I decloak to proclaim John's Grill (at Powell & Ellis) as
one of the
best-kept secrets in San Francisco. Spade eats there before
he heads into
the final fray; as I recall, lamb chops and fresh tomato
slices. My wife
and I love the joint. Dark paneling, deep booths, plenty of
mirrors to
watch out for what's behind you... And the scallops are to
die for.
Great martinis, too.
Upstairs is decked out in Hammett memorabilia; scenes from
the three
flicks, posters, a black bird, etc. That's more of a meeting
room.
You are a half-block from the cable cars, two blocks downhill
from Union
Square, and around the block from Market street. (A halfblock
up Powell
at a hotel whose name now escapes me is a saloon, whose
basement is an
actual Prohibition-era speakeasy. Many the nights, yes, many
indeed, that
I and my disreputable friends (god, to be with them again!)
did sodden
our ways long past last call under the streets of San
francisco--drinking
single malt scotches, hundred dollar cognacs, and assorted
other tastes.
On a foggy night in Old San Francisco...my heart
remains.
Frederick Zackel
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