the rotisserie device known as a spitjack, sourced from across the Atlantic. It sits in the fire, its cast-iron surface staying red-hot. (Yikes.) The love of live-fire cooking has gotten La Cigale in trouble with some of the customers it is courting — the neighbors. There have been repeated complaints (opens in new tab) about smoke and soot emanating from the restaurant’s chimney. But Magidow is unyielding in his approach.
“The way things used to be done is arguably superior,” Magidow says. “You can’t apply what I’m doing to a gas stove in most cases.” Watching him carefully wield a hot metal rod to baste plates of sausage in flaming pork fat is a sight to see. If you can manage your way in the door, you’re almost certain to agree.