San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
I loved my dinner at S.F.’s new waterfront restaurant — until the end
Alora serves destination-worthy Mediterranean food, but try to get past the hotel bar vibe
I take photos of everything I eat. In the cluster of images from my first visit to Alora, a new restaurant on the Embarcadero, there are colorful cocktails and an Instagram-bait duck liver mousse, piped in ribbons and garnished with gobs of pickled mustard seeds. However it’s the last photo, right after the 10-layer chocolate cake, that stands out. It’s a screenshot of my phone’s lock screen showing the date and the time — 9:58 p.m.
That’s the exact moment our meal ended, not because we had finished eating, but because the music stopped and the lights went from date night dim to hospital bright, an abrupt signal to diners that the restaurant was now closed. We were halfway through that chocolate cake, with a glass of a Massican white left in the bottle. We blinked at the remaining guests — two other tables, a handful of folks at the bar — like startled groundhogs thrust into the light.
I am familiar with this tactic. For a few cursed weeks, I worked at a New York nightclub called Webster Hall. When 4 a.m. rolled around, the staff would all put on our jackets; in addition to bright lights and sudden silence, it takes aggressive AC to send partiers packing. But 9:58 p.m. on a Thursday is not 4 a.m. on a Saturday, and an expensive San Francisco restaurant is not a Manhattan venue. It’s all quite a shame because, given the talent in the kitchen, Alora could be a destination for serious diners instead of what it feels like currently — a clubby hotel bar, albeit one with a confusingly deft food program.
This seems to be a feature, not a bug. Although owners Anu and Vikram Bhambri, in an interview with the Chronicle last year, say they’re aiming for “classy rather than clubbish,” their stated goal is to re-create the “energy level” of modern restaurants in India with DJs and theatrical drinks in addition to excellent food. Rooh, the Indian restaurant with locations in S.F., Palo Alto, New Delhi and, incongruously, Columbus, Ohio, is the anchor for the Bhambris’ rapidly expanding mini-empire. Pippal, a more casual Indian restaurant located in an Emeryville mall, was favorably appraised in March by my colleague Cesar Hernandez. Fitoor recently debuted at San Jose’s Santana Row, just two months after Alora welcomed its first diners.
At Alora, Pippal and the San Francisco location of Rooh, I’ve had a similar thought after clocking the decor and hearing the 120 BPM soundtrack: “Is there a cover charge?” I’ve yet to visit Fitoor, but with reports of fire dancers and a roving shots cart, it seems to fit the pattern.
But then the cocktails arrive, and the cognitive dissonance begins. You might expect vodka Red Bulls to be the house drink of choice, but the Bhambris’ beverage programs aim higher. My hibiscus and amaro cocktail at Rooh was ferried to my table in a billow of dry ice — and it was terrific, the work of someone skilled at balancing bitter and sour. The drinks at Alora rely less on Siegfried and Roy showmanship but are similarly well-executed. The smoky-herbaceous Parole Che Durano ($22), a clarified mezcal Last Word, is crystal clear, the better to see the large cube stamped with the restaurant’s logo.
Alora’s food is similarly ambitious. The theme, in keeping with the Ibiza soundtrack, is “coastal Mediterranean,” which means it covers some 2,500 miles between Gibraltar and Beirut. Culinarily that translates to everything from dolmas to ravioli to patatas bravas to fattoush, and it can lead to order paralysis. Should you go all in on pasta? Focus on mezze and kebabs?
Whatever adventure you choose, do not skip the “breads + dips” section. The menu notes the naturally leavened breads can be swapped for vegetables if
you wish, but unless you have a sensitivity to gluten, that would be an error. The substitution suggests that the breads are a mere mechanism for dip delivery, but instead, chef de cuisine Kaili Hill is turning out sourdough focaccia and einkorn pita that I would wait in line for at a
bakery.
You could even make a light, reasonably priced dinner out of those dips and breads at a restaurant that otherwise skews pricey. Whole grain pita escorts an herb tahini-laced hummus ($15), which is topped with a mound of dressed chickpeas, radishes and red onion large enough to conceivably constitute a salad. That silky squiggle of duck liver mousse ($23), accompanied by a rectangle of focaccia the size of a paperback book, is generously portioned and rich enough to spoil your appetite if you don’t pace yourself.
But pace yourself you should. Executive chef Ryan McIlwraith — Hill’s partner in the kitchen and in life — led the kitchens at Bellota, Barcino, and Coqueta, so anything that skews Spanish is a safe bet. The sweet Hokkaido scallops with grilled spring onions ($38) may not be a permanent fixture on the menu, but their sauce of brick red hazelnut romesco will stay in rotation, and that’s a good thing.
Venturing off the Iberian Peninsula has its rewards as well, like the hand-rolled earthworms of pici ($25), as chewy as Korean rice cakes and simply presented with burrata and a tomato butter sauce that would make Marcella Hazan proud. The large plates feature a kebab main — adobo chicken ($39), grape molasses-shellacked hanger steak ($70) or beef and lamb kofta ($44) — with accompaniments, and while I was impressed by all, the star was the vegetarian option ($36). Mushrooms are poached in a flavorful stock before being threaded onto a skewer, grilled and basted in a black garlic miso barbecue sauce. They’re served on a bed of marinated eggplant and nutty freekeh, a wildly underrated grain in my book. But it’s the topping of Aleppo chile crunch with its crispy nubbins of shallot and garlic that I can’t stop thinking about. China introduced the Mediterranean to noodles. Why not chile crisp?
Hill’s dessert menu is tight but confident, and my one quibble is semantic. That 10-layer cake ($18), perfumed with a house-blended baharat of allspice, ginger, cinnamon, black pepper, caraway and rose petal, is billed as “chocolate cake for two.” That cake is for me and me alone — it’s a normal-sized slice, and it’s 10 layers only if we’re counting the frosting. Don’t police me.
The cake hit the table at 9:49, my photo app tells me, just nine minutes after we received dessert menus. I understand that, by San Francisco dining standards, that might as well be midnight. Still, if you are going to allow guests to order dessert and pay for the privilege, you should grant them enough time to finish it. Maybe nightclubs have different rules of hospitality, but that’s what I expect from a restaurant with a $70 steak on the menu.
At Alora, it’s possible for diners to spend the same amount of money but have divergent experiences depending on their reservation time. My advice? Book a table early so you have the best chance of finishing your meal before they crank the proverbial AC. Or better yet, go for lunch. On a fine day, the Bay-front patio is a beautiful spot to tuck into some pita and dips, and the call of the gulls blocks out the house music.