Lubricious Locanda – San Francisco

We all crave attention sometimes, especially on a big night out. Some nights we’re a little more choosy, and other nights we’ll just settle for a guy like Locanda, a typical pick-up artist. Locanda is THAT guy you meet at THAT bar who tries a little too hard, acts a little too smooth, and wears a little too much cologne. He approaches you in a way only he find subtle, and he indulges you with attention in the hopes that you will indulge him with a little something more.

Locanda picked me up on my last night in SF, when I just happened to be in the neighborhood, and every move he made was just so typical. He started with an indulgent drink, the Aperitivo, a blend of campari and citrus enticing enough to make me stay but a little too sweet to make me linger.

But I did linger for the next course…and the next because he just looked so good on paper. He looked good in person too. A successful pick-up artist always dresses well, and you can’t go wrong with a coat of golden breading like the Fried Artichokes and Veal Sweetbreads. The thing is, Locanda may sport a designer jacket, but there’s really nothing special about it. No dipping sauce to dress up a plain dish, nothing but a covering and a naked sweetbread with an artichoke afterthought.

The truly smooth guy doesn’t just put it all out there like the sweetbreads. A smooth guy only gives you glimpses of greatness, which I can only hope was the goal of the Bucatini all’Amatriciana’s interminable lines of mediocre pasta with tomato sauce is as fresh and cheesy and as a pick-up line. But before you get too bored, it does incorporate an element of surprise. You do occasionally encounter a jaw-breaking cube of rich bacon-esque guanciale.

Pick-up lines are the acts of amateurs, and a true pro can talk a good game. Negging is one way to start, and I feel like that’s all that Bucatini all’Amatriciana was; a bundle of crappy pick-up lines to set up a contrast for the overly-sweet Chestnut-Ricotta Agnolotti. These little packets of sugary paste lay it on thick, but chestnut and ricotta is all sweet, with no savory notes to balance it out. I’d be lying if I didn’t say they quickly become gag-worthy when you’re barely half way through.

Locanda talks a good game, but be careful not to fall because no real talent, innovation, or craft lies beneath the cheesy surface. As sexy and exciting as this modern, mood-lit man seems, you’re better off going for gentleman like Zuni, whose prime ingredients and impeccable skill ring the bells and blow the whistle on all the Locanda-like fakes. After all these years of reviewing restaurants, you’d think a girl would learn.