Extinct manzanita saved in the Presidio

Preparing the Franciscan manzanita to be transplanted. Photograph by Mark Frey.

A rare Franciscan manzanita long thought to be extinct was transplanted to a protected location in the Presidio this week after it was discovered along the Doyle Drive rebuilding project by a biologist who happened to be driving by.

“It’s an incredible find, like Christmas morning when you’re five,” says Mark Frey, an ecologist with the Presidio Trust. “For decades everyone has thought this plant was gone and the chance of finding it again was virtually non-existent. As part of our restoration efforts we scour that area all the time and yet there it was, right in the middle of the corridor.”

The Franciscan manzanita was last seen in the city for which it was named in 1942, at the Laurel Hill cemetery, near what is now the USF campus. But for a limited number of plants growing in botanical gardens, the species was believed to have been lost to the wild when the cemetery was bulldozed to make way for commercial and residential development.

VIDEO: Watch the relocation

UPDATE: It cost $175,000

The one that got away

The architectural imagining of a new soul food restaurant for the Fillmore Jazz District.


A communal table meanders like the mighty Mississip.


Check out these stunning images of an upscale soul food restaurant called Mississippi Blues designed for the Fillmore Jazz District by hot-shot architect Stanley Saitowitz.

“Like the river, a single table meanders through the space — here everyone sits around and eats as a family,” reports Arch Daily.

Unfortunately, it’s old news, says Eater SF: “Last the folks at Saitowitz heard from the project sponsor, it was before the economic meltdown, when they were working on getting Fillmore-area redevelopment funds. If — if! — the restaurant ever happens, we’re told it would head to an empty space right across from Yoshi’s.”

At Vivande auction, timeless treasures

At auction: Vivande’s equipment and furnishings.

AT 9 this morning, Vivande opened its doors to the public for the first time in three weeks. At 11, an auctioneer began selling the furnishings and equipment.

Most of the two dozen people milling around seemed to be dealers in used restaurant supplies, although there were a few neighbors, too. Back in the kitchen was owner Carlo Middione, who had a story to tell about nearly everything he’d amassed during 29 years in business.

Carlo Middione and his cello at the auction.

Over his shoulder was a cello, lot number 107. It was a prop at a party he catered honoring the great cellist Yo-Yo Ma. He’d baked 800 sugar cookies shaped like cellos — which he decided must have strings piped on. “Not one string, but four,” he recalled, shaking his head. “After about 100, I wondered, ‘Whose idea was this anyway?’ ”

There was a huge whisk leaning against the brick wall. “That’s a damn good whisk,” Carlo said. It came from Paoli’s at Montgomery and Bush and was used for stirring a huge pot of polenta. A neighbor mused: “Now we won’t have anyone who likes to ‘stir shit the Sicilian way,’ as Carlo always said.”

Three hours later nearly everything had sold. Some of the choicest items — including the big whisk and the lighted cafe sign in the front window — went to Joan O’Connor, proprietor of Timeless Treasures on Sutter Street.

To Haiti on a medical mission

Dr. Eduardo P. Dolhun

Neighborhood physician Dr. Eduardo P. Dolhun is with a team of doctors in Haiti treating earthquake victims. Here is a portion of his first dispatch from the front:

“Within a matter of minutes we were presented with a wide assortment of severe illnesses, all of them traumatic and now nearly six days old.

“The first patient was a 78-year-old woman who had gotten her hand crushed by a fallen concrete slab in her kitchen. She was preparing dinner for her children and grandchildren. She was calm and patient, as we slowly removed the gauze that had not been changed for five days. The dried blood and puss had fused the dressing in a patchy assortment of wet and dry areas, with bubbles percolating up from the wet areas, indicating anaerobic bacterial (bacteria that cause gangrene) infection. One is able to diagnose this type of infection with the nose: It has a distinctive and unforgettable odor.

“As we methodically unwrapped and gently cut away the bandage, we had time to get to know her and also to prepare her for the probability that she would likely lose the entire hand, adding to the loss of her five fingers.”

Read more

A master in our midst

Triple Self Portrait by Theophilus Brown

A local gallery is presenting “Theophilus Brown: Nudes,” spotlighting one of the pioneers of the Bay Area Figurative Movement, which helped change the course of art history in the 1950s.

Brown, now 90, moved to the neighborhood in 2001. He still works daily in his nearby studio and recently joined a new drawing group.

“I paint three or four hours every day,” he says. “I like to work. I think it’s the secret to staying alive and interesting and as vital as you can be — and besides, there’s no telephone in the studio, so it’s peaceful.”

His exhibition at the Thomas Reynolds Gallery, at 2291 Pine Street, continues from January 16 to February 27, 2010.

Brown lives at the San Francisco Towers, the residence for seniors on Pine Street. “I’m glad I’m here,” he says. “It’s pretty posh. If you want to see friends, all you do is get on the elevator.”

He has found among his neighbors collectors of his work old and new. And a connection all the way back to the beginnings of the figurative movement: His fellow painter Richard Diebenkorn’s widow Phyllis also has an apartment at the Towers.

His health is good, although in the fall he had his second knee replaced. “Now I hope I’ll have a lot more energy,” he says. “I’m gonna get serious one of these days.”

Opening night at Via Veneto

Illustration by Christopher Wright

FIRST PERSON | ANDRE BOLAFFI

It was a Friday night in January 1990. We had been in our new home on Bush Street for five years. My wife Janice suggested we walk up Fillmore to the Clay Theatre to see a French film, Claudine-Claudel, about Rodin, his work and his mistress. We went to the 7 o’clock show with plans to have dinner afterward.

The movie was sold out, but we managed to excuse and pardon our way to the remaining two empty seats in the dead center of a front row. After half an hour, I said to Janice — quietly, I’m sure, despite the shushes from nearby theatergoers — “If something doesn’t develop soon, I’m going to leave.”

“You can’t leave,” she said.

An hour into the film, having endured enough, I decided to leave.

“You can’t leave,” Janice said again. “You’ll disturb all these people.”

“Watch me,” I responded, and I excused and pardoned my way down the row and out of the theater.

Across the street, a new restaurant called Via Veneto looked lively, full of people and all lit up. I decided to check it out while the movie dragged on. As I opened the door and stepped inside, I was met with a celebratory crowd of fashionably dressed people in jackets and ties and dresses and heels. I noticed the restaurant had no chairs and its tables were up against the walls and filled with delectable looking antipasta.

Before I could think much about it, a waiter offered a glass of red wine. Wow, what a great new restaurant. I began to enjoy myself, while keeping an eye on the Clay across the street. The clientele was jovial and friendly. A smartly dressed man approached me and asked, “And how do you know Salvatore?”

“Salvatore? Well, you know…”

Before I could embarrass myself, he saved me by asking, “From North Beach?”

“Yes, of course, from North Beach,” I cheerfully agreed.

I was continuing to enjoy the wine, the food and the company when a statuesque brunette approached.

“Hi,” she said, “and how do you know Massimo?”

Now I knew Salvatore was from North Beach, but who in the world was Massimo? Think fast.

“Well,” I responded, “you know, Salvatore is …”

“But of course,” she said, “Massimo and Salvatore both worked in…”

“ . . . North Beach,” I chimed in.

Again the conversation was interrupted by the jostling crowd. I noticed that Claudine-Claudel must have finally — mercifully — ended, since people were exiting the theatre. I made my way toward the door to tell Janice about this wonderfully friendly new restaurant. Just as I opened the door and was about to step outside, a fellow grabbed my arm.

“Leaving so soon?” he asked warmly.

“No,” I said, “I’m just going across the street to bring my wife back.”

“Wonderful!” he said.

Filled with wine and bravado by now, I turned and asked him confidently, “And how do you know Massimo?”

He looked at me and responded: “I am Massimo!”

Later I found out: That was Via Veneto’s opening night celebration, by invitation only. And we’ve been crashing this wonderful neighborhood restaurant ever since.

Brooks Brothers spinoff approved

They hoped to be welcoming holiday shoppers to their new store on Fillmore Street, but instead staffers from Black Fleece—a new brand from Brooks Brothers—were at City Hall December 17 seeking permission to proceed.

Because it is part of the Brooks Brothers chain, the opening was delayed by the city’s formula retail ordinance, which requires a conditional use permit before the store can renovate the former home of Simon Pearce at 2223 Fillmore.

The Planning Commission praised and unanimously approved the Black Fleece store, but not before some members voiced concerns about chain stores. Read more »

Vivande’s last supper

Photograph of Carlo Middione by Daniel Bahmani

SUDDENLY, although perhaps not for them, the owners of Vivande decided at the end of the year to close the restaurant.

After 29 years at 2125 Fillmore, Vivande served its final meal at dinner on New Year’s Eve [December 31, 2009].

“The decision to close Vivande is based on several factors,” said co-owner Lisa Middione, “but the chief cause is that Chef Carlo Middione sustained injuries to his sense of taste and smell in an auto accident in the spring of 2007. We hoped the problem might improve with time, but it has not.”

Vivande Porta Via opened in December 1981 as an Italian-style gastronomia, featuring authentic artisanal food for take-out and catering, along with specialty products imported from Italy. Restaurant service was soon added, but only at lunch. A more formal dinner menu finally came in 1995.

Vivande became known especially for its fresh pasta dishes. The restaurant also offered special dinners featuring the food and wine of different regions of Italy, but those were curtailed in recent years after the chef was injured.

“Quite simply, Carlo could not be replaced,” Lisa Middione said. “This has led to the fact that Vivande is no longer a viable business, and it cannot withstand the economic impact of the current recession.”

Said Carlo Middione: “We will miss coming to Fillmore Street every day. We have rich memories of the good times at Vivande. We will especially miss Vivande’s customers, among whom we have found many warm friends.”

1300: a saloon with a soul

The lounge, with its wall of historic Fillmore photographs, at 1300 on Fillmore.

By Chris Barnett

His coolness, former mayor Willie Brown himself, walks in around the cocktail hour, making 1300 on Fillmore the first stop on his nightly round of drop-bys to schmooze with friends and cronies.

“This is one of those bar-restaurants that instantly became a landmark of this great city,” says Brown, sounding as if he’s still campaigning.
Read more »

Photos from the ’50s see the light

Gerald Ratto | “Fillmore Kids”

PHOTOGRAPHY | THOMAS REYNOLDS

When Gerald Ratto was a student at the California School of Fine Arts in the 1950s, he would hang out in the Fillmore with his camera and a bottle of brandy, which sometimes made it easier to make friends.

“I wasn’t documenting anything,” he says. “I was just photographing the people who lived there.”

Ratto went on to become an admired architectural photographer and hadn’t thought much about those Fillmore photos since 1952, when he made them, until a few months ago when he stopped by Tadich Grill for dinner. He struck up a conversation with two men sitting alongside him at the counter. It came up that he was a photographer.

“Ever take any pictures in the Fillmore?” one of them asked between bites of his sand dabs.

Ratto said he had, as a matter of fact. He was encouraged to show the photographs to Peter Fitzsimmons, head of the new Fillmore Heritage Center, who was organizing exhibitions exploring the neighborhood’s history.

“I figured maybe he’ll take two or three pictures,” Ratto recalls. “He took all 52!” Which meant Ratto had to get them all framed—a pricey proposition. But he did, and the entire Fillmore series hung, beautifully framed, in the center’s gallery for several weeks at the beginning of the year. It was the first time the images had been shown.

Along came B&W Magazine, which showcases photography, and spotlighted Ratto’s work. “Ratto’s Fillmore series captures a unique time and place in the history of San Francisco,” the magazine reported alongside a portfolio of his photographs in its August 2009 issue.

Gallerist Robert Tat, who specializes in photography, saw the work and invited Ratto to show the Fillmore series at his gallery. The exhibition opened downtown at the Robert Tat Gallery on November 5 and continues through January 30.

Into the gallery came a critic from The New York Times, who also visited the exhibition of Dan Dion’s rock photographs from the Fillmore Auditorium now hanging at the Fillmore Heritage Center. Her review on Sunday, December 6, was headlined “A Vanished San Francisco, Black, White and Colorful” and included two of Ratto’s Fillmore photographs, which, she wrote, “poignantly recall a vanished landscape.” But she dismissed the images as cliches and lambasted the program of the heritage center, sniffing: “Nostalgia for a bygone era ultimately isn’t very helpful to a neighborhood like the Fillmore.”

Ratto was mostly amused.

“They spelled my name right,” he says, “and published two nice pictures.”

But he was also annoyed.

“People didn’t have attitudes then,” he says. “The area was not dangerous. It was real. I don’t need some white liberal bitch to come in and explain it to me.”

All in all, it has been quite a year for Gerald Ratto, now 77, and his images of the Fillmore in 1952.

“It was that dinner at Tadich that started it all,” he says. “It just snowballed from there.”

PORTFOLIO: “Children of the Fillmore