Bar Brucato opened less than a year ago, in an unlikely spot across the street from the I-80 entrance, neighbored by car dealers and tire repair shops.
In such an area, the interior space itself is a bit out of place, in a good way: Airy, plant-filled and café-like, with a split-level entrance separating the tasting room from the bar/restaurant upstairs. Group tastings are available, and many of their amaros are on display for sale.
Amaro is an aged liqueur imbued with a combination of various herbs and botanicals, sometimes citrus or roots, arriving at a bittersweet flavor that can be somewhat mellow or brutally intense.
Brucato uses California ingredients, creating regional taste profiles using manzanita, or Central Valley apricots, to name only a couple. We were excited to try these award-winning amari distilled right here and found at many bars across the City.
We went whole hog and ordered some of their cocktails (I especially loved the Brucato Mission gin spring almond martini, with its laurel leaf and orange bitters notes), as well as a tasting of new releases and their standard amari representing California orchards, fields, woodlands, and chaparral.
While the amari are perhaps the main reason to come here, pairing them with food is an even better idea, with some dishes even incorporating an amaro in their preparation.
We started out with the bitter greens salad:
A cacophony of colors, flavors and textures on a plate. The various bitter greens were napped in a zataar/Caesar dressing, and I especially loved the buttery, toasted breadcrumbs that came atop, giving a richness to an austere but fresh start to our meal.
Following that, the famed chicken gribenes.
Perhaps my favorite dish of the night. The fabulously crunchy/chewy, plentiful chicken skins come, amazingly, baked, not fried. These were perfectly seasoned, just salty enough, with caraway and addictively crispy fried onion strings, and a squeeze bottle of hot sauce alongside. They had better never take this off the menu.
Next, we had the octopus confit skewer.
Tender skewers of octopus that had been glazed with a Chaparral amaro tomato sauce, served over fat chewy butter beans in a garlic confit, and a little chermoula. A lovely combination.
Scallop crudo followed.
Brucato’s Oro y Fierro amaro, infused with kumquat and chilies that offset the bitterness, was made into a gastrique for the crudo, alongside slices of avocado and dollops of what appeared to be a strawberry coulis. Serrano chilies gave a nice little kick. (I purchased a bottle of the Oro y Fierro, I loved it so much.)
We followed that with the lamb meatballs.
I found these a little on the dull side, despite the claim that they’re spicy, with an almond anchovy sauce that tasted like neither to me. Not bad, just not great.
Next, the grilled harissa-spiced hanger steak.
Great char enveloping pink, tender slices of richly beefy beef, in a pool of spring allium salsa verde and topped with peppers and nasturtium petals. Pretty, and a pretty great steak.
To go with that meat, some potatoes.
Potato gnocchi with garlic scapes and bits of delicata squash swam in a brown-butter cream sauce, flecked with crispy prosciutto. A necessary dish, after all the spirits we’d imbibed. I could have licked the bowl clean.
To finish, cardamom-spiced market fruit buckle with strawberry sumac ice cream:
While I was definitely too full at this point, the buckle was delicious and not too sweet, the cardamom adding a lovely warmth, and it was fantastic paired with the mellow flavors of the ice cream. Full disclosure? We ordered two of these. YOLO, amirite?
Brucato isn’t the place to go if you’re on a budget, but you can always stop in for a drink and a snack and not do too much damage. Service was knowledgeable and friendly, and kept apace with our needs and desires.
All the menus change often — food, amari, cocktails, aperitivos — echoing the seasonality and the flavors of the best California has to offer. Yet another reason to be grateful to live in this state. And this neighborhood!
Bar Brucato
275 South Van Ness Ave.
S.F.