Posted by Jim Carroll on Saturday, June 30, 2007 at 18:57:58 :

In Reply to: Re: San Francisco Favorite Spot posted by Cafe /sab /reni on Thursday, October 20, 2005 at 20:06:19 :

I too remember the San Remo Restaurant because of the significance of that nearly last time that I went there, but it was not like it is described above. The San Remo was not serving family style in the days that I enjoyed the repasts and they were quite good and plentiful. But the water glasses were there even then. In the 50s we had a reunion of our eigth grade class at Mission Delores and it ended up in a brawl, out in the lot next door. That did not keep me from coming back.

I fondly remember one on Grant Avenue that the family went to in the 40s and early 50s, but the name I can’t recall. But the smells and the wonderful food, those I do remember. And I remember the long table that all of the adults sat at and the little table (and it was quite like the card table that we had at Thanksgiving and Christmas) where all of the
younger folks, otherwise known as the Kids, sat at and fooled with the olives, and argued over who would get the turkey leg. I think that the kids still do that, but in those days we had a little space and nobody telling us to stop putting the olives on our fingers.

Speaking of Spumoni, and we should at least pay homage to that delectable ice cream, the restaurants of today have really fouled that one up also. Although it is still green, it has a taste that is like the card-board containers it comes in, even when they throw in raisins?

What was the name (perhaps still is) of that ice cream store on the Washington Square park? Bet you could get the real Spumoni if it is still there.

I also remember the Grape Vine Inn, a little restaurant up by Yountville (that really grew into something later on), that I always looked forward to having the ravioli when I went to Hazel's place (my grandmother refused to be called "grandma" or anything like it - it was always Hazel). She lived up in Middletown, and had moved up there when my grandfather the policeman passed away. I stayed with her during the summers and had a good time, but it was the travel up over that Mt. Saint Helena in the old Plymouth that was a thrill – and the Raviolis. And we always had to stop along the way at a couple of places.

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Message:	: I too remember the San Remo Restaurant because of the significance of that nearly last time that I went there, but it was not like it is described above. The San Remo was not serving family style in the days that I enjoyed the repasts and they were quite good and plentiful. But the water glasses were there even then. In the 50s we had a reunion of our eigth grade class at Mission Delores and it ended up in a brawl, out in the lot next door. That did not keep me from coming back. : I fondly remember one on Grant Avenue that the family went to in the 40s and early 50s, but the name I can’t recall. But the smells and the wonderful food, those I do remember. And I remember the long table that all of the adults sat at and the little table (and it was quite like the card table that we had at Thanksgiving and Christmas) where all of the : younger folks, otherwise known as the Kids, sat at and fooled with the olives, and argued over who would get the turkey leg. I think that the kids still do that, but in those days we had a little space and nobody telling us to stop putting the olives on our fingers. : : Speaking of Spumoni, and we should at least pay homage to that delectable ice cream, the restaurants of today have really fouled that one up also. Although it is still green, it has a taste that is like the card-board containers it comes in, even when they throw in raisins? : What was the name (perhaps still is) of that ice cream store on the Washington Square park? Bet you could get the real Spumoni if it is still there. : : I also remember the Grape Vine Inn, a little restaurant up by Yountville (that really grew into something later on), that I always looked forward to having the ravioli when I went to Hazel's place (my grandmother refused to be called "grandma" or anything like it - it was always Hazel). She lived up in Middletown, and had moved up there when my grandfather the policeman passed away. I stayed with her during the summers and had a good time, but it was the travel up over that Mt. Saint Helena in the old Plymouth that was a thrill – and the Raviolis. And we always had to stop along the way at a couple of places. :