San Francisco

By Sarah Grove

This review originally appeared on schismatic.com.

I love Tad’s. When I know that I’ll be meeting David, Dan, and Brad at Tad’s after work for a $10 steak dinner, I look forward to it all day. I’ll park the car at home and then scurry on down to Union Square on foot, all the way dodging the Financial District automatons heading home to the Marina.

I see the guys outside on the sidewalk in front of Tad’s, dragging on cigarettes, because even at Tad’s, you can’t smoke inside. The fog is rolling in and the tourists dressed in shorts stand in the middle of the sidewalk, maps unfurled, debating on whether they should hop into Tad’s or hit the trendy, white-wine sipping Kuleto’s up the street to take shelter from San Francisco’s cold summer nights.

Tad’s screams “Old San Francisco for the Locals.” The menu is a simple, large white poster with black lettering hanging in the front window (next to the rotisserie) and again right inside the doorway. Steaks, chicken, hamburger steak, grilled cheese, grilled ham & cheese, eggs and toast and omelettes for breakfast.

The view from the ordering line. i love it.

A good cut of steak and all the steak sauces and condiments you could ask for.

Grab your gray tray with the “Tad’s Steaks” personalization, and don’t forget your silverware and napkin. We always order the steak special for $8.95. Add a soda and the whole shebang comes to $10.41 including 8.5% tax. You have to wait in line while your food’s being cooked and your salad and drinks assembled, which gives you ample time to hang out and chat up the cooks and assistant managers. You just might hear about what Mayor Willie Brown or the local celebs are up to. These white-coated fellows behind the counter are good people. The owner and his managers have been running the place for over 40 years.

By now you’ve noticed the blue walls and orange-and-black velvet wallpaper. Tad’s is not a seen-and-be-seen trendy place. It’s where unpretentious people come to eat unpretentious food in a very human surrounding. Look around, and the people at the adjacent tables are enjoying their food, talking, laughing, and looking very happy to be there.

Give a little, and you will get much in return. On our last visit, when we had learned that Tad’s was not going to be sold and “updated” (horrors), as had been rumored, we ended up talking with Tad’s owner for some time, just catching him to chat as he strolled through the dining room, leaning on his cane. We told him how happy we were to hear that Tad’s was going to stay just the way it is, and he gave us a carafe of red wine in appreciation. The wine’s from a jug, but who cares? We drank in the spirit of fun and happiness and sharing a little bit of San Francisco which in these days of gentrification seems to be gone forever.

After our T-bone, huge baked potato with lots of butter, a hefty slice of garlic toast, and salad (eat the chickpeas and deal with it) — all of which are included in the Tad’s Steak Special — we go back for Boston Cream pie. Or maybe lemon meringue. We really don’t want to leave, even though we’ll be full until past breakfast time. Tad’s just makes us feel happy. There’s good, inexpensive food, quickly fixed how you want it, with no snooty waiters, high prices, or bad service to ruin your evening.

And no Beautiful People screeching into their cell phones and teetering on high heels. I tuck into my pie, pull my sweatshirt closer around me, and continue my conversation with my companions, making connections after a hard day’s work. Later we’ll all venture home in the fog, heading in different directions, but our confab at Tad’s has been a most wonderful capper to that routine day at the office.

Tad’s Steak House, 120 Powell Street, San Francisco CA, 415-982-1718

The Tad’s Photo Gallery: cook at work, david mulling the angels, that wallpaper, and anticipation at the silverware rack:

I’ve been accused of prejudice against people who make more money than I do. Nothing could be father from the truth. Some of my best friends make more money than I do. Come to think of it, I even used to make more money than I do.

This accustation hurts me. Deeply. I’ve been crying for more than an hour. How could someone question my support for the affluent, possibly one of the most tortured and exploited minorities in America? I’ve long been a vocal supporter of Willie Brown’s program of affirmative action for San Francisco’s underprivileged rich people.

Indeed, I think San Francisco would be a much better place if we threw out all those marginal types and turned the city into wall-to-wall live-work lofts, Starbucks, and banks. Imagine how the quality of life would improve! No more noisy nightclubs South of Market or unattractive bargain bazaars on Mission Street. We’d finally be rid of those pesky artists and musicians.

Poor people are so unappealing. They’re somehow un-American, with all this talk of respecting their neighborhoods and preserving diversity. If all those unsavory characters in the Mission or the Tenderloin would just create more Internet start-ups, them they’d deserve to stay in their neighborhoods. If those damned artists would start generating capital, they’d no doubt be far superior human beings.

Frankly, individuality and creativity are over-rated, nor all that profitable. They should therefore be abolished, or banished to far-flung suburbs. So should working class families and anyone else who can’t make the cut. Nothing is quite so important as making sure that distressed and oppressed wealthy people have fashionable places to live and shop.

Above all, we must remember that the pursuit of large sums of money supercedes such trivial matters as treating existing residents and communities with respect. Who says that people who spend years living in (and contributing to) a community have more rights than someone with half a million to spend on a studio apartment?

After all, money is the most important thing in the world, right?