On seven bomb-ass Indian restaurants in San Francisco
An unvarnished take on Dublin's Pickle and love letters to the smacky South Asian fare I left in the Yay Area
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Alright it’s December and I am on a train going from Dublin to Cork. I’m on a train I did not plan to be on because I lost my passport. Before anyone says anything (namely my family who roast me for losing things all the time) I will say that I am 99 percent sure it was stolen or fell out of my bag. And I can’t really be blamed for that.
I’m thankful for this surprise trip to the Windy City (a joke my friend has where one swaps nicknames for cities with other cities in the comedy stylings of Homer Simpson). The embassy is in Ballsbridge, a hilariously named neighborhood not far from a restaurant I’ve sought out legendary Pokémon style. That’d be the also hilariously named Pickle.
It’s a north Indian restaurant from chef Sunil Ghai and his talented team, all of whom were buzzing about and chatting with people as though the almost nine-year-old restaurant opened last week. The restaurant has received praise from dozens of outlets, most importantly (whether we like it or not) that old tire magazine the Michelin Guide. A little introductory paragraph on the menu calls the cooking here inspired by “Pickle Country,” a whimsical fictitious neighboring of North India and Ireland.
My wife and I rocked up sans reservation, shooting our shot in the method of restaurant and ChatGPT critic Ryan Sutton. The gods took pity: a two-top cancelled.
We worked fast. The vegetarian thaali went crazy: the paneer creamy and punchy, a colorful aloo tikki as lordly centerpiece and cakey balance to the creamier textures encircling it. Black tiger prawns reflected the tomato preference Northern Indian cuisine leans toward over the stereotypical coconut association in the south, mighty rich and fruity. The pickle, a namesake dish in a literal sense, was unlike anything I’ve ever eaten. The sheer power behind this pickling is insane. I don’t have the science to break down why this little silver ramekin lit the beacons of Gondor stationed through my thalamus. But my god each simultaneously crunchy and chewy pickle sure did.
A rarity for me, I skipped dessert. Between the thaali and the prawns we were full, and had dropped a pretty penny. Dinner and drinks ran us about $90 U.S. Walking to our hotel near St Stephen's Green, my mind wandered through the cerebral restaurant Rolodex I love to review. Namely, I was looking back on South Asian restaurants on the West Coast of the United States.
My tl;dr about why the quality is so high in Northern California is that the notably large South Asian population has now second-genned into a ton of talent. I’ve already written about that influence on the Bay’s coffee game. I want to talk more about the crop of bartenders and restaurateurs in their rookie season who, inevitably, will go Chicago Bulls with it.
For now, let me wax on a few of my personal favorites in San Francisco. Like Eater eventually included in its maps and stories: These are unranked, out of order opinions. This is not science. This is not me making economic arguments that I’d go to the mat on, so let’s assume we’re all friends here and, with the frenzy of a cancelled two-top, tuck in.
Tiya
This first restaurant from chefs and brothers Sujan and Pujan Sarkar — after Sujan captained Indienne to a Michelin star in Chicago in his own The Bear-style anime arc — is outrageously good. I started with the nitro chai. It’s a banger, deeply creamy and a fun nonalcoholic option for those looking for boozeless services. (Barman Izler Thomas has gotten much-deserved praise for his creative drinks, including the North Beach which incorporates sourdough! And parmesan!) The black dairy dal was rich and powerful; the paneer was warming, heavily spiced, and as nutty as Eddie Murphy’s professor.
To drive my brazen opinion home as hard as I can, I ate at a much-loved Michelin star-holding restaurant in San Francisco the week before I hit Tiya. It was much worse and far more expensive than this Marina newcomer. By a wide margin. This isn’t about how this unnamed restaurant was bad (though I thought it was). It is to say that Michelin power can go to a famous chef’s head. I will die on that hill, and I’d die on the hill that Tiya represents a burgeoning class of supreme South Asian chefing. Get smart, believe the hype, go to Tiya before you can’t get a reservation.
Udupi Palace
An old-school vegetarian Valencia Street favorite. This spot’s been around for some 16 years or so and never fails to hit. I started going here when I worked at education and writing nonprofit 826 Valencia Monday through Friday and the original Tartine Bakery Saturday and Sunday. The Mission was my resident neighborhood outside of where I lived in the Inner Sunset. As a vegan 99 percent of the time and someone living with celiac disease, Udupi was an easy choice for any occasion.
Let me invite you to power lunch at Udupi. Far shittier options including an outpost of the terrible salad chain Mixt are a block away. Do not be tempted. Other titans of Mission District industry are available, of course. But do not falter. Go to Udupi and order an uthappam and a dosa of your choosing (I dig the onion and chili and gobi chettinad respectively) and a vegan mango lassi. That shit will run just about $40 with a 20 percent tip. That’s not just a power lunch. That’s a powerful lunch. Now get back to work.
Mr. Singh’s Curry Pizza
I was meeting with my Eater colleagues in a WeWork on the waterfront brainstorming stories when I mentioned a new restaurant had opened in a former Chinese seafood place’s space on Judah Street. I noticed gluten-free crusts on the menu of this Mr. Singh’s Curry Pizza.
Like Winnie the Pooh before me, my tummy started rumbling. When my boss and homie Lauren Saria said it would be cool to write about the gluten-free pies, I was already out the door on my bike headed west. I’ve been an evangelist in the church of Mr. Singh’s ever since that rainy afternoon, notably upon the restaurant’s opening and my leaving San Francisco.
The ambiance correctly matches the restaurant’s intentions: a neighborhood spot to watch the Warriors play and work through myriad and ever-expanding varieties of South Asian pizza. The gluten-free crusts (cauliflower and commercial gluten-free are available) are game changing in the simple fact that they exist; None of the godfathers of Indian pizza, be it Zantes in the Mission or Brothers in the Sunset, keep the wheatless stuff on hand. If you’re new to the Indian pizza game, go for the shahi paneer and experience the spicy richness yourself.
Kennedy’s Irish Pub and Indian Restaurant
Toward the edge of North Beach lies one of San Francisco’s most unsung halls of leisure, sport, and multiculturalism. Kennedy’s Irish Pub and Indian Restaurant is exactly what it sounds like. There are few options for curry fries at two in the morning spare this two-story treasure. It’s a wondrous place where anything can happen and it must be experienced to be believed.
Likely the real move here is lost on me. In my mind that would be to get wasted at the bar and shoot pool before working up an appetite. (When I visited the mostly empty space for dinner there was a group of hooligans preparing for their feast by smoking weed on the back patio.) Then one would crash through the large menu, stopping at the unfussy aloo gobi and working man’s curries, before veering into even more hijinks such as hitting the slopes (if you know you know) and rampaging the Skee Ball in the corner. Swoon.
Please go order perhaps the most straight-up gulab jamun I’ve ever seen. For $2 (!!) a pair arrive floating in a pool of sticky syrup like two fried bobbing apples in a Tupperware cauldron. One might think they’ve been served a holy being’s gonads, the spherical joined nature of it all. Even better: Indian donuts.
Copra
I hail from the Pacific Northwest so I’m a skeptical hater by default. Being a journalist and meeting a million people slurping haterade selling me dirty, dirty lies hasn’t helped that condition. Therefore, when chef Srijith Gopinathan opened titanic Copra in the Fillmore District, I was unconvinced. I came around. Mind you, I never had a bad experience here. It’s just that in San Francisco, a city where Good Restaurants flow through the 48 hills like cutty bangs in a hyphy gutter, a restaurant has to be better than good.
Such is the case at this sprawling testament to decadence. Early on I had a Konkanee crab curry that was a messy delight (I did sadly wear white before going to see Creed III like a stupid ass. You will be spared as I am pretty sure it’s rotated off the menu). The nonalcoholic beverage program is on-point; I really enjoyed the cinnamon-y Tiger’s Eye.
The brunch menu is where I think the restaurant really shines, an opinion to make Anthony Bourdain roll in his smarmy grave. My friend raved over his indulgent Indian French toast — otherwise known as the “Copra toast” — and I found the upscale chard-crowned uthappam rad. Moreover, there’s a sceney-ness here that is pretty fun to take part of. Even for us cynics.
Viva Goa
I had the misfortune of visiting this restaurant on my way out of town this summer. I say it was a misfortune because I should have liked to go the first time I drove past the brightly painted sign at 14 years old, or again when I visited at 18, or when I was 21. Really the earlier the better for Viva Goa, a Marina institution with the laid-back atmosphere perfect to remind the doom loop tech weirdo in your life San Francisco is actually chill as hell.
New to me was the Masala fish fry. Arriving in bright red straight from Satan’s koi pond, there’s a sweet spicy situation going on that invokes the flavors of the sweet and sour chicken you really liked in fifth grade. A medley of turmeric and coriander, upgrades the dish from that literally elementary position. Further the Goan channa xacuti curry is lovely, coconut and poppy seeds leaping from the bowl. That chill as hell-ness might come just from the price point and ambiance; A big baller meal here comes in well under $100.
Besharam
I wanted to leave this one for last. Heena Patel’s temple to all-inclusive South Asian dining holds a special place in my heart. The restaurant’s the only player in a Dogpatch complex that looks kind of like the headquarters of some new evil AI company. Malai kofta arrive in a heavenly cashew cream and dispel the notion of villainy, though. For the smart diner those little croquettes are joined by an angelic chorus of chutneys, a carrot halwa topped with gold as a final psalm.
The prices, however, are more Billy Mayes than mega church, especially for a tasting menu. That’s why eating at Besharam feels like finding one of San Francisco’s most consistently high-caliber, affordable restaurants that nobody is talking about. That’s what kills me about the food media landscape, though: People are talking about Besharam. It was considered the It Girl restaurant in 2019, and longtime diners know that cooks vetted by the La Cocina incubator in town are worth visiting again and again.
Here is the restaurant for those looking to get a bit of that Pickle Country energy in their life; Top-tier talent with down-home cookery.
Honorable mentions go to my old neighborhood faves Masala Dosa and Sunset Indian Cuisine, Bernal Heights’s Tilak as a comfortable corner joint, Amber for fancy but not too fancy downtown vibes, Rooh which I’ve never been to but has to be mentioned when discussing beautiful Indian food in the Bay, and Himalayan Pizza and Momo which is Nepalese not Indian but nails the South Asian pizza by putting tikka masala sauce and tandoori chicken on that sucker.
Plus momos are one of god’s favorite dumplings and that’s, fittingly, on god.