

51

"In San Francisco, for legions of regulars, the 176-year-old institution feels like a true time warp where, inside its neon red sign and the gold-scripted window reading “The Original Cold Day Restaurant,” time pauses and old rituals endure. What began as a Gold Rush wharfside tent pitched by three Croatian immigrants has become a downtown brick-and-mortar that has changed hands only three times and survived earthquakes, fires, depressions, two pandemics, a gunfight in 1863, and 34 presidents. We sit shoulder-to-shoulder along an 80-foot-long counter as a brass order-up bell dings, servers in white coats (many from Morocco to Mexico) bustle like a nearly all-male family, and cocktails — including exceptional Martinis and $11 drinks — and shrimp cocktails are passed around. The food and menu are anchor points: steamy bowls of cioppino and red and white chowder, “Warm Water Lobster Tail Broiled,” pork chops with applesauce, Louie salad, sand dabs, petrale sole, mesquite-grilled salmon with green beans and new potatoes, bay shrimp presented in a sundae glass, and the bib-required cioppino; small but potent traditions (lemon wedges, a dab of parsley, the exact Martini style) punctuate the experience. Regulars — from a 92-year-old Richard who still orders pork chops, to lawyers who do business over lunches, to lifelong diners like Jim and Chris Dawe, Gilbert Herrera, Drew Williamson, Susan Amorde, and Todd Gray — animate the place, trading banter, civility, and the kind of familiarity that makes dining here feel like a remedy against the city’s transience. Warmth, light banter, and the restaurant’s dark wood interior are an antidote to the surrounding tech sterility; for 90 minutes we catch our breath, eat, drink, and then step back out into the foggy city." - Rachel Levin, George McCalman