7/14/2011 - to Ti Couz. . .

I learned today, rather unceremoniously, that Ti Couz, a local crèpe restaurant in the Mission District, has closed for good.  "All boarded up," Sam texted after finding out for himself this afternoon, the result of a  foiled lunch meeting there.

It is no secret that San Francisco's restaurants come and go much like the nightly blanket of fog that creeps in at sundown and (sometimes) disappearing by noon.  I can't even count or remember how many restaurants I have been to and loved that have since shuttered their doors and completely disappeared from the collective memory.

But Ti Couz was different.

If ever there was a restaurant that played a role in my "formative years," that I have used as a lamppost to guide my way into the City, it would be Ti Couz.  Back when the City was still 'San Francisco' to me, and I regularly lost my way trying to navigate its maze of one-ways and non-gridded streets, a friend from UC Davis brought me to Ti Couz one otherwise nondescript Saturday night, me and about 12 of her friends, none of whom I knew prior to this dinner. 

I'm sure I've said it here before: I don't do so well in large crowds of strangers, however friendly and welcoming they may be.  I don't dislike it so much because I am shy, or that I have no interest in it; mostly, I find it very tiring--so much effort in getting acquainted but never enough acquaintance. 

I approached the evening with some hesitation, and I would have gotten out of it if only I could find a reason compelling enough to use.  Evelyn and I were the last to arrive, and there we stood, in a crowd of 10 other people on the sidewalk with various other crowds of varying sizes waiting to be seated.  Across the street, people lined up for a concert or movie or something at the Roxie Theater, cyclists sped along the road alongside traffic, and an eclectic parade of homeless, hipsters (is that word still kosher to use?), and homosexuals passed us by, no doubt on their way to other restaurants, to stand on the sidewalk in front of them and wait for their own table.

Davis, with its sleepy downtown and empty restaurant tables aplenty, this was not.

By the time we sat down 45 minutes later, I felt like I had known these people all of my life, though now I can no longer recall a single person's face or name.  I don't know if it was because they all were exceedingly friendly or if somehow I caught the buzz of excitement that seemed to permeate Valencia and 16th Streets and even the air itself, but I barely felt any of my usual fatigue after meeting new people.  I remember thinking, "Is this what City life is like, freedom and friendship over great food?"

Evelyn encouraged me to order a "citron pressé," essentially a build-your-own lemonade, starting with a glass of ice, a carafe of water, simple syrup, and lemon juice, all separated and waiting to be turned into an actual beverage. I couldn't believe how cool it was, really.  This was a highlight of my night, and when I think about Ti Couz, I never fail to remember this drink.

Well, that and sitting in this restaurant that threatened to explode from noise, drinking my lemonade citron pressé and enjoying the most delicious crèpe with the most delicious mushroom sauce I had ever tasted.  And the whole experience just screamed 'San Francisco!' to me, from standing outside waiting for a table, to being led past the kitchen and to our table in what felt, to my limited international knowledge, like a real slice of Europe.  And the crowd!  How much more of an urbanite could I be, having dinner on a Saturday night in a bustling restaurant with people I barely knew, would likely never see again, yet whose company I reveled in, and seemingly, they in mine?

It all felt like a secret that Evelyn whispered into my ear that subsequently changed my entire perception of San Francisco.  I mean, sure, I could find my way to Union Square, Fisherman's Wharf, and could probably even make it to the Castro, but really, who couldn't?  This restaurant?  With these people?  And with a citron pressé?  Not so likely. 

And now it's gone, and I never even saw it coming (even though I learned it actually happened a couple of months ago, thanks to a quick Google search), never had a chance to go back one last time.  And though I always held it in a special place in my heart, took out-of-towners there and regaled them with this story of "my first San Francisco experience," I never realized how much I could love a restaurant until I got Sam's text and realized just how fond my memories were.