Big Len Zamkoff, a regular customer at Hob Nob Hill restaurant for most of the past 38 years, will order the evening's special soon after he's seated at his favorite table. It's the one with the reserved sign in the rear of the dimly lit dining room.
But first he quietly reminds the hostess to keep the music low. Then he lumbers up to a rear wall and adjusts the thermostat.
“I make sure it's at the Hob Nob setting,” he laughs, the throaty laugh that's characterized him for most of his 73 years. “Ah it's become more habit than anything else – this place is so much like home to me. And they trust that I'm not going to” make the place too hot or too cold.
“Oh it's very comfortable here,” he adds. “It's a very friendly place.”
CHARLIE NEUMAN / Union-Tribune
Antonio Gomez started at Hob Nob Hill as a dishwasher when he was 20. Today, at 48, he's head chef, and he says, "Now I'm grandpa here. I've stayed so long because I love this place."
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The special tonight is braised short ribs of beef, mashed potatoes and gravy.
And as usual around this time, most every evening in Uptown, strong whiffs of something good cooking tease the air for blocks on either side of the cozy-looking little spot at First Avenue and Juniper Street.
The traditional recipes that chef Antonio Gomez and others have followed go back to 1944. That was when Harold and Dorothy Hoersch opened the place as a 14-stool lunch counter called the Juniper Cafe.
Jeff and Tania Kacha are the Scripps Ranch couple who bought the place from the Hoersches in 1993. They're seated a couple of tables away from Len, near a waitress station. They're present, as usual, to supervise and help in the restaurant's running.
“It's our baby,” both say at the same time.
CHARLIE NEUMAN / Union-Tribune
Big Len Zamkoff, a Hob Nob Hill regular, was flabbergasted when he learned the owners were planning to drop dinner service at the historical old eatery.
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Both say they are aware that their 125-seat establishment's meals and long-standing traditions are much of the glue holding together the fabric of the neighborhood.
Because of that, the Kachas have kept the place the same. They've retained the original staff, maintained old recipes and kept the eatery renowned for good-quality food at reasonably low prices.
“But we made a mistake,” Jeff, 46, says with a sheepish grin. “It was last Dec. 7 – Pearl Harbor Day. And it was like Pearl Harbor. All 'h' did break loose.”
That's the day the Kachas decided to cut out dinner service, to save time and money. And they later put a huge 8-square-foot sign outside in front of the building, announcing their intention.
“(Immediately,) we must have gotten, easily, 200 e-mails, letters and phone calls from people begging us not to stop serving dinner,” Tania says, smiling. “Little kids even wrote us – it was a nightmare.
“You know, somebody took our sign – just took our sign soon after it went up. And one longtime customer, who never comes in for dinner, says to me: 'I'm so devastated (by the announcement).' And I say: 'You never come in for dinner, why are you so upset? What does it matter to you?
“ 'It's a tradition,' he says, 'and people don't want to see their traditions changed.' ”
An 8-year-old youngster came in with more than a dozen notes written on SpongeBob notepaper. “They all read: 'Please do not close Hob Nob,' ” Jeff says.
Soon after that, Tania, 45, says, giggling: “(Jeff) jumps up one morning out of a sound sleep and yells: 'I can't do this. We're not going to do it. We're not going to stop the dinner service.' ”
“The kids' notes did it,” Jeff says, with eyes tearing. “The notes did it. But we're going to keep an eye on things and see how they go. We're going to close (at 3 p.m.) on Mondays – that should help.” (Hob Nob Hill opens daily at 6:30 a.m. and closes at 8 p.m. every day except Monday).
On another side of the room, at two separate tables across from the restaurant's counter, Sharon Hoffer and Robert Stadge, who, at 83, everyone calls “Mr. Stadge,” finish their meals.
Combined, the two have been coming to Hob Nob Hill for 115 years.
Sharon, 65, says she was 5 when she became a regular with her mother and grandmother.
Mr. Stadge says he was new in town when he first walked in. And he thinks one of the restaurant's funniest moments came one day when an older woman seated at the counter “hit me – accidentally, I believe – on the butt with her cane.”
He, like Sharon, says the Kachas were also thinking hard about the reality that a great many of the restaurant's clientele are old-timers, who rely on Hob Nob Hill for their dinners. And shutting down the service would have created a real hardship for them.
“I've always loved the feeling here, they've always looked out for their customers, it's like family here,” Sharon says. “And I think this restaurant is a very important part of San Diego history. It's been around (it seems) forever.”
Back at Len's table, he prepares to leave. His near-empty plate has long since been picked up.
“Not only are the (people) wonderful here,” he declares, “the food is excellent, too – I can't think of anything that I would change about this place.”
