My Tofu House is your tofu house. Or at least it should be. In the foggy Richmond District of San Francisco sits a Korean restaurant called My Tofu House, where you are engulfed in the smell of fried fish and kimchi as you open the front door. I’m usually so hungry from waiting that I scarf through the wonderful banchan assortment before my food even arrives. Myulchi (dried anchovies), whole fried herring, oh-ee kimchi (spicy cucumber), kimchi (cabbage), kkakdugi (daikon) and my very favorite kong namul (bean sprouts with sesame oil).
We order our usual and settle in, sipping our hot tea in anticipation. Soon, my order arrives and it’s boiling in a large, black clay pot. Soft tofu soup. I crack my egg into the bubbling soup and load it up with kimchi. The silky tofu balances out the flavorful, spicy broth so well. The next steaming bowl arrives: bibimbap. The bottom rice crisps up to that heavenly crunchy state in a matter of minutes. The final plate arrives: Short ribs. They are fall off the bone tender and aren’t chewy like many others. These ribs always reassure me that jumping off the vegetarian bandwagon was a very, very good decision.
My Tofu House is my tofu house. Shoot. I know I said it should be yours, but I have a hard time sharing this gem, especially because the one downside is the wait. But go ahead and go. Enjoy the banchan, bask in the bibimbap, melt with the short ribs. You will be back. You can thank me later. It is a no mess around restaurant that will get you in, get you fed and get you out the door with a full belly. Full bellies are a good thing.