House of Prime Rib

I had been meaning to get to House of Prime Rib for years. I will not wait that long again.

The room is exactly what you want it to be: Van Ness landmark, unchanged since 1949. We were seated near the back, given menus we hardly needed, and brought a small bowl of olives without being asked.

We started with a half-dozen oysters from the raw bar, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Burgundy that arrived too cold and rewarded patience, and were glad of both.

Then the main event: city cut prime rib, the dish that puts House of Prime Rib on every short list. The crust was the colour of dark mahogany, and the inside was a confident, even pink the whole way through. The signature touch — the spinning salad and the silver carving cart — is not a gimmick; it is the reason to come.

For sides we asked for potato gratin with a dark crust and broiled tomato with a breadcrumb cap. Both arrived hot, both arrived early, both were exactly large enough to overdo it. We overdid it.

Dessert was tiramisu, just barely too much, mostly because the waiter raised an eyebrow when we hesitated. He was right to.

If you are passing through San Francisco, do not pass House of Prime Rib by.