Let’s get this out of the way — the TenderNob’s almost-five-month-old Rove Kitchen has no relation to and is not inspired by the close advisor to the somewhat controversial 43rd POTUS. That is a curious thought to think about but a restaurant devoted to Karl probably would fair a little better in, say, Crawford, Tex., compared to San Francisco.

The menu might be ragingly conservative in terms of number of choices at Rove Kitchen but both sides of the political aisle (and of Market Street) will agree that the two constants — a fried chicken sandwich and an elevated onion heavy cheeseburger — already can claim spots among the city’s elite in those competitive genres.


The Rove Burger ($14) absolutely deserves to be better-known all over town. It’s a destination burger. Rove uses a short rib-based blend that achieves a little of the bleu cheese "funk" characteristic of 30-day, dry-aged steak cuts. The real key to the Rove Burger is the caramelized onion jam, following the lead of the godfather of this spruced-up burger concept, Sang Yoon of Santa Monica’s Father’s Office gastropub (don't you dare ask for ketchup with your fries!).

Being almost as thick as the patty, and as sweet as any jam that's meant to go with peanut butter, the jam threatens to distract with its initial dessert leanings but instead only acts as a brilliant earthy foil to the juicy meat and aged cheddar propped between the two. Arugula freshens up matters on the bottom. And there are no dripping juices or onion jam all over your hands.This is a proper burger, as if a gastropub chef spent the day at Claridge’s running the kitchen for high tea. In other words, we can call it a rightful hamburger sandwich.

Speaking of sandwiches, the most common order at Rove Kitchen is the fried chicken sandwich ($13). Immediately there will be comparisons to the fabled one across the Bay at Bakesale Betty and frankly, they’re different and equal. I won't take a side. What makes Bakesale Betty’s version really sing is the slaw with a parsley and jalapeño jolt. That's not the case here. The slaw at Rove is just regular old purple cabbage. Boring. “Pickles” are just that — the routine bread-and-butter types. Not boring, not getting your attention either. The Meyer lemon aioli lightly gracing the bottom bun barely registers in its attempt to tie everything together. So as a sandwich, it’s still getting there.

This tale of chicken woe and joy is all about the fried chicken itself, dredged in buttermilk, then brined for 12 hours before another buttermilk rinse, then skillfully fried. The batter is Miami SoBe tan and puffy, more what I’m accustomed to seeing with the haddock or cod in fish and chips. It doesn’t shatter and stays glued to the chicken. Is this finger-licking greasy fried chicken? Not whatsoever. It’s pure and clean.

Yes, this is the Zuni of fried chickens. One of my dining partners on one visit was a Florida native who earlier in the week drove to Novato just for a Chick-Fil-A sandwich. He said the Rove version was ALMOST as noteworthy. But asking a Southerner about this subject is like asking Californians about In-N-Out compared to basically any burger. You won’t get a fair opinion. He meant to say Rove's fried chicken could be worth a drive to Novato or even Cloverdale. Actual sandwich composition be damned.

The kind-of fast casual (order at the counter)/ not fast casual (you don't have to order at the counter if you're indecisive) café really seems hyper-focused on the idyllic homemade buns (sesame for the burger, sea salt kissed for the fried chicken) that seem to always be lined up on racks in the open kitchen right next to the door, begging to be filled. They’re great buns and it's great to see them given such love but ... they’re buns. 



I still feel a bit empty with Rove Kitchen. I’d like to see the devotion to the buns given to adding a few more menu items. The menu simply needs to add beyond the usual two sandwiches, the occasional entrée salad (recently a rousing summer number with sautéed Frog Hollow peaches, figs, goat cheese, walnuts, and arugula but won't fill you for a meal), and a lackluster grilled cheese sandwich too lightly dressed with Cowgirl Creamery’s Mt. Tam and a sweet, one note apple compote in late summer on toasted sweet batard (this week strawberry jam and figs replaced the apples because it is August and apples aren't in season...). A side of skinny garlic fries are merely acceptable. Where is the, I don't know, the whimsy? The edge? The unique catch? Something is still lacking.

There is a lot of heart here — from the always-pleasant lone server to the white flowers adorning each table to the almost utopian aura of the room. Everyone loves the early 2000s indie music filling the air and the Giants on the small TV. Two Almanac beers will be on tap soon, and Rove's got the terrific Baxter Pinot Noir pouring from Anderson Valley; it screams "burger partner." The frosted white wood feels rural, as if it's a cabin with a light dusting of snow. A plant wall above the small bar continues the pastoral bent, though it seems more fitting for a kitchen trafficking in kale and farro bowls than fried chicken and burgers. Alas with the calm, tranquil atmosphere, Rove Kitchen is an off the grid maverick in our fair tech city by skipping the whole functioning website, Twitter, Facebook, and phone number thing (but there is an Instagram feed!).

We can always use excellent fried chicken sandwiches and burgers. I know Rove Kitchen owns those categories, so let’s hope the menu is a little, ahem, roving to other subjects, to see what they can do … because I bet it will be as special as the burger and fried chicken. Fingers crossed, stay tuned.

Rove Kitchen, 678 Post, No Phone.