As a very young man in the late 1960s, I went at least a couple of times to this North Beach restaurant on Green Street in San Francisco and imagined myself on a romantic date. The booths had curtains, which probably did not help to announce my availability.
This obviously is an earlier photograph but the atmosphere did not suffer over the years. The food possibly. But it was a good thing I went when I could because my next food memories are quickly disappearing batches of brown rice and broccoli with other impoverished sorts in Berkeley, 11-cent cans of tomato soup from the Berkeley Co-Op and someone surreptitiously taking a bite out of my prized hunk of baloney and restoring it re-wrapped in its butcher paper to the communal refrigerator at the Nash Hotel on University Avenue. I can still see the teeth marks.
dream ranch 