Top of the Mark

While employed by Blue Cross of Southern California in the early 1970s, Dave and I were sent off to San Francisco to attend a two-day project management seminar.  We reserved rooms at the Mark Hopkins Hotel located on Knob Hill where the seminar was being held.  The Mark Hopkins at that time was among the select landmarks associated with the City of San Francisco.  The hotel was constructed on the former site of the Hopkins Mansion which was destroyed in the 1906 earthquake and fire.  The hotel's restaurant and lounge "The Top of the Mark", was always rated among the city's top five restaurants in a city where you arguably couldn't distinguish between the top fifty.  Celebrated for its views, the restaurant's perch was created in 1939 when the hotel's owner converted eleven penthouse suites, and encircled the 19^th floor with floor-to-ceiling glass.  The lounge offers 100 martini variations while the restaurant is characterized as fine dining with a breath-taking view to match the breath-taking prices.

I do not recall anything related to any sort of seminar while we were there.  I do have clear and distinct memories of watching an in-room Peter Sellers movie marathon which revealed that Dave and I share a similar sense of humor.  Another thing we had in common was an upbringing in a blue collar household and the lack of savior faire became the theme for our trip north.

Exiting the cab and entering the hotel lobby went smoothly until we registered at the front desk, where a brief but awkward scene took place regarding how our luggage was going to be transported to our rooms.  Another incident took place in the late afternoon when a woman claiming to be "housekeeping", knocked on the door of my room and through the closed door offered to "turn down the bed" for ten dollars.  I told her that I would take a pass.  At the time, I took it as a legitimate service made available to hotel guests and I was pretty sure what turn down the bed meant, but I never asked about it not wanting to display my ignorance.  Truthfully, as to her intentions, I am no more certain today than I was then. 

Watching the Sellers marathon together, I learned that laughter comes easily to Dave, reaching a point where a call to the paramedics might be advisable.   Toward the end of the first day, we were both worn out from laughing but we also needed to eat.  Neither of us wanted another experience in the hotel lobby and we didn't have the energy to venture out into an unfamiliar city.  We decided since we were on an expense account, we would take the elevator up to the 19^th floor and dine at The Top of the Mark.

The light over the elevator doors signaled we had made it to the 19^th floor.  We strolled out of the elevator and were brought to a halt by a pleasant but stern maitre d', who alerted us to the fact that The Top of the Mark had a dress code that required a jacket and tie.  We did an about face, took the elevator back down to our rooms, put on the required items, and rode the elevator back up to the 19^th floor.  We were reacquainted with the Maitre d" and he commented on how suitably attired we both were.  I took this as overcompensating for the fact that he never expected to see us again, as well as being pissed over losing the bet he made with the sommelier that they'd seen the last of the two dolts from LA.

We were seated in the dead center of the restaurant, equidistant from all of the windows which were obscured by the partitions that surrounded our table.  We were completely cut off visually from all of the other patrons.  In regard to the world famous vistas, we may as well have been eating underground, yet it did feel sort of exclusive as chances are we were among a select few to have eaten at that same table. 

The table setting was elaborate with a floral center piece, utensils galore, linen tablecloth and napkins, and plates with gold rims that were removed soon after we were seated for no apparent reason.

Our waiter took our order, salad for Dave and mushroom soup for me.  Soon he returned with Dave's salad and placed something unrecognizable in front of me.  It was a four-inch high pastry, browned on top, and about eight inches in diameter.

 As he started to walk off I said, "Wait, this isn't right.  I ordered the soup."

The waiter said in a flat tone, "Sir, that is the soup," and continued on his way. 

I figured the pastry was just a cover to keep the soup warm.  I was completely unaware that you were supposed to plunge your spoon down through the pastry to the soup, making for spoonfuls of crust mixed with soup.  I opted to remove the cover by unscrewing it and placing it on the table, upside down, much the same way one would remove and place a hubcap on the pavement when changing a flat tire.  Although our waiter never mentioned the pastry hubcap, according to Dave, it did not escape his attention.

Dave and I were waiting for his steak and my fish to be served to us when the waiter returned with what I assumed was dessert.  He set down in front of each of us,  a ten-inch high, crystal fluted vase that held a golf-ball sized sphere of bright green sherbet. 

I said, "Wait, we haven't had our main course."

Our waiter said, "I am aware of that, sir.  This is lime sherbet which is served between courses to cleanse the palette."

Dave said, "You're shitting me."

Our waiter responded, "No, sir, I assure you that I am not."

We tried the sherbet, finished our steak and fish, paid the bill, and made our way to the elevator.

 As the doors were closing, I said to Dave, "Think they'll be talking about us?"

Dave said, "Wait till they see the wad of gum I left in my napkin."