Every Friday evening, friends and strangers gather outside KJ’s house in the Mission for a weekly “stoop sit” to rest by a fire pit, chat and eat homemade cookies. In the years since its inception in 2022, KJ has built relationships with neighbors she had never met in her prior 30 years in the area. Some stoop acquaintances even formed a band, and neighbors are still getting together for a weekly hangout.
It all started because of Curtis Kimball, the “crème brûlée guy” and, later, “pancake guy” who died unexpectedly at age 46 on Feb. 19. Knowingly or unknowingly, those “stoop sits” are one of the many ways in which Kimball left behind a legacy of community in San Francisco.
“There are just thousands of people in this city who have been touched by Curtis in one way or another,” said Emily Klündt, a friend of Kimball’s who met him and his family at Precita Park a few years ago.
The idea for the “stoop sit” came to KJ when she was in line for Kimball’s pancakes. Kimball set up a free pancake pop-up outside his house near Precita Park, which she recalls as “an amazing, odd assortment of people.” KJ was offered home-roasted and brewed coffee by the people standing in front of her, and the idea of organizing some kind of get-together was born.
“I just thought, ‘Let’s go out there and sit out there and see who turns up.’” Now, people are still turning up, every week, without fail, even when KJ or her partner are out of town. This week will mark the gathering’s third anniversary.
The fact that the gathering grew on its own “is something that gave him such awe and joy,” said Nicole Belanger, Kimball’s wife.
Kimball, who lived in San Francisco for some 20 years, died from an aortic aneurysm. He is mourned by his pregnant wife, two daughters, family and many friends, as well as strangers who knew of him through his food pop-ups: the Crème Brûlée Cart and free pancake parties, which were popular in 2022.
When Kimball started selling $3 crème brûlées in 2009 — wearing a white jacket and a chef’s toque, alongside his older brother, Brian Kimball, who sold curries from the Magic Curry Cart alongside him — he became the face of a budding guerilla-style food-truck craze. The pair drew in an ever-growing pool of patrons referred by Twitter, which had just started to become popular.
“He was the poster child for the movement, and although he didn’t want it, he rocked it like only Curtis could,” said Mike Richardson, who first met Kimball in 2009 when they worked together for a modular home company.
Kimball ended up quitting that construction job to go all in on the crème brûlée business, which would turn out to be hard but rewarding work.
He also inspired Richardson to do the same, which Richardson did, setting up a lemonade cart called Urban Nectar. Richardson recalls Kimball taking breaks in the alley by his cart to smoke a Marlboro Light before applying hand sanitizer, putting on his gloves and going back to torching puddings.
“He inspired others to make the leap,” Richardson said. “Wherever Curtis was, you knew it was cool. You knew it was the place to be.”
Brian Kimball remembers taking Kimball to Burning Man in the early 2000s and experiencing the gifting culture (the festival centers on participants creating the performances and experiences themselves). “You’re not expecting anything in return. In turn, other people do the same thing,” said Brian Kimball. His younger brother really caught onto that, Brian added.
“He wasn’t doing it for this flashy reason,” said Brian.
In the case of the pancake parties, Curtis Kimball was really trying to get out of pandemic isolation. “My wife says I’m getting weird. She says I need to get some friends,” Belanger recalls Kimball telling people in 2022. That’s what started the wildly popular pancake popups near Precita Park, which drew hundreds of people.
“I think it was to propel himself out of the same funk,” said Brian Kimball. “He brought people out of a funk, too.”
Curtis Kimball was an unlikely community builder. His brother and others remembered that he was sardonic and had a dry sense of humor. “I’m a little glass is half full,” said Brian Kimball. ”He was definitely glass is half empty.” Customers were drawn to Curtis’ custom memes on fliers around the neighborhood and funny presence.
“He’s the good person who would come in a dark moment and have some humor for you,” his brother continued. “I wish he was here right now with that, because I could use it.”
We did get creme brulee from him one time. It was wonderful, and he sure sounds like a fantastic person. One note of concern is his GoFundMe says he had no life insurance. I’m begging any of you that have children or any dependents at all, please get a term life insurance policy. They are very cheap (he could have had a $500,000 policy for about $400/year), and you owe it to your family. I’m not being a scold, but a lot of people don’t realize how inexpensive this protection is.
Sweet man.
We on Linda street the original spot for the crème brûlée guy and magic curry cart will always be grateful to Curtis and Brian Kimball. Because of them we began coming out on our street for the gatherings they created. Since then we have planted boxes and placed benches out for folks to gather. We have regular BBQ’s for birthdays and other celebrations. We have sing along movie nights as well. All of this because they created these community events that got us out and talking to one another.
May his memory be a blessing.