Visions of reds, browns and oranges flow from booth to bar, with ice-cold martini in hand (gin and gin only), a juicy, medium-rare cut of steak and live jazz. This could be a scene in a 1950s film or the setting at one of few precious classic U.S. steakhouses left — my beloved Musso & Frank Grill in LA and Keens in NYC come to mind. From time to time, I crave an old-school steakhouse and nothing else will do.
There’s no better place in the nation than House of Prime Rib, the last of the unchanged temples to all things prime rib, a San Francisco institution since 1949, thankfully still packed and booked weeks ahead. But they’re a prime rib destination, not serving any other kind of steak. When you crave dry-aged or bone-in New York steaks and midwestern, corn-fed Angus beef vibes, Harris’ Restaurant is one block away, another SF institution since 1984.
As you enter, dark woods and brass chandeliers give way to a green and brown piano lounge with a soothing mural of San Francisco, flanked by a refrigerated case of to-go steaks. To your left, the old world-elegant dining room is lined with pastoral murals and tufted, brown leather booths, offering maximum intimacy.
Opened by Ann Lee Harris, who passed away in 2003, chef/owner Michael Buhagiar has been with Harris’ since day one, keeping the legacy strong. While they offer American Wagyu, Buhagiar sources beef primarily from Kansas and Nebraska, with an in-house butcher aging steaks for three weeks, including a signature dry-aged Porterhouse.
Though I dine out most nights of the week, I avoid Valentine’s like the plague, when restaurants must cater to the masses who go out less often. While my husband and I didn’t dine at Harris’ on February 14, we dined just two days later and it gave us old school romantic feels. Live jazz tempted us towards the seductive, dim bar where I conjure Doris and Rock or Barbara Stanwyck and George Brent in the underrated “My Reputation,” out for jazz and martinis.
Such visions come sensually alive in Harris’ as you cozy up in a booth or soak up warmth from the library fireplace and its book-lined shelves. We opted to keep our booth in the dining room where we could hear sounds of jazz wafting in. A steakhouse always calls for a martini, but in the interest of checking out their current cocktail menu (I hadn’t been back in years), I ordered a classic Tuxedo #2, made here with Sipsmith Gin, Dolin Dry Vermouth, Luxardo Maraschino, just a dash of St. George Absinthe and Angostura bitters.
It arrives as the martini does: with a barrel sidecar of crushed ice holding a little carafe to keep the drink cold as you refresh your martini glass. In the 1908 Spritz, St. George’s excellent Baller Whiskey was a bit drowned out in Yuzuri yuzu liqueur, Giffard passionfruit, and Clara C. Fiori prosecco. But I appreciate that they’re branching out on the drink menu and using a local great like St. George. You’ll also find classics like a Bees Knees or Blackberry Bramble. Bubbly, like Hubert Meyer Cremant d’Alsace Rosé sparkling wine, also makes a worthy start.
Then it’s time to dive into the generously-portioned meal. Crab-heavy Dungeness crab cakes in beurre blanc are the kind of starter I can’t resist, as I lean towards a surf-and-turf mix at a steakhouse. Partnered with a glass of mineral, lean 2019 Domaine Vocoret & Fils Chablis White Burgundy (Chardonnay), it’s even better.
Harris’ “traditional onion soup” is no French onion soup with cheese and bread. In fact, it’s lighter, though unctuous. An ode to all things onion with its flavor-packed broth, fried onions add another allium layer to the savory soup. A steakhouse doesn’t feel like a steakhouse without the creamy crunch of an iceberg wedge salad or the anchovy hit of a Caesar. Harris’ offers both. We opted for the Caesar with extra anchovies. We did not choose wrong.
On the steak front, decisions became trickier, coming down to medium-rare excellence in a 16 oz. “Kobe-style” American wagyu ribeye, and for contrast, boneless New York pepper steak crusted in cracked black pepper, drizzled in a brandy, cream, and peppercorn sauce.
While Dan went for a baked potato with all the trimmings, one of his steakhouse “musts,” for my side, I opted for creamy-rich potatoes au gratin. We both couldn’t resist adding on a (huge) side of creamed spinach, another dish that feels steakhouse crucial. After all those starters, I didn’t get far with the steak, potatoes, and spinach. Dan was there to pick up the meaty slack, while the pepper steak made for a winning lunch the next day. Local (Sonoma) 2018 Lacuna Syrah was the right earthy, savory accompaniment.
Booths around us were enjoying their feast as much as we were. Other couples dominated, but we also sat across from a family with well-behaved kids all digging into their steaks, next to what looked like a business group thoroughly enjoying themselves as one diner ordered the motherload, a massive off-menu steak I can’t imagine any human could finish (he didn’t: the “doggie bag” came out early on).
Our affable server kept things fun and flowing, while gracious, suited staff gave us a warm greeting as we arrived and checked in on us through the meal. There was absolutely zero room for dessert after all that food. So naturally, we went for a mini-pralines and cream baked Alaska, “lightened” up with a lemon. Baked Alaska is not only an ideal dessert post-steak, it’s properly old school, representing primo steakhouse eras.
If I didn’t need to research everywhere in this blessed town of endlessly superb food, I’d love to be a regular at Harris’ bar. I’d order a Corpse Reviver #2 and shrimp cocktail, oysters and Champagne, or veal sweetbreads and a Tokyo Highball. My regular wardrobe of vintage or 1940s-50s recreation dresses would be at home as I soak up live piano jazz and soothing greens and browns of the lounge. I may not have the luxury of being a regular anywhere, but thankfully, I can make an occasional return to this SF classic.
As much as I hunt out the new, the creative, the boundary-pushers in food and drink, I also need and am eternally grateful for the Harris’ of the world. They know who they are and stay rooted in it. Unchanging and consistent, they offer not just old-world service and elegance but a comforting sense of home.
// 2100 Van Ness Avenue, www.harrisrestaurant.com
