I HATE TO SOUND like a grumpy old man, but I think it's about time somebody stood up for traditional American values.
It seems that all the long-established precedents we once held Custom holster dear are now considered hopelessly fogeyish and out of date. The eternal verities of life are no more seen as ageless and immortal, but as mere whims that can blithely be supplanted by whatever is new and trendy. Custom is customarily dismissed, time-honored truths are honored only in their breach.
It's an outrage, and it's got to stop. We all need to stand up and be counted in support of traditional American values . . . by which I mean, of course, a crisp, dry martini; thick, juicy, dry-aged steak; baked potato with all the trimmings and bottle of rich, inky Cabernet Sauvignon.
If you want to sink your teeth into those traditional American values, there's no better place to do it than Harris', the plush, comfortable steakhouse on Van Ness Avenue that this month is celebrating its 15th anniversary, which - restaurant years being the equivalent of 10 or so ordinary people years - makes it at least 150.
My opening screed aside, I like new and trendy in my restaurants as much as the next jaded, overfed, easily bored big-city food critic. It's just that I like those traditional American values too. I like the old-fashioned sense of calm and contentment that pervades Harris' luxurious, elegantly appointed dining room. I like the spacious cocktail lounge with its massive bar, overstuffed chairs, mural of San Francisco city scenes and low-key live jazz; I like the quiet conversations of friends sharing a civilized beverage instead of the shouted pick-up lines of hormonally addled strangers.
I also really like the fact that, unlike many others, Harris' dining room is designed with the indulgence and comfort of its guests in mind. Lights are low, music is soft, colors are muted and clubby dark wood trim abounds. Diners have plenty of room to move and to breathe; you won't feel jammed fin by jowl against your neighbors like so many overworked, overstressed sardines. And when you pour yourself into one of the cushy leather banquettes that run the length of the room, the bustle and din of the world outside seem just a little further removed.
I like that. A lot.
I like the food at Harris' too. Not just the steaks - you'd damn well expect any restaurant that goes through about 130,000 pounds of certified Angus beef a year to know how to choose, trim, age, cook and serve the primary reason for its existence. But I N9-SGP-Piano-pain also like that you can get a platter of pristinely fresh oysters, glistening on the half-shell; a properly poached salmon with light, frothy Champagne sauce; and plump, tender Colorado lamb chops that strike just the right flavor balance between baby delicacy and meaty adult satisfaction.
You can wash all that down with a choice from Harris' well-chosen if pricy wine list of 350 labels and / or vintages, including a large selection of hard-to-find
"library" wines. You might even choose the lovely Flora Springs "Trilogy" ($61) a full-bodied yet silken wine that delivers loads of ripe black cherry fruit and keeps gaining complexity in the glass like a thing alive.
I like to start my meal at Harris' with a half-dozen of those oysters ($9.50), at our visit creamy Blue Points, served with mignonette, cocktail and Asian-style sauces but really needing only a squeeze of lemon to highlight their just-plucked-from-the-water freshness. But no need to put on oysterish airs, a huge pile of crunchy, greaseless, unpretentious onion rings ($5.50) hit the culinary G Spot with a flourish one evening, while on another, a classic Caesar salad ($7.25) did much the same, even though I found its mayonnaise-y dressing tame and over-rich.
A salad of verdant baby spinach with apple-smoked bacon and pine nuts ($7) was tastier and much lighter; its soy-based vinaigrette was surprisingly complementary. House-cured Atlantic Phone Case salmon ($9.75) was delicious, firm-textured and faintly kissed with smoke, presented with thin, crispy croutons, horseradish whipped cream and a scattering of cherry tomatoes. Only Harris' steak tartare ($10.25) left me with a vague feeling of discontent. Filet mignon, ground to order, mixed with capers, mustard, shallots, Tabasco and egg-enriched apple cider vinaigrette, it still seemed rather bland, as if scared of its essential manly, beefy nature.
Let's talk beefy nature. Let's talk steak. Nothing to do with Harris Ranch, Harris' beef is the genuine corn-fed Midwestern article, purchased by the side and broken down by the restaurant's own full-time butcher. The signature Harris' steak (a bone-in New York) and plate-filling T-Bone are dry aged for 21 days; other cuts are wet aged in Cryovac packages. Dry aging, which you can see taking place in glass-walled cases off the restaurant's bar, means more flavor and tenderness but more loss - up to 60 percent, according to general manager Keith Reese. That's why a properly aged piece of top prime or choice beef can cost as much as a complete dinner at your favorite neighborhood cafe; that's also why nothing else tastes even remotely like it.
Both the Harris' steak ($28) and T-Bone ($34) are a carnivore's idea of pure gastronomic nirvana. Grilled over fiery hot mesquite, they arrive at the table appealingly charred and crusty on the outside, beautifully rosy and precisely medium-rare within. Neither is as butter-tender as the ubiquitous filet mignon, but what they lack in molten texture they more than make up for in lusty, busty, gloriously meaty flavor. They arrive with the day's vegetable and something else I like quite a bit - a zeppelin-sized baked potato that a waiter will slather with sour cream, butter and chives from a gleaming silver service set. (Or you can opt for red potatoes braised in white wine and herbs, which are decent but lack the panache of the baked variety.)
Also a worthy cut of meat is Harris' prime rib ($25 / regular; $29 / on the bone). This may be the best prime rib in town (though fans of the highly regarded product of the House of . . . may register a protest). At least it's among the very best pieces of prime rib in town, an impressively pink, tender, succulent slab of juicy, rare-cooked meat accompanied by nutmeggy creamed spinach and your tater of choice.
If you like your beef dressed for uptown, filet mignon Rossini ($30) is that embarrassingly tender but somewhat bland cut given the white-tie-and-tails treatment with Sonoma foie gras and truffled red wine sauce. The poached salmon ($22) I mentioned earlier was nicely done and a pleasant respite from the surrounding carnivorous feasting; the trio of grilled lamb chops ($30) were quite simply the best I've ever eaten, though they were served (separately, thank God) with a truly hideous lime-mint sauce that could be put to better use cleaning the graffiti scrawled by brain-dead vandals on the restaurant's exterior walls.
Desserts, alas, I didn't like so much. Best were a creditable Valhrona chocolate mousse with coffee creme anglaise ($7.95) and homey apple tart with vanilla ice cream and raspberry coulis ($6.50). Less compelling was a pedestrian creme bru^lee ($6.95). Merely strange was an odd-tasting melange of caramel mousse atop a cylinder of cake-y something surrounded by a moat of pistachio creme anglaise ($7.50).
Traditional American values. Stand up and support them with a meal at Harris'.
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