In terms of number of filled seats, I suspect that Applebee’s, Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., IHOP, and the Hard Rock Cafe are some of the most popular restaurants in San Francisco. And yet as I polled my friends, I struggled to find a local who had ever eaten at any of these places for as long as they had been residents.
That’s kind of weird if you think about it. It means that tourists are experiencing a completely different culinary San Francisco than we are.
But more than that: in patronizing these fine-dining establishments, I got a taste of how tourists see the city. Because it’s not just that tourists eat differently than locals. The entire city, I discovered, looks different through the eyes of those who traffic these restaurants.
Let me explain. To me — and probably to most TBI readers — San Francisco is an occasionally whimsical, often frustrating, vastly unequal city quickly being gentrified by shallow yuppies who genuflect to their gadgetry and whose lifestyles are propped up by a hyper-exploited, seething underclass of contract laborers.
But to the tourists I spent time with over the past week, San Francisco is two cable-car lines and some sea lions, plus a colorful pier with lots of taffy and a cool prison island next to a bridge.
Honestly, it’s kind of nice to spend some time in their San Francisco. It’s not a world of contradictions. At Pier 39, the version of “San Francisco” that you are treated to has no wrinkles—no tech T-shirts or hoodies, no NorthFaced white men in Allbirds hyping Bitcoin. (I hated that clause as I wrote it.)
Even in the poor neighborhoods in SF, the tech reaper always seems to creep in somehow. But not at Pier 39. It’s Brand San Francisco,™ a contentless, imagined idea of the city as penned by Tony Bennett and Hollywood screenwriters.
Philosopher Jean Baudrillard coined the term “simulacrum” to describe the idea of something that is a “copy without an original.” Well, Pier 39 is a simulacrum of San Francisco, and these four restaurants — Hard Rock Cafe, Applebee’s, Bubba Gump Shrimp Co., and IHOP—are the places where people go when they want to experience the simulacrum of San Francisco.
But I don’t begrudge the tourists who go here. In most cities, tourists are intentionally constrained to hang out only within certain places, for logistical and practical reasons. Ants follow pre-made scent trails made by their ant comrades, and each time they walk, they reinforce the existing trail with a new scent; that describes tourists equally well. It’s hard to escape your programming.
Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.
There are so many world-renowned San Francisco culinary establishments: Tartine, Nopa, Gary Danko, and Zuni Cafe, to name a few. However, none of these has a gift shop (to my knowledge), whereas the Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. at Pier 39 has a huge one.
I guess I so rarely end up at restaurants with gift shops that it merely wasn’t a restaurant category I had considered before. Before I ate, I spent a long time just studying the T-shirts.
The space itself is really, really big. (Note: I reviewed this one first, so it was my first impression of what a touristy restaurant in SF is like.) Having worked in restaurants when I was younger, I always marvel at the organization and planning that it takes to make a place like this run smoothly. So many people running, communicating, cooking, cleaning, serving, and buying in unison. It’s kind of a beautiful dance — or rather it would be if the workers looked happier and less exploited.
You can probably already tell from my defamiliarized tone that I didn’t exactly have high hopes for the food. I was here for the spectacle. But honestly, Bubba Gump wasn’t bad. I got a clam chowder and a Shrimp Shack Mac & Cheese; my friend ordered the shrimp cocktail. All the shrimp tasted fresh—understandably, as I guess it would be pretty bad if the thing they’re mainly known for wasn’t good — and the batter on the deep-fried food wasn’t too crispy, nor too greasy. Still, it was deep-fried food, meaning it tasted mostly the same. You know how airport food is usually mediocre, but some fancy airports’ food (like SFO’s) is marginally better than choked-up airports’ food (like Philly’s)? It was like SFO quality. I guess that’s kind of a backhanded compliment.
While I was eating here, I kept thinking about how weird it was to have a whole restaurant concept built out of a 1994 Tom Hanks film. The premise behind the establishment is that this is the “real” restaurant chain founded by Forrest Gump and his soldier buddy, Bubba, and by dining at the restaurant, you’re having an “in-universe” experience.
When you think of movies that are so popular that there are entire theme parks created out of them, you usually think of, like, Harry Potter (the Wizarding World of Harry Potter), Star Wars (Galaxy’s Edge at Disneyland and Disney World), or The Simpsons (Springfield USA at Universal Studios). In all these “worlds,” you can feel like you’re entering the movie’s canon; it’s the ultimate fan experience.
But I don’t really think of Forrest Gump as being in the same ballpark, particularly in terms of fandom. Is there some huge Forrest Gump fandom out there I don’t know about? Are there Gumpers who make Gump memes and write Gump fanfic and nerd out about being able to go to the real restaurant that Forrest Gump founded?
Hard Rock Cafe is another entry in the “restaurant with a gift shop” genre, my new favorite type of cuisine.
But more importantly, is this really a robust concept for a restaurant? Given that there isn’t a larger Gumpiverse, with sequels and sidequels and action figures and comic books and board games and trading cards, isn’t the Gump fandom going to diminish as the years go on? Does anyone really think that in the year 2050 — when the release of Forrest Gump will have predated when the vast majority of people were born — there will still be people who even understand what this restaurant is?
I don’t know, man. But I do know that their food isn’t that bad as far as deep-fried food goes, so maybe they can coast on that for a while.
Bubba Gump Shrimp Co.—Pier 39
IHOP
Unlike most of the other places on this list, I have proudly been to an IHOP before. I think the last time was in 2003, after my junior prom ended, at around 1:00 a.m.; my friend Ashley’s date, an ashy-looking white guy with an emo-bangs haircut, whose name escapes me, chugged an entire bottle of maple syrup to try to impress her.
Anyway, I’m pleased to report that at the IHOP down by Fisherman’s Wharf, they still have syrup on most tables, should you want to impress your date.
The weird thing about this IHOP was that compared to the other establishments on this list, it was almost completely empty. Like, creepily empty right around dinnertime. In Fisherman’s Wharf, that didn’t bode well. Maybe it’s busy at breakfast? This also could be because the corner it was on looked less trafficked. I think it’s in the ground level of an office building.
Because there were not many patrons, and because the fare was pretty much exactly what you’d expect from an IHOP, the experience wasn’t particularly novel. Like the menu for every other establishment on the list, the menu here was riddled with registered-trademark signs, indicating that it was probably honed in a food lab somewhere and tested by consultants and lawyers.
Why does the 24-Karat Gold Leaf Steak Burger™” have only a ™ but the Local Legendary® Burger earned an ®?
The thought of this made me feel depressed, so of course I had to order one of the trademarked items. My date and I split the Have It All BreakFEAST,™ which included French toast, buttermilk pancakes, bacon, sausage, ham, eggs, and hash browns. That dish of cheap processed meats and white flour was $16.79 before tax, presumably because paying the lawyers to apply for the trademark and testing the dish with focus groups cost them a few million dollars, and they had to recoup some of that somehow.
We also split a milk shake that didn’t have a trademarked name, which is probably why it was “only” $6 — a pretty average San Francisco price, unfortunately.
Was it worth it? I mean, everything was passable, but by San Francisco standards, it was subpar. After the meal, I felt sad that I hadn’t spent my brunch money at one of the city’s Irish breakfast places instead, where I would have paid the same for something similar made with much more love (and flavor).
IHOP—200 Beach Street
Hard Rock Cafe
Back at Pier 39, Hard Rock Cafe is another entry in the “restaurant with a gift shop” genre, my new favorite type of cuisine. I was astounded by the size of it.
Having never been to a Hard Rock Cafe before, I confess I was confused at first about what it “was.” Is this a restaurant? A clothing store? What is “rock and roll” food? The menu was inscrutable and looked like the menu of any anonymous American brewpub in a middle-class suburb.
The big exterior-wall menu also committed two great restaurant sins: it, like IHOP’s, had trademarks all over the menu items, and it omitted the prices. That was ominous.
However, I do like how some of the menu items have trademarks and some have registered trademarks. Why does the 24-Karat Gold Leaf Steak Burger™ have only a ™ but the Local Legendary® Burger earned an ®? Again, it probably comes down to focus-group testing and lawyers’ fees or something. How novel to have a law firm involved in the chain of labor for making a burger.
So of course I had to order the Local Legendary® Burger. I wanted to taste what the most talented lawyers could dream up in the kitchen.
It turns out that I made a good choice for a food review, because these are actually “a thing,” with their own Thrillist article, natch. The Local Legendary® Burger varies regionally depending on the regional cuisine. In Scotland the Local Legendary has haggis; in Seattle, they use a coffee rub, supposedly.
Here it was like a patty melt but with sourdough bread, which, evidently, came from Boudin. They billed it as a “steak burger,” and it came with some mediocre fries.
How many times can you write “Applebee’s” on stuff?
The whole affair was a bit indistinct, frankly. When I think of Northern California, I think of avocado, which it didn’t have. I am not a big meat eater anyway and couldn’t finish it.
My date ordered the grilled-chicken Caesar salad, which was also mediocre — it tasted like the lettuce was prepared a day or two before wilting. The chicken was bland and a bit fatty. This salad didn’t have an ® or a ™ in it; maybe they invest less in those dishes.
Hard Rock Cafe—Pier 39, #256
Applebee’s
Applebee’s was my favorite restaurant when I was in the ninth grade. Nothing felt more adult to me than being part of a sextet of unaccompanied 13-year-olds ordering wings and iced tea on a Friday night.
My tastes have changed since then, but not that much. Applebee’s no longer seems the height of sophistication; rather, it’s a bit bleak. Imagine if a bunch of industrial psychologists teamed up to produce a menu and decor that was designed to appeal to the optimal number of Americans. That’s Applebee’s.
This Applebee’s, on the main tourist strip of Fisherman’s Wharf, has a “flagship” feel to it. I do not know if Applebee’s has flagships the way that companies like Apple and Gap do, but the grandeur of the entrance and the amount of marketing dollars spent on the interior and exterior design suggest that.
First, the entrance to this place is almost regal — or would be, if not for the cheap advertising laminates everywhere. How many times can you write “Applebee’s” on stuff?
Past the open-air “lobby,” there are two steel elevators and a staircase to the left. As you walk up the stairs, you get more laminate advertising around every corner.
There is something uncomfortable about establishments that brand themselves as “fun.” Applebee’s doesn’t use that specific word; instead, they write, “This way to good times,” as though bad times were chasing me like a ghost and this laminate-covered cathedral were a rare reprieve from the constancy of the bad times.
If this was the way to good times, the touristry must be a cynical bunch; it was very empty. The first thing that happened as we waited for a table was that an older woman ran in and came over to us.
“I think I just got pickpocketed,” she said, huffing from running up the stairs. “I had my wallet in my purse when I was in here, and I went outside, and a few minutes later, it disappeared.”
She asked a server if he’d seen her wallet; the server looked in the lost-and-found and shrugged. “Sorry,” he said.
We helped her scour the Applebee’s for the missing wallet, to no avail; she seemed resigned to her fate, thanked us, and left.
Where were the good times that we had come here for?
The menu at Applebee’s is American pub food just like the menus at the Hard Rock or Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. It, too, had plenty of ™’s, of course. I was dining with a vegetarian friend, and hence we were limited to what was vegetarian, which was almost nothing. We went with the garlic green beans and the garlic mashed potatoes—both sides—and then some kind of peach sangria drink.
The sangria tasted like Squirt and vodka with a piece of canned fruit in it. It was actually pretty good, if you like sugar. After studying the cocktails and the menu, I concluded that the management theorists who planned Applebee’s had mastered how to maximize the number of cocktails possible to produce with a minimum number of ingredients.
The green beans were almost certainly cooked from frozen — they had that wet, drippy quality you get from sauteing frozen food. I’m not sure about the garlic mashed potatoes’ origins, but they were totally passable. I would have ordered a big bowl of merely those. I’m not sure if this is saying a lot, as mashed potatoes are pretty hard to mess up.
I get the sense that the menu is designed to be idiot-proof so they can save on labor costs by hiring unskilled workers. This is just a hunch on the basis of how the food was prepared and how it came out.
The whole time I was here, I couldn’t stop thinking of the old Onion video that jokes about an ad campaign that encourages hipsters to go to Applebee’s ironically.
Applebee’s Grill+Bar—2770 Taylor Street
A new genre of food
I believe that the food snobs who lord over San Francisco’s culinary scene are committing a grave error in omitting these touristy restaurants from their annual overviews of good and/or important restaurants in the Bay Area. In terms of sheer numbers, far more people eat at Bubba Gump Shrimp Co. each year than eat at the Michelin-starred Rich Table.
The best part of this genre of food, aside from the gift shops, is the cultural experiences. We liberals live in an era of celebratory multiculturalism, although the meaning of “multicultural” is intentionally vague and can imply geography, ethnicity, gender, sexuality, or something else.
Because of this vagueness, you can make a sound political argument that interacting with people from places you’d never visit — rural Nebraska, say, or Dubuque—fits within the rubric of a multicultural experience. These are the types that populated the customer base of these establishments, and we coastal elites rarely get to interact with said demographic.
So I say, embrace it once in a while. See what the hoi polloi like to eat and do: they like restaurants with gift shops, “rock and roll” food, and the FGCU (Forrest Gump Cinematic Universe). Get out of your comfort zone, and embrace that Bay Area liberal pluralist culture for which we are supposedly famous.
