Nob Hill Grille969 Hyde St
San Francisco, CA 94109 (415) 474-5985 nobhillgrille.com
If you don’t like a stick-to-your-ribs kind of brunch, then turn the hell around and run. Don’t walk all up in here and complain that there aren’t healthy options for you to starve yourself with. Nobody cares.
If you want a scrumptious, filling, and fun meal. Come to the Nob Hill Grille. Upon walking in, Mark and I were seated immediately; which was definitely a wonderful welcoming, as the brick colored skinny jeans I was wearing were constricting the blood flow and motility of my legs.
The restaurant has a great ambiance and is rather cozy. The front room has a nice bar where you can eat and watch the chefs do their thing. This also gives you the option of spitting on other people’s food – definitely hard to find if this is your kinda thing. This also means you shouldn’t piss anyone at the bar off. So watch yourself. We were seated in the back room (Yes, I protested, nobody puts baby in the corner, but my legs were beginning to give out so I took what I could get). The back room was just as cozy as the front and filled with the buzz of everyone enjoying their brunch.
The service was fantastic and we ordered right away. We were however, disappointed that they were out of the corned-beef hash. I had no intention of ordering it, but I was of course offended that I did not have the option.
I ordered the breakfast sliders: three mini brioche buns filled with italian sausage patties, scrambled eggs and american cheese served with homefries and spicy chipotle aioli on the side $12.
Mark ordered the fried chicken and waffles: buttermilk soaked fried chicken on vanilla belgium waffles served with butter and housemade frangelico maple syrup $13.
While waiting for our food (which came out rather quickly), Mark visited the restroom and informed me that it “was a lovely restroom.” On his way to the restroom, though, his well-toned ass knocked over my coffee. WARNING: Navigate with care, the tables are extremely close together. While I didn’t mind his derriere on my table, I did mind it on our neighboring gay’s table on his way back in – BACK OFF BITCH, HE’S MINE – have no fear, my RBF (resting bitch face) put him in his place.
The food arrived and we dug in. My sliders were good, but not the best I have had. The most delicious part of my meal were the home fries. They were seasoned perfectly and were quite tasty when dipped in the chipotle aioli served on the side. While I wouldn’t order this again, I would definitely come back to try their breakfast tacos: crispy corn tacos filled with chorizo, scrambled eggs, red rice and shredded lettuce topped with cilantro cream. I should’ve gone with my first choice.
Mark will fill you in on his meal in the review.
The meal I had was not the best brunch I’ve had in the city, but the service and ambiance make me want to go back and try something another time. Their dinner menu also looks excellent!
I am a BIG breakfast person. And, sometimes I feel like my 34 inch waist shows it a bit too much, but like hell am I going to give up eggs benedict, chorizo sausage and eggs, or bacon because some twinky little boy in skinny jeans and a baggy v-neck shirt at Q-Bar in the Castro thinks I am gay fat. Well, he is gay stupid (which is really fucking stupid, like Sarah Palin but more lipstick).
Brunch is a meal of kings, and should have the flavors to force a single tear cascading down your cheek because you weren’t awake enough yet to be prepared for such an explosion in your mouth. The Nob Hill Grille attempts to do that but misses the mark. Yes, I did love the ambience (especially in the main dining room) but I don’t mind going to a restaurant that feels straight out of the third world if the food is incredible. To be brutally honest, I thought the decor in the Nob Hill Grille matched the quality of the food; a nice attempt, but just because you buy a couple of graphic pieces of art and have an eat at bar doesn’t mean your interior designer is the new Jonathan Adler.
I was extremely disappointed upon sitting down, to hear from our waitress that they were out of Corned Beef Hash. I fell in love with this tender meat of the gods (and by gods, you are correct, I am referring to Bette, Barbra, and Cher) when I was living in Cape Cod, spending hung-over Tuesday mornings at a classy breakfast eatery named Grumpy’s eating their incredible Irish Benedict. I was so excited this morning to be transported back to the Northeast, but alas, the only part of the experience that reminded me of Grumpy’s was the fact that our waitress at the Nob Hill Grille was walking around with unbuttoned pants.
The chicken and waffles that I devoured were tasty, but I’ve had better. The flavors were safe but timid, and really lacked the punch that makes a meal spectacular. Plus it is always a little disconcerting in San Francisco to eat at a restaurant were everyone is white, except for the one Asian woman a few tables down. But I guess there are some people out there that would enjoy this quality. And those people are ass-holes.
On a scale of Zero to Rosie O’Donnell, this place is an Ellen. It has a boy’s hair cut, but no Harley.
Let us know what you think!