Last night Mr. & Mrs. Meathead celebrated their first anniversary. And here is what they did, they went to The House of Prime Rib in San Francisco:

House of Prime Rib was awesome! Much more hoppin’ than I would have expected on a Wednesday night at 8:30pm. The place was packed. Real nice joint. Olde World San Francisco style, lots of charm, and leather booths. We got a nice intimate one that unfortunately happened to be squashed up the backside of a large party crammed onto a four seater table. But they left half way through our meal, and once the cocktails were served, we were too happy to care.

Our order was taken by a cordial version of Steven Wright. “How are we doing tonight folks. I’m Michael, I’ll be your waiter for this evening. Are you ready to have some fun, tonight? Good. We’re going introduce you to your carver “Jose” later on (Jose, was also busing tables when he wasn’t hauling the “Airstream” around) but right now can I get some more drinks?”
Rum & Coke and a Gin & Tonic please.
“Comin’ riiight up. Ok, let’s Rock and Roll!”
Nice cocktails by the way. Old Skool style as well. My Rum ‘n’ Coke was pure high quality rum on the rocks with a squirt of coke for color. Mr. Kallisti was real happy with his G & T as well. We had two of each. Mmmmm.
Now, the deal with HoPR is that there is one item on the menu, that is Prime Rib ™, and that is it. You get five choices of cut, salad, creamed spinach and choice of mashed or baked potato. Now I’d heard that the “Henry VIII” cut was the thing to get. What I didn’t know is that this cut is two inches thick and on the bone, baby. They wheel the Airstream Trailer of Meat (terminology swavely stolen from Swingingwake) over to your table and serve you up the cut and done-ness of your choice. I usually go for medium rare, because although I like bloody, some people’s idea of bloody is still cold in the middle (*cough* Dad). I was a bit disappointed though that their medium rare was more medium than rare. But fear not! You get seconds. Yes indeedy. They inform you when you order that you may have seconds. Normally I would have no need to partake, but since I didn’t get my bloody, we partook. It was a very delicate lady-like slice, thank goodness. But oh so delish.
The salad was generous, but blah. The creamed spinach was very good, yummy even. They really know how to make even the vegetables bad for you in this joint. The mashed taters were divine with just a sploosh of dark rich gravy pooled in the middle.
Oh! And after they plop this 15lb cut of prime rib in front of you, he wheels in another Cart of Sauce. You have three choices of horseradish, mild, medium and hot. I picked medium and OH BOY, was I lucky! He put a big icecream scoop of hot pink whipped horseradish flavored butter on my plate, that turned the meat juices into a frothy pink yummy mess. This stuff was scary AND tasted good. Yay. Mr. Kallisti, who’s sole reason to eat sushi is to get a big mouthful of wasabi, asked for the spicy horseradish. After the initial blast and teary deluge he stated “This is horseradish the way God intended.”
We ate a lot. Oh, and then had a whole pan of Crème Broulee. Dumb Americans, crème broulee is supposed to come in these little egg cups. You have a tiny spoon, crack the top, have a deliciously fat saturated bite and then you’re done! Yay. Well, no. Their Crème was about seven inches in diameter, and pure heaven in every inch. Damn them. We shared and I still couldn’t eat my half.
After all was said and done, this was a wonderful evening spent with a wonderful man in a wonderful restaurant while eating splendiferous food. You go and enjoy.