Eat Here Now is a first look at some of the newest, hottest restaurants around – the ones we think are worth visiting. We dine once, serve forth our thoughts, and let you take it from there.
The beef-and-Guinness pie at Dingles Public House in Hayes Valley might be the last meal you eat. But at least it will be a good one.
The savory pie is a specialty of chef George Dingle, who — when the restaurant was but a twinkle — ran pie pop-ups, allowing him to perfect the recipe. At the white-tablecloth pub, they’re served with a side of bone marrow (because why not gild the lily?). Stab your fork into the flaky crust, and a river of saucy, boozy, umami-forward braised beef spills onto a bed of mashed potatoes made with a boatload of butter and doused in parsley sauce. It’s artery-clogging, eye-rollingly rich, and ideal for a group needing sustenance after a day spent screaming at Manchester United.
It’s the epitome of what Dingles Public House does so well — and so uniquely. At the barely 2-month-old restaurant, pub classics like Welsh rarebit — a kind of cheese toast revived by the famous English restaurant St. John’s (opens in new tab) — go far beyond lad level while staying true to their humble roots. The traditional version is essentially an open-face grilled cheese. Here, it’s made with Jasper Hill cheddar mixed with egg yolks, mustard, and Worcestershire sauce, all spread on a thick slice of Bernal Bakery sourdough and broiled until bubbly and delicious.
Beef-and-Guinness pie with mashed potatoes and bone marrow. | Source: Morgan Ellis/The Standard
George and Anissa Dingle.
Fish and chips with three sauces. | Source: Morgan Ellis/The Standard
Notably, there’s not even a churrup of a seasonal microgreen or a farmers market salad on the side. And that’s what I love about Dingles: It serves classic British pub food done well and presented without deference to local predilections. George and Anissa Dingle have resisted the pressure of San Francisco culinary virtue signaling.
This doesn’t mean the Dingles haven’t been indoctrinated in California’s ways. As recently as 2022, they were just two people falling in love while working at Corey Lee’s now-closed Monsieur Benjamin. Anissa, who grew up in Salinas, was working the front of the house, and George, who is from Gloucestershire, England, was chef de cuisine.
Dingles Public House
Fast-forward to November, and the duo — now officially the Dingles — gave birth to their first restaurant. “It’s been a roller coaster,” Anissa says, eyes wide. George agrees: “Customer facing, everything looks like it’s under control. And then we get home, and we’re like, holy shit.”
It’s true: From a diner’s perspective, everything feels dialed in. All the trappings of a British pub are here, but with a wink. The windowless, low-ceilinged dining room is painted fox-hunt green, and the walls are hung with an eclectic mix of artwork chosen by the couple. Servers are knowledgeable and friendly.
It’s all Hollywood-set appropriate, until you look again. No, that’s not a portrait of Queen Elizabeth I; it’s a squirrel in a ruff and crown. Sharing the wall with a mirrored ad for Gordon’s gin is a line drawing by the absurdist British artist David Shrigley. Over there is a vintage illustration of a raccoon. There is a gas fireplace. There is a small bar. It would be pub-perfect if only The Inn at the Opera, where Dingles is located, had been built in the 1500s.
In line with the rarebit is the sausage roll, another tribute to a familiar British snack. Though it’s the kind of food you’d normally eat out of a bag, Dingles’ version is made with puff pastry wrapped around pork-and-bacon sausage that George, who spent time at Benu and the Michelin-starred U.K. gastropub The Hand and Flowers, painstakingly makes in-house (often until midnight on Sundays, Anissa points out). It is served with an addictive tangy-sweet rendition of HP brown sauce, made with dates, apples, and vinegar. The Dingles sell around 40 rolls a day.
I paired my sausage roll with a cocktail — the Pine & Prejudice, made with Sazerac rye, Montenegro, and green ginger wine, topped with a teensy candied pine cone (which to be honest tasted more like a shriveled-up blackberry). Though the cocktail was good, I think a Guinness would have been a better pairing.
True to its pubby roots, Dingles sells plenty of pints to tables of “lads, lads, lads!” says Anissa, referring to the loutish drunken chant associated with a certain subspecies of British man. The number of expats who have shown up has amazed them. “When I first moved to San Francisco, I thought I was the only British person here,” George laughs.
Though the menu takes a left turn with the comparably dainty chicken Kiev, purposefully there for the pre-opera ladies snatched into shapewear, the rest of the mains are substantial. There’s a New York steak with green peppercorn sauce, as well as a burger, but I went for the fish and chips, served with a choose-your-own-adventure trio of tartar sauce, curry sauce, and mushy peas, as well as a bracing malt vinegar. Traditionalists might argue that the battered cod and thick-cut potatoes are almost too perfectly crisp for English standards, but my American palette appreciated it.
New York steak with pepper sauce. | Source: Morgan Ellis/The Standard
Even worse news for your cardiologist: You must leave room for dessert, even if — like me — you have the constitution of a delicate California poppy. The sticky toffee pudding is the best I’ve had, period. A square of moist, spiced cake made with Earl Grey-infused dates, it sits in a lake of stout caramel so good that, were it not considered gauche, I’d have happily drunk it from a pint glass.