Bill's Place

Scott and I were driving along Clement in search of a place that would offer us beach food. We spent the afternoon walking along the water at Ocean Beach and then made a little journey to China Beach to marvel at the beauty of the hidden gem when we felt like it was time for a snack, a snack reminiscent of food along the sandy shores. Hotdogs, smoothies, milkshakes. That was what we wanted. But we were in Seacliff and had no idea what nearby place could offer us those things.

We drove slowly along Clement, hoping to find a place that wasn’t an Asian noodle house or boba café. Scott spotted a sign with a burger on it that looked appealing to him but sketchy to me. It was a sign for Bill’s Place. We parked the car, looked at the menu, and went in.

Bill’s Place is an old-school looking diner. The counter, complete with red vinyl chairs that spin, overlooks the large grill. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling while a fluorescent red and green train made of tubular lighting rests on a ledge next to the television screen. A large bucket of potatoes waiting to be French fries sits next to the vat of oil. And, outside is a lush-looking patio area.

Scott and I were two of a handful of diners there for a four o’clock meal. We chose a spot at the counter right behind the grill so we could see our food being made.

The menu was sweet and simple: burgers, sandwiches, sides, and drinks. There was nothing elaborate about those three pages but tribute was paid to San Francisco celebrities such as Herb Caen with his Monterey Jack burger. Scott and I ordered a chocolate milkshake to share. It was a bit watery for my taste, although I’m sure not everyone likes having to eat a milkshake with a spoon as I do. I had the tuna melt on rye with sliced avocado and Scott ordered the Herb burger done to a pink.

There was something magical and slightly disturbing about watching our food being made. The cook scraped off the grease from the dark grill with a metal implement, took two slices of rye, squeezed on to them what I could only assume to be melted butter out of a plastic container, and plopped them on to the grill. Two slices of cheese went on top of the bread and then came the avocado, which he fanned across one slice, leaving a mound of avocado in the middle and none off to the edges. He then scooped on a pile a tuna on the other slice. I wanted to step around the counter to smash down the tuna pile so that tuna touched all the edges of the bread and to rearrange the avocado slices, but I refrained. The tattooed cook then put the two sides together, sliced the sandwich diagonally, and scooped up a huge mound of fries that were still dripping with oil on to the plate. After ringing the bell for a pick up and having nobody pick up, he turned around and put our plates in front of us.

The first thing I did was take my sandwich apart. I spread my knife over the tuna, evening it out, and did the same with the avocado. I squirted a little bit of mustard on it too. The first bite sounded with a crunch. The bread was crispy and a lovely shade of toasty brown. The tuna salad wasn’t too heavy with mayonnaise although there was a little too much tuna salad. It was oozing out of the edges, making each bite progressively more difficult to get into my mouth without having tuna squirt everywhere. I used the fries to scoop up the tuna escaping from the bread. The fries were fine. They were thick and unbelievably fresh, tasting of real potato and nothing else. They weren’t crisp, which was a disappointment, but they weren’t too greasy, even if they dripped the stuff as they were being transported from fryer basket to plate.

I sat there eating my sandwich with my elbows on the counter, following the cheery wait staff who seemed all to be from the same family with my eyes, watching the cook flip burgers with a mysterious charm, eyeing the largest and most spectacular-looking root beer float being placed across the counter from me, and telling Scott that Bill’s Place was the best place ever.