Cliff Notes 

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"It did, but guess what -- it burned down a few months later," Marti answered. "Sutro's daughter Emma then rebuilt it, but with-out all the architectural foofaraw. This is that building -- simple, neoclassical. It never burned, but was closed by Prohibition in 1924."

Being anti-Prohibitionists, we were pleased to find many sound, affordable wines; those available by the glass included a voluptuous Cuvaison sauvignon blanc that harmonizes with rich seafood. Our entree of sea scallops and bay shrimp in puff pastry ($16.95) was capped with a nice buttery puff paste shell, over perfect scallops and blah shrimplets in a sybaritic (if garlic-challenged) "roasted garlic cream sauce." Under it all, though, loomed a bottom feeder, a big flat biscuit tough as sea rations. Assorted sauteed vegetables came alongside. It tasted like pure nostalgia -- visualize a "nice" New England restaurant circa 1956, pink-uniformed waitresses wearing hairnets. Grand in any era was the roast rack of lamb ($16.95), crisp-crusted but rare as we requested, with a simple red wine sauce, bottled mint jelly, and a vegetable "napoleon" of eggplant, zucchini, and tomato layers. The most newfangled dish was an evil special of grilled salmon ($16.95) overwhelmed by raw-tasting curry powder, harsh with turmeric and fenugreek. Even Marti protested, "Whatever that salmon did, its punishment did not fit the crime." It sat on soggy Chinese vermicelli and came with the same vegetables as the scallops.

"So what happened after Prohibition?" TJ asked.
"The Cliff House straggled through the Depression, and in 1937 Sutro's descendants finally sold it to the Whitney brothers, who'd built the Playland amusement park next to it," Marti continued. "Sutro Baths closed in 1954, and 12 years later burned down while they were being demolished for a high-rise complex. But the developer ran out of money and never built the complex, so you can still scramble down and see the ruins." The restaurant and its accouterments are now owned by the Hountalas family, she said.

We finished with middling espressos and kiddie versions of nonce desserts: chocolate decadence cake, ginger creme brulee, and tiramisu (about $6 each), all way too sweet for our tastes. But Marti was still aglow. "The food was just fine -- I loved the clam chowder, loved the lamb. I would send almost anybody here -- it's such a great place."

I'd heard rumors the place was about to change even more than the food; so between dinners I phoned the manager, Australian-born Alan Goldstein, to learn the plans for the site.

"The National Park Service bought the property in 1977 and the GGNRA have been working for many years on a large project that will involve the whole area out here," he said. Among other things the Cliff House will be upgraded and renovated. "The main focus," he continued, "is to return the Cliff House exterior to a nicer appearance, that of the 1909 struc-ture that forms part of the current building, and to make the interior handicapped-accessible." He noted that they intend to repair the crumbling terraces and demolish the tacky tack-ons.

The Mechanical Museum will relocate up the hill, and a new Visitors' Center will be tucked into the side of the hill overlooking the ruins of the baths. The ruins will be made accessible, and there'll also be an elevated walkway across the front, at the water's edge. Tour buses will park atop the hill instead of herding in front of the restaurant. "One of the most exciting parts of the plan," Goldstein added, "is to have a laser light show when the fog comes in. They'll project an image of the Sutro Baths building onto the fog, using the fog as a screen!"

The Cliff House concession is coming up for public bid early in '98; the winning concessionaire must finance the renovation. The current concessionaires have first right of refusal: The Hountalas family originally had a shop (destroyed by the '66 fire) near the Sutro Baths. When they leased part of the upstairs 24 years ago, the Cliff House was fragmented into many different shops and stands. They gradually expanded into the rest of the building, unifying and renovating as they went. They've already lined up financing for the future remodeling.

Goldstein also discussed the current menus: "We've walked a tightrope of needing to keep traditional items that people expect to get here, like omelets, but in the last three years the executive chef has started to introduce more contemporary items like five-spice salmon and bouillabaisse. So the menu now appeals to old-time San Franciscans coming for their shrimp Louis, but also to people who want something a little more modern."

Our window table in the downstairs dining room gave us a view of surging surf. We began with "the famous Cliff House Shrimp Louis" ($15.95); crab Louis is $5 more. We found the Louis lousy. It had a modicum of naked, limp bay shrimp, a great heap of unshredded lettuce leaves, a load of fruit garnishes, but just one aging avocado wedge. The dressing, a too-small portion in a ramekin on the side, was too sweet. But another starter, fried calamari ($7.95), was very tender inside the thick, cayenne-heavy American-style batter. Alongside were bowls of ordinary tartar sauce and cocktail sauce. We yearned for aioli.

This time our salmon met its happy reward as a house specialty: Broiled five-spice salmon ($17.50) arrived rare in the center, its aromatic spice-coating magically conferring a haunting deep-sea flavor. The honey-balsamic vinaigrette on the bed of greens was of course too sweet, but I loved the shish kebab-ish hunks of broiled eggplant, zucchini, and bell peppers. Petrale sole with a macadamia nut crust ($15.95) would have been tasty, too, with its fresh, clean "tropical salsa," were it not for the slight rancidity of the coating's ground nuts. More broiled vegetables came alongside, and all rested on a bed of rice with a tantalizing aroma -- apparently a recurrence of the Chinese spice-blend. Goldstein had praised the downstairs pastry chef, so we looked at the dessert list. It was quite different from upstairs, with more pastries and even a celebratory baked Alaska. Alas, we could eat no more.