It can be argued that Taraval is one of the great streets in America. Anyone making that argument would take the position that it's great because nobody really thinks of it that way. Outsiders - meaning anyone who doesn't live in the neighborhood - might label it "serviceable", or worse, "up and coming". (Jesus forbid)

 

To Sunset natives, it's a host of memories. A string of little churches, in the way that buildings you've spilled beer and shed tears in become churches. If nostalgia elevates things, Taraval really is one of the great streets in America. 

 

To the rest of us, who've lived in the neighborhood long enough, but not so long that we speak the secret language of people who went to high school here, it's a respite from all the places in the city that are trying too hard. It's weird, but not on purpose. 

 

The mission of the Taraval Project is simple: Eat and drink in every establishment on Taraval in which one can eat and drink. In geographic order, from West to East. From 47th Ave to 14th Ave - no skipping. 

 

The goal is to explore and experience all thirty-three blocks of packed, no-frills dumpling houses. Of pocket-sized sushi institutions where old Chinese regulars do sake bombs with awkward third date couples. The bars with wood panels that still don't ask for ID. The Americana greasy spoons slinging $5 ham and eggs, still managing to pay rent. The after school spots with florescent lights where teenagers OD on boba tea and squid balls. Those big corner spaces that can never keep a tenant - a shiny, optimistic "Hot Pot Grand Opening" banner pulled up and down every couple of months. All of them.

 

And all the nook and cranny mysteries in between: The motorcycle repair place no one ever went in or out of. Dusty Irish real estate offices with faded plastic leprechauns in the window. That boutique that sells nothing but Squishies. Random mini-markets full of bitter melons and plastic gardening clogs. Nail salons with names that got lost in translation. Abandoned cottages behind sagging fences. Karate studios. Soju bars. That place that used to be an auto-parts store before it was a head shop but wasn't it that ice cream/donut parlor for a minute no dude for sure not but whatever it is it's three blocks down from the skating rink that closed down in the '80s where everyone used to go on the weekends, remember? 

 

There are places we can't wait to try, and places we're already dreading. (lookin' at you, KFC) We're gonna get into every corner of this funky little wonderland at the bottom of the Sunset. Come along on the adventure. But remember: It's foggy. It's windy. It's inhospitable. It's so. far. out. It's practically Daly City. So trust me, you don't wanna move here.