I had a delightful dinner with my learned family at Sam's Grill, and I shall return.
Just before I got there, my brother The Professor sent me a text from his spot by the bar: "Throwback is an understatement."
We were installed in one of the 1946-vintage booths, with a curtain for a doorway. Yes, the waiter was grumpy. We had:
Asparagus. Trimmed, blanched, and served cold, with aïoli. Not overcooked. Good.
Sand dabs. Pan sautéed. Just a big plate of sand dabs. Delightful.
Petrale [sole], grilled. Good, but not as good as the sand dabs. My next fish pie will be full of petrale, because it's clear this is one of those flavorful-yet-delicate fishes.
The fish came with roasted potatoes, and this was a simple, practical idea.
Creamed spinach. Certainly at its best, which means 'edible but slightly disappointing and I'm glad this has faded into the annals of mistaken cookery.'
Tiramisu. No note.
I peeked through the curtains at the booths around us: lots of sand dabs, some grilled meat, plus three-piece suits and scotch and soda.
Next time, I wear my fedora.
374 Bush, San Francisco
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