Iceman's going for the hard-deck. Let's nail him, Goose! Attention: Everyone should turn, burn and check out Maverick, the little restaurant near the corner of 17th and Mission. Sure, it seems like it might be below your personal hard-deck; it looks a little too Blondie's, maybe a little too Limon. But believe me, any place that serves fresh peppers with a garnish of ancho chiles is a danger zone well worth taking a highway to, even if that highway isn't really a highway. Seriously: Call the ball. Order the steak. And the ribs. The stone fruit salad will be a bogey on your tail for days afterward. Where's MiG one? He's at Maverick. Affirmative, Ghost Rider, the pattern is full. Because the pattern just ate at Maverick.