Earlier this week, we San Franciscans experienced a rare treat: true ice cream weather. Ice cream weather demands temperatures that are so warm that you only crave two things: big, sweating glasses of ice water and cold, cold foodstuffs. We got that on Monday and Tuesday: mornings so sunny and warm that you didn't need a jacket to leave the house; soft breezes making their way through downtown streets at lunchtime; and the inevitable (not so enjoyable) late afternoon bus rides home on unairconditioned MUNI lines.
San Francisco is not a city that's prepared for heat of any kind. Most apartments and even a lot of the stores and restaurants don't have air conditioning. So it's rather wonderful that the temperature only rises to 80 degrees about twice a year. When it does, though, watch out. Everyone acts like it's the end of the world and begs for the fog to return. To me, it just means that ice cream can be enjoyed as the refreshing treat it's meant to be. {OK, OK, I did complain a little. But only on hot buses, really.}
On Tuesday night, Cole and I headed into the Mission to Humphrey Slocombe, which you may remember from the fabled Shira Ice Cream Tour of June 2010. It was a perfect, balmy evening, and damned if we weren't going to take advantage of it. The Mission was busy with everyone out on the streets, fans blowing in windows, music wafting from markets. Cole sampled the Balsamic Caramel ice cream (she liked; I didn't) and I had the strange but delicious Red Hot Banana.
As great as Humphrey Slocombe is, what piqued my interest on Tuesday evening was this old diner/soda fountain/ice cream shop called
St. Francis, which we passed on our way down 24th Street.
This place looks spectacular at night, with all of its neon signs lit up, including a big, awesome vintage sign up higher on the building, screaming out the name in red neon. It's got an old school soda fountain counter that's been serving up delicacies since 1918. That's what I love about this city: almost every place you stumble upon has a story to go with it. You don't find the cookie-cutter chain restaurants that a corporation threw up in a week in a strip mall. People worked hard to get these places started, and even when they're later sold to new owners, as in the case of St. Francis, there is an enduring respect for history and what has come before.
Turns out that St. Francis no longer makes its own ice cream (boo hoo); they serve Mitchell's (which was the first stop on our ice cream tour and my favorite, so I can't complain). In any case, I have a feeling that the sundae combinations on the menu are all special St. Francis creations, not to mention the wide variety of diner food available. In the running list of new restaurants to try that I keep in my head, St. Francis just jumped to the top.
