Bay Area

Art Culinaire, Summer, 2004 by Carol M. Newman

'WHO ORDERED THE FOIE GRAS SANDWICH?'

When company lunch orders rolled in, this question was not out of the question--nor was it in question or questioned for that matter. San Francisco's multimedia gulch and the Silicon Valley gleamed--its dollars broadcast in billboards, flaunted as newly built 'campuses' for companies like Oracle and 3Com, dressed down by paper-rich employees in dungarees. The area sparkled of costly square footage for Electronic Arts and HP and sparked when scarce commercial vacancies turned into contested bidding wars.

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For the Bay Area food industry, the years 1998-2000 were all about fueling the desires and bellies of those leading the high-tech charge. It was about the best ingredients, about restaurants salivating over pocket-friendly patrons, about patrons anticipating outrageous menus, and about throwing smashing parties in those, the splashiest restaurants. These few frivolous years trumped anything known in the deviant decade of the 1980s, even tempting the ghosts of the gold rush. This new rush--gotten off on weightless options, not weighty nuggets, seized the Silicon Valley and San Francisco--and their surrounding cities. The Bay Area restaurant economy had hit its stride.

In 1998, The San Jose Tech Museum opened and the Silicon Valley beamed proudly. Every sort of tech was a curiosity, including "Tech tours" of the Silicon Valley. These gave excursions to Alcatraz, or down Lombard, the most crooked street in the world which now seemed pretty straight--a run for their money. Tourists wanted to know where (for example) HP was founded (gawking at a tiny garage in Palo Alto). Maps of Palo Alto tear-downs turned small palaces (where the high-tech gurus lived), were as popular as Hollywood star maps sold on the streets of Belair in Los Angeles.

Reuters News Service summed up those times best. "When the Internet bubble swelled in the late 1990s, S100-a-bottle wine flowed like Evian water, and entrepreneurs whet their appetites on $70 plates of caviar before diving into five-course, expense account meals."

The March 13, 2000, edition of the San Francisco Business Times writes, "[Gary] Danko's restaurant and other recent openings such as Azie, Fifth Floor (all in San Francisco) and Ondine in Sausalito are part of a new generation of places that feature adventurous cuisine for well-heeled patrons. These are not stuffy club-like atmospheres that attract guests for their exclusivity, but they spare no expense in decor, linens, china, crystal and--most of all--ingredients."

PRESENT INDICATIVE

"Without question, San Francisco has been the hardest hit restaurant community in the entire U.S." That's what New-York based restaurant consultant, Clark Wolf said of the dotcom demise.

The massive layoffs resulted in an exodus of former dot employees who high-tailed it to towns rightfully reliant on brick-and-mortar than on online without a plan, a product and proven results. Business and tourism in San Francisco seemed to vanish overnight. Restaurants took a hit. Food service companies specializing in web procurement faltered.

What were great-sounding ideas, turned into even greater auctions. Webvan, of Foster City (just south of SF), an online-based grocer who aggressively expanded to six other cities in just 18 short months, promised to revamp the entire grocery business. The company managed to inspire private investors to part with hundreds of millions of dollars, similarly, the general public, who coughed up big bucks for an automated warehouse where groceries were sorted. With just a few clicks, a customer could shop and have their groceries delivered to their door that same or next day. The company filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, auctioned its equipment and donated its remaining perishable food to the San Francisco Food Bank. In the end, the only item Webvan bagged was its idea. Paper or plastic?

Stroll through San Francisco today, and recall the electricity that once ran through those now empty restaurant spaces, the only future life left in these two words; 'For Lease.' Historical walking tours might one day include audio tours of this, a very surreal period in Western Americana.

One of the first restaurants to close its doors--at the height of the Internet boom--was Elroy's at the corner of Folsom and Beale. Though Elroy's did not shut down due to financial problems, it was one of the first that sold out--selling its sprawling 18,000 square-foot warehouse space, with soaring 20-foot ceilings and celestial light fixtures, to Quovera, a six-year old San Jose-based consulting firm who agreed to sign a 10-year lease for $12 million dollars. Graham Kos, owner of Elroy's, spoke with the San Francisco Chronicle in 2000 and is quoted as saying, "Would you rather be a restaurateur and have 125 employees and have to confront all the issues that operating this kind of business means, or would you rather just get a rent check?" Quovera never did move in. What transpired was a sticky lawsuit and a cavernous space with nothing but cut cable wires, and memories of a once cracking restaurant.