Fernet is San Francisco's ultimate meme.  Most move here having never heard of it, only to have a newfound friend order them a shot and watch their face curdle upon impact. And yet, miraculously, most snarl “I like it!” after swallowing their revulsion and go on to order it again and again.

It's a beautifully foul tradition, really.

But like most memes, it has to keep developing or risk losing the interest of its most flighty fans.  So, following on the imported success of Mexican Coke, some San Franciscans are now importing Mexican Fernet for those of you bored of the commonalty of Fernet-Branca.

CHOW's John Birdsall has the marketing material-ready backstory on Fernet-Vallet, discovered in some edgy Guadalajara taverna “where tourists rarely go” and conveniently imported to the safe confines of your favorite mixologist hang-out:

Epic saga short, [Jake Lustig of Haas Brothers importers] eventually persuaded the Vallet family to allow him to import Fernet-Vallet, along with their angostura bitters. The Vallets have distilled Fernet since the 1860s, when Napoleon III was trying to make Mexico a protectorate of France’s colonial empire. Fernet-Vallet arrived here last summer, and it’s started to percolate up through cocktail bars in New York. It’s caught the attention of a subset of LA mixologists, guys, Lustig says, “interested in developing Latin cocktails beyond the margarita and the daiquiri.” I noticed Mexican Fernet a couple weeks ago on the menu of little Nido in Oakland, California, where it’s set up as a shot with a beer.

Of course, it's more than mixologist droolings.  As Birdsall notes, “Vallet is smoother than Branca, lacks the latter’s blast of peppermint oil and breathes baking spice, though it's just as antiseptically bitter.”  And we're sure that smoothness will be welcome relief to the many left reeling in shock by the taste of Branca, although this blogger has always found the accompanying jolt of consciousness that Fernet provides after a hard night of alcohol guzzling to be a pleasing side-effect.

Anyway, if Mexican Fernet is found in the Mission (or elsewhere in San Francisco, I guess), do let us know.  We're eager to shove some in our faces.

[CHOW, via Grub Street]

San Francisco is a city of storytellers.  From our countless bloggers, novelists, videographers, journalists, comedians, musicians, photographers, poets, the crazy dudes on the corner, and everything in between, we've explored how to share our insights and experiences.  However, the rise of the podcast has seemed to have left San Francisco behind.  Despite all the brilliant programs dedicated to storytelling, there's no definitive podcast devoted to the Bay. Make no mistake: this isn't intended to be the definitive podcast, but, rather, a step in exploring the medium.

First up is Cameron Vannini, a young stand-up comedian who finds an oasis after wandering the dessert in search of physical satisfaction.

If you have a story you'd like to tell, be it funny, sad, hopeful, poetry, or just plain crude, drop us a line at sfcpod@gmail.com.  And, without further ado, I give you the first episode of the SFC Podcast: Stories From the City.

You can now subscribe to the SFC Podcast here: SFC Podcast on iTunes

Show Credits

• Producer: Daniel Jarvis
• Story: Cameron Vannini
• Voice: Michelle Teslik
• Intro Sequence: Jon Bates

That's the bold claim from The Original California Burrito Company in the middle of Sydney, where you can get a “Fishermans' Wharf” shrimp burrito instead of the famed “Mission Burrito” more commonly found in San Francisco, the oft-mistakenly claimed birthplace of the burrito.

At least the guts don't look tthhaattt bad:

[Signage shot by Katherine, Burrito porn by Moira Clunie]

We've all been there — it's raining out, you have somewhere to go, your buddy doesn't want to ride bikes because of the aforementioned rain, so you sack up and hail a cab, prepared to fork over a mini-forturne for a short 10 block ride. This was the case last night as Shmindsay* and I hopped in a cab at 19th and Valencia on our way up to Cafe du Nord. Alas, this was not to be your a-typical cab ride; little did we know that behind the wheel was a cab driver with a serious anger management problem and a dislike for cyclists.

Granted, the cyclist did not have lights on his bike, and it was an honest accident. The cab driver came within centimeters of ending this cyclists life, and naturally, the cyclist was pissed. Words were exchanged between the driver and the cyclist, and then the unthinkable: THE CAB DRIVER SLAMS ON THE GAS AND TRIES TO RUN THE CYCLIST DOWN. The cyclist is screaming at the cabbie, we're in the backseat screaming at the cabbie, and he won't stop. The cyclist maneuvers himself next to the cab and takes a swing at the cab driver and connects. Now the cabbie is super pissed and tries to run him down again, this time by repeatedly throwing the car in reverse then forward again. At this point Shmindsay and I bail out of the cab by doing a barrel roll (literally) and watch the scene unfold. The cyclist is trying to get to the sidewalk out of harms way and the cabbie is still trying to run him over. All parties involved are screaming at each other, I'm frantically writing down license plate, cab number, anything I can get.

After about 5 minutes the cyclist is able to call the cops and the cab driver pulls to the other side of the road and presumably does the same. We stick around, give the cyclist our names and numbers to give to the cops, then decide to walk to rest of the way.

The moral of the story is never take cabs. If you do, ask to see their anger management certificate of completion/marijuana prescription.

*names have been changed to protect those who barrel roll out of moving cabs like a boss/rookie.

[Unrelated topical photo by Hal Bergman]