Among the best known ballads by Los Angeles-based folk-rock band Dawes, "A Little Bit of Everything" sets the first of its several gloomy scenes on the Golden Gate Bridge. The opening lines of that song:

With his back against the San Francisco traffic
On the bridge's side that faces towards the jail
Setting out to join a demographic
He hoists his first leg up over the rail

I know: Jesus, right? But that's Dawes, who are Taylor Goldsmith on vocals and guitar, his brother Griffin Goldsmith on drums, Wylie Gelber on bass, and Lee Pardini on keys. They're sentimental, even tragic, without apology, and in fact they seem pretty happy with themselves about it.

Dawes played "A Little Bit of Everything" at the Fillmore last night, headlining the 25th Noise Pop Festival, and they also played, forgive me, a little bit of everything, reaching back into a catalogue that feels bottomless even though it only dates to 2009. Presenting themselves as journeymen American rockers — "We want to be the hardest working band in America" Taylor Goldmisth told the audience — the band played two sets with no opener. It was an act studded with more anthemic, country-rock platitude-infused ballads than you might have thought possible, and if it feels to you, as it does to me, like Dawes has been around way longer than they really have, it could be by virtue of their timeless, artful style.

On the flip-side of the band's hard-working Americana vibe, Dawes cultivates, as they put it on the track "Time Spent In Los Angeles," a "certain kind of sadness — those two phrases being made to rhyme. Aspects of that, folksy, Lauren Canyon melancholy, are self-consciously masculine: Raw rather than tender, nihilistic rather than optimistic.

But Dawes' depressing lows — and boy they are low — allow for big, cathartic highs, with soaring guitar solos and audience sing-alongs. "A Little Bit of Everything," for example, is eventually a tune about redemption— the "little bit of everything" becoming, variously, what to order at a buffet, what to seek out in life, and a lover's many charms. If here, as elsewhere, Dawes feels a little too earnest, it's also true that they feel pretty damn good. Last night, when they changed the lyric "It's the red moon when it's full" to sing instead "It's the Fillmore when it's full," the audience was more inclined to whoop than to groan. We were feeling it.

Related: The Best Shows, Films, And More At The 25th Noise Pop Festival

The Afghanistan of A Thousand Splendid Suns is not one of splendor. The play's title is a reference to brighter, long past moments in Kabul's history — when women were once freer than they are in the timeframe of the play — and instead, the setting of the work is a harsh one. It's a place to be endured, particularly by the women central to its narrative who are essentially captive under authoritarian male rule.

When the parents of 15-year-old Laila, sweetly and brilliantly played at a variety of ages by Nadine Malouf, are killed by a shell blast in their home, Laila quickly becomes the second wife of her neighbor Rasheed (a villainous, desperate Haysam Kadri). Rasheed's first wife, Mariam (Kate Rigg), is initially threatened by Laila, but, maybe too quickly for the drama of the piece, comes to work together with her. After all, they share a mutual enemy in Rasheed, a man who is essentially their captor, and a stand-in for the authoritarian males of the city outside their home, — the Soviets, mujahideen, and Taliban, over the course of the historical period covered in the work.

To Laila, Mariam recalls her mother's counsel — "Endure," she was told as a girl. Endure what? "Don't you worry about that," her mother goes on, "there will be no shortage of things." Sadly, she's right, and Laila's and Mariam's pain and trauma — and soon that of Laila's daughter Aziza (Nikita Tweani) — is also the audience's. Enduring it is difficult, at times, though the work seems to think it's beneficial that we participate in it, if only for our education. When it gets particularly painful — a cesarian performed without anesthetic, the set itself echoing the surgery — that's tough, but effective.

Ultimately, Irish Indian playwright Ursula Rani Sarma's adaptation of Khaled Hosseini's 2007 novel, an inter-generational epic in the vein of his first hit book The Kite Runner has too much exposition to cover, even in two hours and forty minutes, and the first half of the play plods along with too few dramatic beats as directed by ACT Artistic Director Carey Perloff. To get their words out, actors nearly talk over one another, and there's little room for reflection or for the characters to convey their interiority.

Likely realizing this challenge, Perloff cleverly navigates it at times: While we watch Laila and Mariam waiting for a man to buy them a train ticket, for example, Laila asks how much time has gone by. "Five minutes," Mariam tells her after just several seconds. "And now?" Laila asks again moments later. "And now ten," Mariam replies. At moments like this the fast pacing becomes surreal and particularly interesting: Mariam remembering her mother, for instance, floating across the stage, or Laila recalling her former love, Tariq, as limping on and off of it.

An excellent score composed and played by David Coulter (Kronos Quartet) smooths over the faster, rougher transitions and gives a through-line to the work, whose second half is better paced and more rewarding. There's dramatic payoff, but especially in its accelerated form, it's heavy handed. One line, that “Like a compass needle that points north, a man’s accusing finger will always find a woman," provides thematic direction, and the irony of men keeping women cooped up and covered up for fear, they claim, of other bad men in the outside world, is a powerful animating irony.

The claustrophobia the characters experience is conveyed well to the audience: Spare, surrealistic set design from Ken Macdonald pens us in elegantly, and Perloff's use of that set is at times brilliant. A table that's flipped upright on its legs becomes a closet or basement holding Laila and her infant child, while a flipped bed frame becomes nearly a cage for Mariam as she's beaten by Rasheed.

There's power in bearing witness to their pain, as they bear witness to and provide support for one another as well. But audiences won't be blamed for wanting to depart from Rasheed's cruel world as much as they want Laila and Mariam to.

A Thousand Splendid Suns runs through February 26 at ACT's Geary Theater. Tickets here.

To emphasize that I like Bon Iver, I would say that I know all the words to his songs, but that's not possible and nobody does. His lyrics, if they can be called that, consist of beautiful, round vowels delivered in falsetto and mumbled, clipped consonants hardly delivered at all. Yet last night at the Fox Theater, the second of three Bon Iver performances —the last is tonight — not knowing the words didn't stop the crowd from enthusiastically joining the chorus of wailing and mumbo-jumbo. As this is the first stop of an album tour, I suspect many more will chime in along the way.

On the new album, 22, A Million, there are a few portentous phrases to be made out: "It might be over soon" being one, and "I'd be happy as hell if you'd stay for tea." But the artist's will to obscure himself and his work has reached new, self-aware heights just as his work has become anything but obscure. Try to decipher, for instance, the name — or better yet interpret the meaning — of tracks like the one that first lyric comes from, called "22 (OVER S∞∞N)." Is that, like, a double rune?

Bon Iver was created in 2007 by Justin Vernon, recordings made in a lonely Wisconsin cabin under that name for the breakthrough For Emma, Forever Ago. Following up his original Thoreau/recluse fantasy, Vernon has taken to hiding other parts of himself: his words, for instance, starting in earnest on his second, self-titled album Bon Iver. Now on his third album, it's his voice. Though it's always been his main instrument and subject to distortion, now it's totally picked apart and radically altered from moment to moment with a variety of custom-built equipment. This is the auto-tuning, self-harmonizing stuff that Kanye picked up from him: The influence seems to have cut both ways, and now Vernon can't help but be be a little bit Kanye's version of Bon Iver.

Vernon opened the show with 22 (OVER S∞∞N), as he had the previous night and I imagine he will this evening. His presence onstage was obscured in shadow and through light effects. He played through most of 22, A Million, which has received positive reviews, and then trotted out a few tracks from the second album. The crowd — with many bearded and be-flanneled sad-boy types enthusiastic to see their style-icon — was into it. We jammed out to "Beth/Rest," (I know!) a divisive track with a long, 80s-style sax solo that's equal parts cheesy and sincere. That's Vernon's tightrope: There are moments it's tough to take Bon Iver seriously — I had a few last night — and that's something he mostly demands. Many expressed disappointed that Vernon didn't return to the earnest, full-throated For Emma as an encore, which he'd done the previous night. Maybe he will tonight. Regardless, his confident, brash, and fun performance was something that couldn't be obscured. It was seriously good.

A lot went down this week in the world of San Francisco's food scene, and we did our part to hip you to the history of brunch, the best places to find soup dumplings, the two new SoMa restaurants from an LA "hunter-gatherer chef," and the welcomed news that Burma Superstar is expanding. Believe or not, there's more, so let's get to it.

We mentioned Horsefeather's imminent (though delayed) opening last week, but this week we got a look at cocktail bar's new menu via Inside Scoop, and also learned that the Divisadero spot will open this coming Monday and serve food (think sharable plates) until 1 a.m.

Also, Divisadero is set to get just a little bit sweeter with the opening of Powder. Hoodline reports that the Taiwanese shaved snow shop has a rough targeted opening date of this summer, and owners David Chung and Mimi Hanley will use Three Twins ice cream as their base.

Set to open next week in North Beach is Barbary Coast, a gastropub which Hoodline tells us took over the former Bocce Cafe. Owner Jonathan Tourzan told the publication the location will be managed by Tommy Cummings.

Headed in the other direction, Bean There Cafe had a going-away party on Wednesday. According to Hoodline, the cafe found out its lease would not be renewed after 21 years.

After three years of work, the team behind Absinthe and Boxing Room is set to open a Spanish restaurant by the name of Bellota this May, as Eater reports. Located at 888 Brannan Street (a.k.a. the Gift Center, a.k.a. Airbnb HQ), the restaurant will focus on jamón Ibérico de Bellota, and chef Ryan McIlwraith (formerly of Coqueta) has plans to roast entire animals inside the restaurant. And there will be Spanish-leaning cocktails from Comstock guy Johnny Raglin. Oh yeah, and tapas. There will be mucho tapas.

Antoinette, the brasserie at the Claremont Hotel in Berkeley from celebrity chef Dominique Crenn, is, like its namesake, soon to be part of history. Inside Scoop reports that the pricey French spot is closing after only two months, and suggests that less than favorable reviews might have had something to do with it. Also, Crenn is washing her hands of the affair.

If news of the closing of a pricey East Bay French place has you down, may we suggest some free fudge? Hoodline tells us that Cioccolato is having a grand reopening party on April 9, and owner Mike Zwiefelhofer will be giving out free fudge. Free fudge.

After announcing the end to the long tradition of free Sunday BBQ, Capp Street Crap tells us that Bender's Bar & Grill is now set to offer a Sunday brunch menu from Counter Offer. Starting this weekend, from 2 to 6 p.m. you can get drunk while you munch on eats like a box of bacon (seriously, that's what it's called).

Portola Porter, a retail home brewing business, opened its doors this week according to Portola Planet. The San Bruno Avenue store will also have a tap room at some point in the near future, as the brewing equipment was delivered last weekend.

The Los Angeles Times food critic Jonathan Gold was in town to promote a new documentary titled City of Gold. He took some time to speak with Eater, and in the process dissed Mission burritos and the Chronicle's Michael Bauer. Oh, and (shocker) he likes Chez Panisse.

After being shut down by the Health Department in February, Hoodline informs us that new owner Jesus Kavil-Rivas is hoping to reopen Morty's Delicatessen within the next few months. Although he intends to clean the popular Golden Gate Avenue lunch spot up, Kavil-Rivas tells the publication that the menu won't change.

Brannan Street is getting a new Indian Restaurant by the name of Rooh, reports Hoodline. Interestingly, this will be the first US location for the Indian casual dinning chain Good Times Restaurants which has nine other locations scattered across India.

If you're in the mood to get your celebrity chef on, Eater tells us that Charles Phan of Slanted Door, Roland Passot of Le Folie, and Michael Tusk of Quince and Cotogna will all be cooking for the Stones Throw charity guest series.

Brew Bros, which moved into the former Russian Hill location of Chameleon, has developed a bit of bad blood with neighbors who, according to Hoodline, believe that owner Joseph Hinn had something to do with Chameleon losing its lease. Hinn says he had nothing to do with it, and is working hard to become a neighborhood hangout. He's going for slightly upscale cafe food, and so far the most popular item is the breakfast burrito.

Todd Shoberg is heading to San Francisco to run a pop-up at 20 Spot, reports Inside Scoop. The chef is known for Mill Valley's Molina (a Bauer fave as of last year), and with the forthcoming pop up Shoberg will match plates to a vinyl playlist in the former record store.

This Week In Reviews

The Weekly's Peter Lawrence Kane spent some serious time eating at chef David Lawrence's Black Bark BBQ, but despite the fact that he seemed inclined to eat "virtually everything on the menu," Kane writes that the Fillmore spot merely earns a B+ in his book. The sweet potato fries are "delicious," the beer list "respectable," and "the Fred Flintstone-sized ribs are clearly the best." So why no "A" from Kane? He finds fault with the "airport-boring" atmosphere that "[looks] like every other type of restaurant everywhere else," and adds that the compost bins aren't high enough — both crucial components of a good BBQ spot, obviously.

For his mid-week update, The Chronicle's Michael Bauer heads back to Commis after five years away. He finds a lot to like, and his review reads as if he just realized how little time he has left in his life and how much he's squandered by not frequently eating at Commis. The bread, along with basically everything on the monthly changing $125 prix fixe tasting menu, elicits a judgement of "ethereal" from the Chron's food scribe. The restaurant's signature slow-poached egg meets with approval, and Bauer appears to delight in "[celebrating] what is clearly Oakland’s best, most ambitious restaurant." After being a bit cold to the place all those years back, he now gives it three and a half stars.

Mr. Bauer next makes his way over to Chinatown’s Z & Y, a restaurant that he tried out based on the recommendation of the Mandarin's former owner Cecilia Chiang. The Sichuan restaurant is helmed by chef-owner Li Jun Han, and Bauer notes that after four or five trips he wasn't close to sampling even half of the 150 items on the menu. The critic compliments Han's handling of vegetables, and calls out the bitter melon appetizers as being one of his favorites. He gives it two and a half stars, and it very much seems like he might (one day) very well make it through all 150 items on that menu.

The Weekly's A. K. Carroll spent some time at SoMa's Okane, and calls the food "exquisite" while simulatenously highlighting how affordable it is when compared to some of the other pricier Japanese spots in the Bay Area. Okane is the work of Kash Feng and chef Shin Aoki, and Carroll delightfully calls the result of their collaboration "legit Japanese fare for epicures of the 99 percent." The selection of sake goes well with Carroll's favorite dish of sake-lees-cured Alaskan cod, and the 46-seat dinning room gives you a chance to intimately drink and eat to your heart's content.

Josh Sens of San Francisco Magazine, meanwhile, makes a trip to David Kinch's Bywater. When he reviewed it earlier this month, Bauer practically waxed poetic about the New Orleans-style restaurant's po boy, and it appears that in general Sens agrees, noting Kinch "applies precision to unpretentious cooking." Notably, however, Sens makes no mention of the po boy and instead suggests that the shrimp boil is "the Creole equivalent of a cleanse." In the end, it becomes very clear that Sens is a fan, and he gives it two and a half stars.

After a day spent frolicking in the Panhandle, posing in Alamo Square Park, and driving aimlessly back and forth over the Golden Gate Bridge in a red convertible, I settled down to watch the pilot episode of Fuller House on Netflix.

Its basis, the 192-episode ABC sitcom Full House, which aired from 1987 to 1995, didn't get a proper finale as it was basically just canceled, and the first episode of Fuller House seeks to belatedly offer one. Alongside the new female-led cast, the show's first offering heavily features the three patriarchs of the original house, giving them the vanity-project exit they — or at least now-producer John Stamos — were pretty transparently after. After that, the main narrative purpose of this first episode is to establish the show's plot, an echo of the original.

Absence, almost in the form of a curse, haunts the show's Tanner family. Just as Danny Tanner (Bob Saget) was widowed when his wife died in a car accident, forming the backstory of the original show, so, too, tragedy has struck his now adult daughter DJ (Candace Cameron). Her firefighter husband died on the job, leaving her to raise three boys as a single mother.

But just as Danny recruited his musician brother-in-law Jesse Katsopolis (John Stamos) and his stand-up comedian friend Joey Gladstone (Dave Coulier) to help raise his three daughters including DJ, now DJ will have help from her sister Stephanie (Jodie Sweetin) and neighbor Kimmy Gibbler (Andrea Barber).

Oh yeah, the third Tanner sister, Michelle (Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen)? She's "busy in New York running her fashion empire" — a line during which all actors break the fourth wall, mugging for the camera as the laugh track roars.

True to sitcom form, Fuller House so far is a seemingly uninterrupted series of entrances, gags played to a knowing, presumably adoring audience. And since all the show's characters have been off-screen for some time — in a bit of faulty math, the interval is placed at 29 years — the canned applause is raucous because it's been held for so long.

Tending to her youngest son in his room, sick with an ear infection, DJ is heard by her family downstairs over the baby monitor. "Everyone's leaving," she says, starting to break down, "and for the first time we're gonna be on our own. I just don't know if I can deal with all of this."

When she greets her family, unaware she's been overheard and forcing a smile, Stephanie and Kimmy offer to move in with her and help, while Danny promises not to sell the house. Acknowledging the time lapse and nodding to San Francisco real-estate prices, Jesse adds "Do you know how much this house is worth now?"

"Whatever happened to predictability? / The milk man, the paper boy, evening TV?" Nostalgia is the key of the Full House theme song, which is now sung by Carly Rae Jepsen, and like its predecessor, the new Netflix show relies on a central loss and longing for family. By that logic, Fuller House is nostalgic for nostalgia, making the show almost an experiment in the form. The results of that experiment aren't in just yet.

So far what's striking in Fuller House is an almost Danny-level anxiousness for precise parity, a perfect reconstruction of the original show from new or salvaged parts. Even the Tanner family's golden retriever, or that dog's progeny, is having puppies, and DJ decides to keep one.

Michael Yarish/Netflix

Personally, revisiting the Tanner clan more than twenty years later in San Francisco — a strange, sunny place whose vague contours it helped shape for me — either took those years off my life, added them back, or maybe more accurately, helped register their passage. The show's best jokes acknowledge that lapse we've all experienced. At a going away party for Danny and Jesse, who are headed to Los Angeles to pursue their television and music careers, Stephanie, now a musician by the stage name DJ Tanner (get it?) announces "Let's take this back to the late 80s when this whole party got started!" (get it?)

When Danny mocks a joke of Joey's — "That never gets old" — he means, of course, that it does, and it has, but that there's maybe a joke to be made about the joke still. We'll have to see in the coming episodes, all available to stream at once, which I'll watch this weekend and about which I'll report back. Wish me luck.

All SFist coverage of Fuller House

The media was having a field day trying to figure out why Alexander Skarsgard showed up in drag at the San Francisco premiere of The Diary of a Teenage Girl at the Castro Theatre last Monday. Some wondered if it was because he plays a gay or drag character in the movie (he doesn't). Others thought it was a tribute to "costar" Josh Grannell, AKA Peaches Christ, (yeah Grannell is in the movie, but blink and you'll miss him). But the truth is closer to what I figured all along: half the audience was in drag, and when in Rome — or the Castro — well, why not wear a dress? So, sure it was part tribute, but it was also just solidarity.

Director Marielle Heller took to the stage at the same premiere and introduced Skarsgard and costar Bel Powley; all three looked fabulous in their 1970's dresses. But before anyone could really say anything, Cousin Wonderlette — acting as MC — ushered them all off stage to make way for a bunch of Rocky Horror Picture Show performers to lead the audience in a round of the Time Warp. It was pretty obvious the majority of the audience was not ready to do the Time Warp again; they wanted to see the movie...

..which opens exuberantly, with young Minnie (Bel Powley) walking through Golden Gate Park, a smile on her face, "Looking for the Magic" playing on the soundtrack. "I had sex today," we hear Minnie say. "Holy shit!" It's a perfect, frank opening for what lies ahead: a movie that recognizes that teenage girls can be just as sex-obsessed and horny as teenage boys.

Minnie is fifteen and lives in San Francisco with her divorced mother Charlotte (Kristen Wiig) and her younger sister Gretel (Abigal Wait). It's 1976. They all live in flat in Laurel Heights, (actually filmed at a house on Haight Street), and Minnie goes to a private school in the neighborhood (the Presidio Library poses as the high school). She doesn't think herself very beautiful, even using the word ugly to describe herself, so having someone actually desire her feels momentous. She starts to document this pivotal change in her life via an audio diary, recorded on a cassette recorder she hides under her bed. These recordings serve as the film's narration.

As she tells her diary, having sex for the first time officially makes her an adult, although she can't talk about this sexual encounter with anyone aside from her blue-eyed, blonde feathered-haired best friend Kimmie (Madeline Waters). (Minnie's mother deems Kimmie kind of white trash, "but in a good way.")

Minnie's losing her virginity is a bit....complicated, because the man she's sleeping with is her mother's 35-year-old boyfriend, Monroe (Alexander Skarsgard), "the most handsome man in the world." Most of the film's summaries describe this relationship as "an affair," glossing over the whole pesky statutory rape angle. It's certainly an easier way to describe the situation, and in many ways, the two of them are more equal than any two people with that age difference should be. And it also makes sense within the context of the film's setting. Of course, a 35-year-old man having sex with a fifteen-year-old can't be excused with "It was the 1970s; things were different then!" But it can be explained with that.

Minnie is not a victim. She's not a victim of Monroe, or of her own sexuality. If she's a victim of anything, it's the era. The 70's were tough — perhaps even tougher for San Franciscans. Many parents were barely out of their teenage hippie phase before they were faced with the daunting task of raising the next generation. And a lot of time, they didn't do much raising. Sure, many kids had a lot more freedom than they do now, which can be a good thing, but it also meant a lot of learning had to come from painful experience, and not from parental guidance. All of this is illustrated in Diary to tremendous effect, from Minnie's sexual experience, to having a mother who is more of a buddy who shares her drugs than a parent who pays much attention to her kids' welfare.

And yet, Minnie's mother isn't a villain, and neither is Monroe. Skarsgard portrays him perfectly: he's a tad pathetic, basically weak, and is playing at being an adult as much as Minnie is. Wiig is also great as Minnie's mom. She's never a caricature. Moments where she's being a, frankly, terrible parent, feel very real. You don't hate her, but you do wish she'd just get her shit together already.

Minnie's and Monroe's relationship is fun for a while, but then it isn't, and the main reasons it isn't is because it's not right. Which isn't to say it's only wrong, and isn't to say Minnie can't learn from it. Minnie is able to embrace her own sexual needs, accept that wanting to feel another person's body against hers is natural, and go out and get what she wants, and needs.

I'm reluctant to call this presentation of female sexuality "brave," because I don't think it's brave so much as just plain true. Yes, it's rare for a movie to explore it, though it's not unheard of. Some comparisons have been made to 1980's Little Darlings, (a personal fave), but I was also reminded of the 1987 British film Wish You Were Here, which also focused on a teenage girl with a sexual appetite, and little to no shame about it.

And while sex does take up much of Minnie's thoughts, she has other passions that blossom at the same time. It being 1970's San Francisco, Minnie is familiar with the local underground comics scene, and styles her own drawings after them, and her personal hero Aline Kominsky. Minnie's drawings show up as occasional animations in the movie, illustrating her inner thoughts, and giving the movie an extra kick of 1970's nostalgia.

Minnie's fondness for drawing is more than just a passing hobby. Towards the film's end, as Minnie's choices turn a little dark, we know she's going to be OK, because she has an artistic talent and a passion for it that will be able to pull her out life's darkest moments.

Let me end with praise for Bel Powley's performance. She's British, and in her early 20's, but she pulls off playing an American teen perfectly. (It also helps that she's tiny and Alexander Skarsgard is like 7 feet tall.) She's able to appear naive and innocent in one moment, and sexual and eager in the next; not just scene to scene, but sentence to sentence. It's quite remarkable.

Her performance and the film's message were summed up perfectly for me in one brief moment. As Minnie is leaving school one day, a fellow student walks by her and mutters "slut," under her breath. Minnie hears this, and her reaction is: a brief look of puzzlement, followed by a laugh, and a slight shrug of her shoulders.

And she keeps on walking.

Every new printing of our menu gets a new fun fact. Today's is a real gem

A photo posted by Richie Nakano (@linecook) on Mar 14, 2015 at 6:02pm PDT

When some chefs get a review they're not nuts about from the Chron's longtime food critic Michael Bauer, most seethe quietly, worried, perhaps, about standing up to the man that's reputedly the most powerful food writer in San Francisco. Not Hapa Ramen owner and noted social media firebrand Richie Nakano, however! No, not at all.

When Bauer's "Sunday" review of Hapa appeared Friday night on SF Gate, Nakano's response on Twitter was swift:

In reference to Bauer's discription of some menu items as employing "techniques Nakano no doubt learned at one of the Western restaurants where he previously worked":

Referencing the photo at the top of this article, Nakano tweeted:

And today:

To add insult to injury, in Bauer's Inside Scoop blog post referring readers to his Hapa review, he initially misspelled Nakano's first name as "Rickie."

(I misspell things a lot, too, and have to scramble to fix my typos. It happens, we're all human. And, to Bauer's credit, the error was eventually corrected.)

So how critical is this review? Is this a case of that thing where a single negative comment will overwhelm buckets of positive remarks?

Well, it wasn't a savaging to the level of Crystal Jade's, but it's definitely mixed, with as much criticism as praise. (I can't speak to its "accuracy," as if one could regarding something as individual as food. However, my esteemed colleague Jay Barmann says that he really likes Hapa's fried chicken steam buns and "the vegetarian/miso ramen is fantastic.")

A greater question might be if a ramen joint could possibly expect much more than 2.5 stars from as traditionally entrenched a critic as Bauer. A 2013 review of Oakland's Ramen Shop, for example, couldn't possibly be more glowing, but only clocked in at three stars. As Nakano notes, the Ramen Shop's style is "vastly different" from Hapa's, so perhaps this is an apples to oranges comparison? But we're just talking, here.

Of course, Hapa's Sunday night menu (as seen above) isn't the first time someone's brought up Bauer's three-decade tenure as food critic as implication that the Chron might need a change. An anonymous food writer blasted Bauer to Eater last year:

Michael Bauer needs to go. The New York Times has a great system where they cycle in new talent every few years, which keeps things fresh (and about as anonymous as possible in this day and age). Looking beyond the fact that he's been doing this same job for three decades, is recognizable to absolutely everyone, and is good pals with so many local chefs and restaurateurs, the guy is simply an awful, awful writer. Let's also not forget that his long-time partner has invested in several San Francisco restaurants, all of which, unsurprisingly, receive great reviews and frequent praise, all while not being publicly disclosed by him or the Chronicle. Talk about journalistic integrity.

Update: Michael Murphy, Bauer's long-time partner, writes in regarding the remarks published in Eater that I quoted above. Here's what he has to say:

For the record: neither Michael (Bauer) nor myself (Michael Murphy) have any investment in any restaurant (in San Francisco- or anywhere).

I have seen some various comments from time to time...they are completely untrue..but rather than get into the mud with people who are attempting to discredit Michael or defame me....I have just let it go....(Well, till now.)

To be clear= I have absolutely NO INVESTMENT in any restaurant.

SFist regrets republishing Eater's — or, more accurately, the anonymous food writer quoted in Eater's — error.

Previously: This Week In S.F. Food: Jersey Brings East Coast Pizza To SoMa, Tokyo's Menscho Comes To SF

Yelp reviews of the San Francisco county jail (barely holding a 2.5-star ranking) will set your caged heart free and/or enlighten those of you who might have to stay there one day. Behold:

Meg N of Concord (three stars) writes:

"Now sleeping arrangements. You can get lucky and find a cuddle buddy to share body heat with, or get some sleep under your combined coats, but sleep is only possible if your other drunk compatriots aren't banging incessantly on the glass insisting they are better than everyone on the other side...I give two [stars] for the dining service. I got not one but TWO milks, and an extra pair of socks to use as hand mittens....Don't smile during your mug shot they don't happen to particularly like that."

Bernard K. of San Bruno (five stars) write about his 2011 stint in the clink:

"Today I got back with my girlfriend ([she's] the reason I got put in this semi hotel). I was here for about a week and I had great time. My mom doesn't let me go out, so it was like a prom or social gathering but with all guys. I felt cool. It gave me a feeling of importance. My girlfriend said she likes bad boys so I think I turned her on when I was in here. The food was okay. Not the best and I would have done anything for cup noodles from J&D. I felt like a man for once in my life and I can't stop telling all my friends."

Jayne B. San Francisco (one star) notes:

"First of all, there's NO coffee (unless some kind soul gives you a sip of the instant coffee they bought thru the commissary). You wake up at 4 am for 'breakfast,' then 5 am again if you're on chores, then at 7 am you have to sit up for "count" or you could be put into isolation (all privileges, like visits and free time, [can also be] taken away)...No one knew when I was supposed to be released. Three different departments had three different dates for me and then I got surprised by getting released on none of them."

And finally, Alex G of San Francisco has a humorous take on his turn at the city's jailhouse:

"Alas, I had to review one of my 'fave' new establishments here in 'Frisco, how could I not? After an incredible 72-hour stay down at 850 Byrant spent making new friends and enjoying the wonderfully supportive actions of the local legal system, I felt it was time to get the word out about this joint. If you're looking to get away for a couple of days or so (weekends are usually booked solid, see below) or maybe you weren't even plannin' on it, go ahead and read on! Note: you get to stay at least 48 hours longer if you book a 'reservation' late on a Friday, Saturday or Sunday! My brief but memorable stay was highlighted by the following:

[...]

* Entertainment:
-LOVED the wide selection of books, magazines, newspapers to choose from...wait.......
-They seem to prefer Court TV over MTV.....ahem....
-Awesome loudspeaker system which provides HD-quality surround sound
-Millions of dots to count on the ceilings, walls
-Spectacular 1/3 views of the city from behind inviting frosted glass....."

The reviews are in, and HBO's new, indie-film-paced dramedy about contemporary gaydom, Looking, has been declared both a quiet triumph and a bore. Among the adjectives frequently employed on both sides of the debate, "unremarkable," "boring," and "tame." But as Vanity Fair's Richard Lawson rightly observes, "Looking not only has to bear the heavy burden of having to be a consistently engaging show on its own merits, but is also laden with the rather impossible demand that it be correctly and ecumenically representative of the Gay Experience entirely." Which, of course, it's never going to be.

Now, first, the positive reviews:

The LA Times gave it a rave, calling it "charming and significant" and saying, "HBO's 'Girls' will have to shove over and cede some of the Frank New Voice limelight to 'Looking.'" Critic Mary McNamara says Groff's performance is "antic, unfiltered, anxious and adorable," and she astutely points out:

"Looking" probably owes more to "The Mary Tyler Moore Show" than it does "Queer as Folk." Like the lead characters of so many "working gal" shows of the 1970s, gay men young and old face a landscape for which there is no map. They are the first of their kind, but as women, still grappling with the work/family conundrum, have found, freedom can be a burden or a paralytic, just as easily as a gift.

Variety calls it "tonally compatible with 'Girls,' but a lot less whiny," and "happily, occasionally pretty funny."

Time also likes it, saying that unlike shows with gay characters in the recent past, like The New Normal and Queer As Folk, the stories here "are informed by the fact that its characters are gay, but not dictated by it." They also say the show does for San Francisco a bit of what Treme did for New Orleans. "Looking... isn’t telling a broader story of the city as Treme did, but it has the same grounding dedication to specificity, to showing the city as actually lived in."

Vulture/NYMag similarly makes comparisons to Queer as Folk, saying Looking is a lot more complex and that it presents "San Francisco singledom circa 2014 as anthropologically specific but otherwise unremarkable" via some characters who "happen to be gay." Also, "the major characters have a core of mystery that prevents them from being written off as mere types."

Now, the bad:

Allessandra Stanley at the New York Times says the show has the "unhurried" quality of gay indie films like the acclaimed Weekend, with "a studied disregard for dramatic structure and polished dialogue." She adds that the characters are all "wryly self-aware, make one another laugh and share a fundamental decency that is both commendable and a little boring," and unlike Girls, "Looking is actually tame and muted and, accordingly, less compelling.

Gawker similarly finds the characters "barely remarkable," but says the creators do "an adequate job" at portraying contemporary gay life for a mass audience, which it must court without grossing them out to be successful. "It compromises and humanizes." Openly gay critic Rich Juzwiak admits that he "has more in common with these gay guys than any I've seen on TV before." But he adds, with Looking, "gay men get to be boring on TV at last."

Slate agrees, saying, "There was a time when this obvious truth [that gays are just as boring as everyone else] may have needed stating... But surely that time was at least 20 years ago."

Vanity Fair's Richard Lawson writes, on the basis of watching the first four episodes, it's "by no means a perfect show, but also ripples with enough smarts and sensitivity to register as a plenty diverting, though perhaps sneakily shallow, success." He adds that the pressures on the show to "not fuck it up" when it comes to portraying gay life in 2014 are ridiculously huge, especially given all that's happened, politically, since The L Word ended its run in 2009.

And, finally, there's this dolt over at Esquire who wrote "A Straight Man's Guide to HBO's Looking," and it sounds like he's about 25 and hasn't ever watched a gay film or TV show besides Will & Grace and Philadelphia. He finds the show boring, which is fine, but he also seems genuinely grossed out by all the "hooking up with guys" that all other critics have basically said there isn't enough of. Like, the sex is pretty non-explicit and edited out. He also finds it remarkable, despite the fact that these are all references that only gay men over 50 tend to employ, that "there is not one reference to The Wizard of Oz, All About Eve, or Barbara Streisand."

So, there you go. Plenty of good and bad, and while some find virtue in the show's pace and unremarkableness, others find a snoozefest. And so it will likely go.

Check back here on SFist for recaps every Monday, for as long as these measly 8 episodes of Season 1 play out.

Today marks the opening of the Exploratorium's new Tactile Dome, the pitch-black tactile experience where visitors feel their way through a maze-like path. Here to report on the new Dome, and to provide irrelevant commentary, are SFist's very own Andrew Dalton and Rose Garrett, who conversed via online chat while doing other, more important things.

Rose Garrett: So, what were you expecting versus what it actually was?
Andrew Dalton: I was actually expecting more textures. Like I thought I'd be touching and crawling through all sorts of strange things.
RG: Like goo? Did you think you'd get slimed?
AD: I guess? I don't think I really had many expectations other than "dark." More beans maybe.
RG: It was smaller than I remembered from when I was a kid. Which I guess makes sense.
AD: Was it as much fun as when you were a kid? Or has the wondrous haze of youth worn off in your cynical old age?
RG: I think it was almost as fun. I was almost embarrassingly excited. But it was over so fast that I felt kind of like, if I were a kid I might be crying right now.
AD: I bet the people in the control room were enjoying your grin though.
RG: I thought it was interesting how they had a whole control room with video and intercom and stuff ...
AD: Right? It seemed like it'd be pretty hard to get lost.
RG: ... and how we were strongly cautioned from looking at what they could see, because it would kill all the magic.
AD: That was my favorite part. When you asked to see what it looks like in the night vision or whatever, and they were all like, "We'll let you… but it'll ruin the Tactile Dome forever." I sort of felt sorry for the staff at that point. Like, so you guys never go get stoned outside and then crawl around anymore, huh?
RG: I then started to wonder if monitoring the interior of the Tactile Dome is a relentlessly soul-crushing job. Like, something out of a George Saunders story.
AD: I think every job is soul-crushing, just by definition. So it's nice that regular people like us have a release like the Tactile Dome where we can go and be kids in the dark for 15 minutes at a time.
RG: I definitely regressed to a childlike state of wonder. And then I came out and was like, fuck.
AD: I was worried I'd accidentally touch somebody's butt.
RG: Me too! I consciously was like, 'Don't touch Andrew's butt!' Because you were in front of me.
AD: I was in there with four women. I just assumed if anyone's butt got touched they'd blame it on me. Thankfully I didn't hit any butts.
RG: I've always wanted to accuse someone of "getting handsy." Maybe next time. So what was your favorite moment in there?
AD: The second time through when I flopped around on the thing that felt like a moon bounce. That was probably the closest I came to being disoriented, which was a little thrilling.
RG: You went down hard. There was an audible thump.
AD: I rolled into a wall, I think.
RG: The thing that felt like the airplane emergency inflatable slide was one of my favorites. And then climbing on the netting. Although I have to say, being barefoot was a lot more fun knowing that the dome hadn't opened to the public yet.
AD: Oh yeah, there was something that I think you described as "muppet skin" that felt pretty cool. Then when I got out I was just imagining all the children blowing their noses on it. The staff were a little vague when I asked how often the fuzzy things are replaced.
RG: Very vague. I enjoyed finding recognizable shapes like that citrus juicer on the wall. Some of the stuff was reminiscent of a middle school girl's crafting collection, like velvet and beads and stuff.
AD: There were a lot of doorknobs. I was kind of disappointed they didn't open cabinets filled with gross stuff to touch.
RG: Yeah, I wanted more gross textures. I get why that could be a bad idea, but still.
AD: Yeah, I don't know why I was expecting so much gross stuff. A bucket of wet spaghetti would get pretty messy pretty quick.
RG: I dont know about you, but I found it unnerving when they got on the intercom while we were in there.
AD: Oh yeah, me too.
RG: Also, I admit that I got a bizarre sense of satisfaction that the other people in there, from another esteemed local publication, couldn't find the way out. I get very competitive.
AD: Oh totally. Tactile Dome schadenfreude.
RG: Would you say that I am "good at" the Tactile Dome?
AD: Definitely. You knew to go sockless and then you stayed in the bean pit forever, which is clearly the best part. I'm going to fill my closet with beans now.
RG: The key is to mime crushing grapes in the bean pit. Like, do a running-in-place thing. It feels insanely good on your feet, and they were tingly for a while after too.
AD: They were expensive beans too! Rancho Gordo is not cheap.
RG: And there were what, 10,000 beans? 100,000?
AD: "A ton." Like they actually bought 2,000 pounds of beans. But I think only half that are in the pit.
RG: So, we haven't yet covered the most amazing factoid about the Tactile Dome.
AD: Which is?
RG: Umm. August Coppola designed the first Tactile Dome. Remember who that is? NICOLAS CAGE'S FATHER.
AD: Oh duh. How could I forget
RG: I don't know. I've been thinking about it constantly.
AD: When you look at it that way, it's like being INSIDE THE BRAIN of the man who created Nicolas Cage. The dark, twisted, touchy and sometimes inflatable brain of August Coppola.
RG: The Tactile Dome and Nic Cage are his two greatest achievements. How much do they have in common?
AD: Both can be a little dim, but occasionally thrilling.
RG: I'm seeing some parallels. The inflatable raft portion was sort of like Cage's turn in Raising Arizona. Bouyant, random, entertaining ...
AD: With a fuzzy thing just above his upper lip?
RG: Yeah, there were lots of fuzzy things! You know what I wanted? More shag carpet type textures.
AD: I thought you were going to say 'An hour in the dark with Nic Cage.'
RG: Well, there is that sexy "red" room ... The old tactile dome had a similar room where your eyes got acclimated with red light. There were a lot of pillows and it was entirely too comfortable in there. Especially if you're doing it stoned, in high school.
AD: Now that doing Molly is a thing, I bet they're going to have to increase security even with the grownups. I predict legions of furry-booted Pretty Lights fans lining up for a crawl in the dark.
RG: People will just be stationary, stroking the walls for hours. There'll be a bottleneck and 7-year-olds who forgot to go pee first will have no choice but to wet their pants. It'll be a disaster!
AD: People who want to stroke the walls for hours should remember that it is available for private rentals. Not that we're endorsing drug use inside a science museum.
RG: No way! It's not needed. Especially doing that thing where we meshed our faces. That was trippy enough ... my dorky glass, your radiant skin ... it was all too much to handle.
AD: It just looked like me with glasses on and longer hair. And your winning smile, of course. I once made the mistake of calling the Exploratorium a museum for kids ...
RG: Uh oh.
AD: ... which their PR team were very quick to correct. "It's for all ages!" or something to that effect. Which is true. It's really great when there are no kids there.
RG: I would have liked cocktail service inside the Dome.
AD: Drinks served in the Red Room Lounge ...
RG: People in glow in the dark Tron outfits ... actually this is starting to sound too much like a lame rave.
AD: Yeah, I think you're just describing a Burning Man camp.
RG: Except instead of music, you have someone over the intercom going, "Now turn to your right. No, your other right. Crouch down, do you feel it? Crawl through there," etc.
AD: And that person is watching your every move.
RG: And that person is, possibly, Nicolas Cage.
AD: Vampire's Kiss-era Nic Cage, probably.
RG: "I'm a VAMPiiiiiiiire!"
AD: "YOU DON'T SAY"
RG: "Hah! And you call yourself a psychiatrist." Oh wait, is this not the place to quote Vampire's Kiss for the next hour? My bad.
AD: Needs more Wild at Heart quotes.
RG: Wild at Heart tends more toward long scenes with Chris Isaak playing over them.

The Tactile Dome at the Exploratorium
Tuesday-Sunday 10am to 5pm; Thursday evening adults only, 6pm to 10pm.
Admission: $15/general. $25 for adults only hours.
Pier 15, San Francisco

We expect a good time from an opening gala at the SF Symphony. After all, there's an open bar, fancy (or "fancy," in some cases) attire, and everyone rejoices over the new musical season. Last night, beat our expectations as the musical performance, featuring Audra McDonald, topped our expectations. The pieces, joined together by an all-American theme, were fun, focused, and fantastic.

The program opened with Antheil's jazz symphony, a piece introduced by MTT as a mix of jazz and Stravinsky, but we really heard the influence of French composer Darius Milhaud's Boeuf sur le toit. As Le Boeuf, the piece is built in a loose Rondo form, with a jazzy feel alternating with some playful variations. After the introduction of the orchestral theme, Robin Sutherland at the piano played his own motif in a deliberately different tempo. It all worked, contrasting hard and soft edges, percussive and meditative tempi. Mark Inouye played a solo so wonderful that, for the first time ever at Davies, we heard the audience applaud in the middle of the piece.

Inouye, with an assist from flutist Tim Day and percussion principal Jacob Nissly at the xylophone (leaving a noteworthy mark with his first SF concert), also delivered with Gershwin's "American in Paris."

In between the two orchestral pieces, Audra McDonald sang from the Broadway songbook. Ms McDonald had no trouble getting the limelight on her, and with good reason. With five Tony Awards under her belt (in both drama and musical categories, ahe can create a different character for each song. She put forth a motherly voice in the "Build My House"/"Take Care of This House" combo from the Bernstein's songbook. She was vulnerable in West Side Story's "Somewhere," and a sexy kitten in "A Little Bit of Love" from Bernstein's Wonderful Town. (Her extended "mmmmmmmmm" felt like being gingerly bit on the nape of the neck.) Her rendition of "He Plays the Violin" form Edwards' 1776 made her interaction with Sasha Barantshik's violin downright dirty. And she got a mellow torch mood -- where Sutherland's smooth piano intros made us think (for a second only!) he should be a lounge player in some swanky hotel -- with Jule Styne's "The Music That Makes Me Dance." And finally, when she asked the audience to help sing along to "I Could Have Danced All Night," which she now begrudgingly performs as it's such a Broadway standard, the audience was all-too eager to please her. It was, in a word, glorious.

Boy, are we glad to hear the San Francisco Symphony again.

Tomorrow: SFist Editor Brock Keeling has pics and details from the pre- and after-parties. And more.

In a study that gives new meaning to the term "dismal science," a pair of economists have found that a restaurant whose Yelp rating goes up by just half a star is more likely to sell out its 7 pm seats on a given night.

The authors, Berkeley professors Michael Anderson and Jeremy Magruder, studied 300 SF restaurants for their article in this month's Economic Journal. But since high-quality restaurants are more likely to have positive reviews, how did they control for the effect of Yelp on a restaurant's business? As it turns out, they were aided by one of the site's design quirks: restaurants with an average rating below 3.75 are listed as three-and-a-half star spots, while those above 3.75 get rounded up to four stars. This made it possible to compare similarly ranked restaurants on either side of the star rating (with averages of 3.74 and 3.76 stars, say) and see what the improved star wattage did to their bookings. Moving from 3 to 3.5 stars increased a restaurant's chance of selling out at prime time from 13% to 34%, while moving from 3.5 to 4 stars raised the likelihood of a sellout to 54%.

At the time of this writing, 3 people have found Anderson and Magruder's work "funny," 8 found it "cool," and 4 found it "useful."

[Guardian]

Two of San Francisco's (increasingly rare) faceless critics, the Chronicle's Michael Bauer and SF Weekly's Jonathan Kauffman, face off today regarding the star system for restaurant reviews. Why? Because the LA Times (who recently acquired sanctified Pulitzer winner Jonathan Gold, the yardstick by which all food writers measure themselves, whether they admit it or not) now eschews the star system.

The LAT's Daily Dish food blog explains:

Starting this week, The Times will no longer run star ratings with our restaurant reviews. There are a couple of reasons for this. First, star ratings are increasingly difficult to align with the reality of dining in Southern California -- where your dinner choices might include a food truck, a neighborhood ethnic restaurant, a one-time-only pop-up run by a famous chef, and a palace of fine dining. Clearly, you can’t fairly assess all these using the same rating system. Furthermore, the stars have never been popular with critics because they reduce a thoughtful and nuanced critique to a simple score. In its place, we’ll offer a short summary of the review.

Not kosher, says Bauer. Over at Inside Scoop, he defends his stars thusly:

As a critic stars make us get off the fence and distill what we think into a concise rating. Yes, it may shortcut the review, and many people will start by looking at the rating, but I also think they go back and read the review. Giving a summary of the review, as the Times intends to do, doesn’t seem to make it even more likely the people won’t read the reviews. However, forgoing ratings lets the critic off the hook. I’m not sure whether that’s good for readers, or what readers want.

Pshaw, replies Kauffman. Comparing restaurants reviews to theater and book criticism, he notes:

Alt-weeklies like the SF Weekly, the LA Weekly, and every other paper I've written for have never assigned stars. Our movie critics don't assign stars. Our theater critics don't assign stars. Our book critics don't assign stars. Restaurant criticism, as far as I'm concerned, takes pretty much the same tack: If you get to the end of one of my reviews and you don't know how I feel about the restaurant I've just spent 1000 words writing about, then I've failed as a writer and cultural critic.

As for us? Well, we love a star rating. We do. Because we're lazy. Outside of reading countless items each day for this marvelous blog you're now reading, we do enjoy skimming the occasional zero- or four-star review for their unapologetic audacity. (For example, Morton's supernova and Benu's four-star upgrade.) For the non-foodie or non-inside-baseball reader, they're both entertaining, satisfying pieces based on their ratings. Otherwise, we totally see from where Kauffman is coming.

Grub Street, Washington Post, and Dallas Observer have strong opinions about the twinkling scoring system. What about you?

by Micke Tong

While observing Bay Area artist Scott Greenwalt's work, we can't help but imagine a real-time transmutation taking place. Humanoid deconstructed body parts, follicles of hair and organs are displayed with high contrast and a rich colorful palette. Scott shows us a very labyrinthine technique of paint strokes, which depicts polygonal shapes (plane figure that is bounded by a closed path) and branches of veins.

Like a mad scientist, Greenwalt's immense sci-fi inspired paintings reveal a complicated, yet contemporary look at what happens when your imagination runs rampant. “Something About Albert Hofmann”, stands out to define Scott's psyche, pulling numerous and quite elaborate elements into one cohesive subject.

Consecutively, for the past few years Scott Greenwalt has showed us a steady abundance of work that has not only entertained our eyes, but he also makes us ponder and converse about his irrational reality in his art.

The Alchemist will be open for public viewing in the Mission district's Gallery Hijinks (2309 Bryant Street) until December 17th, 2011.