Home › Sang The Swan Song › Sang The Swan Song: Coppa's

Sang The Swan Song: Coppa's

In the old days it was considered a feat of gormandizing to go through one of Coppa's dinners and eat everything set before you for one dollar. Notwithstanding the delicious dishes he prepared and the wonderful recipes, the quantity served was so great that one would have to be possessed of enormous capacity, indeed, to be able to say at the end of the meal that he had eaten all that was given him.

In his Pompeiian Garden Coppa still maintains his old reputation for most tasty viands and liberal portions, and if one desire to find the true Bohemian restaurant of San Francisco today, one that approaches the old spirit of the days before the fire, he need but go out to Coppa's and while he will not have his eyes regaled by the quaint drawings with which the old-time artists decorated the walls, nor the hurrying footsteps along the ceiling to the famous center table where sat some of the world's most notable Bohemians on their visits to San Francisco, nor the frieze of black cats around the cornice, nor the Bohemian verse, written under inspiration of "Dago red," he will find the same old cooking, done by Coppa himself.

We asked Coppa what he considered his best dish and he gave us the Irishman's reply by asking another question: "What do you think of it?"

There are so many to choose from that our answer was difficult but we finally stopped at "Chicken Portola." It was then that the old smile came back to Coppa's face. "Ah! Chicken Portola. That is my own idea. It is the most delicious way chicken was ever cooked."

This is the recipe as Coppa gave it to us, his little wife standing at his side and giving, now and then, a suggestion as Coppa's memory halted:

CHICKEN PORTOLA A LA COPPA Take a fresh cocoanut and cut off the top, removing nearly all of the meat. Put together three tablespoonfuls of chopped cocoanut meat and two ears of fresh, green corn, taken from the cob. Slice two onions into four tablespoonfuls of olive oil, together with a tablespoonful of diced bacon fried in olive oil, add one chopped green pepper, half a dozen tomatoes stewed with salt and pepper, one clove of garlic, and cook all together until it thickens. Strain this into the corn and SANG cocoanut and add one spring chicken cut in four pieces. Put the mixture into the shell of the cocoanut, using the cut-off top as a cover, and close tightly with a covering of paste around the jointure to keep in the flavors. Put the cocoanut into a pan with water in it and set in the oven, well heated, for one hour, basting frequently to prevent the cocoanut's burning. THE SWAN SONG A bare recital of the terms of the recipe cannot bring to the uninitiated even a suspicion of the delightful aroma that comes from the cocoanut when its top is lifted, nor can it give the slightest idea of the delicacy of the savor arising from the combination of the cocoanut with young chicken. It is not a difficult dish to prepare, and if you cannot get it at any of the restaurants, and we are sure you cannot, try it at home some time and surprise your friends with a dish to be found in only one restaurant in the world. If you desire it at Coppa's on your visit to San Francisco you will have to telephone out to him in advance (unless he has succeeded in getting back to the city, which he contemplates) so that he can prepare it for you, and, take our word for it, you will never regret doing so.

Coppa has many wonderful dishes to serve, and he delights so much in your appreciation that he is always fearful something is wrong if you fail to do full justice to his meal. He showed this one evening when he had filled a little party of us to repletion by his lavish provision for our entertainment, and nature rebelled against anything more. To us came Coppa in tears. "What is the matter with the chicken, Doctor? Is it not cooked just right?"

It was with difficulty that we made him understand that there was a limit to capacity, and that he had fed us with such bountiful hand we could eat no more. Even now when we go to Coppa's we have a little feeling of fear lest we offend him by not eating enough to convince him that we are pleased. Coppa's walls were always adorned with strange conceits of the artists and writers who frequented his place, and after a picture, or a bit of verse had remained until it was too familiar some one erased it and replaced it with something he thought was better. We preserved one written by an unknown Bohemian. We give it just as it was: Through the fog of centuries, dim and dense, I sometimes seem to see The shadowy line of a back-yard fence And a feline shape of me.

I hear the growl, and yowl and howl Of each nocturnal fight, And the throaty stir, half cry, half purr Of passionate delight, As seeking an amorous rendezvous My ancient brothers go stealing Through the purple gloom of night.

I've seen your eyes, with a greenish glint; You move with a feline grace; And when you are pleased I catch the hint Of a purr in your throat and face.

Then I wonder if you are dreaming, too, Of temples along the Nile, Where you yowled and howled, and loved and prowled, With many a sensuous wile, And borrowed the grace you own today From that other life in the far-away; And if such dreams beguile.

I know that you sit by your cozy fire, When shadows crowd the room, And my soul responds to an old desire To roam through the velvety gloom, So stealthily stealing, softly shod, My spirit is hurrying thence To the lure of an ancient mystic god, Whose magnet is intense, Where I know your soul, too, roams in fur, For I hear it call with a throaty purr, From the shadowy back-yard fence.

San Francisco's care-free spirit was fully exemplified before the ashes of the great fire of 1906 were cold. On every hand one could find