True Roadfooders know that the best Roadfood is often the type you stumble upon unexpectedly. So it was for us when we arrived in San Francisco. We were staying in the SOMA (South of Market) area of the city, and after we unpacked we decided to go in search of food. We headed towards the Financial District, thinking to maybe hit up an Italian place we’d loved last time we were here, when suddenly a sign loomed: SATURDAY BRUNCH. We took a look into the place, glanced at the menu posted outside, and went no further.
Eddie Rickenbacker’s is a throwback to the pubs of nineteenth-century San Francisco with its black-and-white-tiled floor and long bar, but that’s where the similarities end. Battered tables and chairs fill the place—and so do motorcycles. Lots and lots of old motorcycles. Did I mention most of them hang from the ceiling? In the front of the room are several ornate red velvet chairs and couches that look like something your grandmother might have thrown out. The young waitress was cheerful and friendly, and we were pleasantly surprised by the food.
I ordered a ham omelet sided with fruit, expecting said fruit to be the usual orange slice. Instead, my rather huge omelet was sided with a generous portion of fresh watermelon, strawberries, raspberries, and pineapple. The omelet itself was stuffed with ham, red and green peppers, cheese, and a sauce redolent of Dijon mustard, perfectly cooked (I loathe overdone omelets).
My husband ordered what’s called “the famous half-pound” burger. The large and medium-rare burger came on a fresh-baked slab of chewy-crusted bread. He opted for a side salad which was a veritable mountain of fresh greens. We went back a couple of days later for an early dinner before heading out to an Oakland Raiders game—my husband, a creature of habit, got another burger while I tried out the BLT. It came on grilled (with real butter!) sourdough, thick-cut bacon, butter lettuce, tomatoes, and lots of mayo, not to mention some very good steak fries. I would have taken pictures if it wasn’t so good and I wasn’t so hungry.
There are some eccentricities about Eddie Rickenbacker’s that may put off some people—the owner, Norman, holds court in the front of the room on a pillow-covered sofa. He is attached to an oxygen tank (though it’s said he rides his Harley there every day and we did see a vintage one parked outside) and tends to have the Military Channel or “CSI” playing on high volume when he doesn’t have Christmas carols playing on the jukebox no matter what the season. Then there is Mr. Higgins. Mr. Higgins is a cat—an ENORMOUS orange cat allowed free rein of the place. He is extremely friendly, though, and yes, the place has passed health inspections.
Eddie Rickenbacker’s is more of a bar than a restaurant and is beloved by many workers in the Financial District for its cheap drinks, free appetizers, and after-hours smoking privileges, but people do come for the food and occasional free entertainment, such as the gentleman who came in during our lunch and wandered the place playing his guitar and singing old country songs from the fifties and sixties. In an area crowded with trendy eateries, Eddie Rickenbacker’s is a welcome, if eccentric, oasis.
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