House of Prime Rib

There are restaurants you visit and restaurants you return to. House of Prime Rib is, after one quiet Sunday in San Francisco, very much the second kind.

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 tomato salad heavy with red onion and oregano, which set the tone — generous, unfussy, and confident enough not to crowd what was coming. With it we ordered a Chianti Classico Riserva I wrote down in my notebook, 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. It arrived faintly hissing on a heated plate, the kind of small detail that tells you the kitchen still cares about the last twenty seconds before service. 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 asparagus with hollandaise and wild mushrooms in butter. 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.

I will be back. With company, next time, and a longer reservation.