What happens when the most award-winning bar in the Mission starts selling hot dogs by the ballpark?
In the case of Quik Dog (opens in new tab), you get a sports bar that has that dog in it. The spinoff of eternally (opens in new tab) hyped (opens in new tab) cocktail destination Trick Dog (opens in new tab) has made the leap from pandemic-era side hustle to 4,100-square-foot restaurant. Now, at an address that embodies the real estate maxim “location, location, location,” founder Josh Harris and a sizable staff are bringing their creativity to bear on one of life’s more proletarian pleasures: the all-beef frank.
Quik Dog is located on the rapidly developing northern fringe of Mission Rock, home to heavy hitters such as Che Fico offshoot Via Aurelia and Fieldwork Brewing’s beer garden, and one of the most dynamic places in San Francisco right now. And though it hasn’t imported Trick Dog’s postindustrial chic wholesale — the space is too cavernous and brightly lit, plus it closes at the uncool hour of 9 p.m. — that’s not the vision. Instead, the television-filled Quik Dog is transforming the typical sports bar experience, maximizing both nostalgia and efficiency.
With a meaty menu larger than In-N-Out or Super Duper but slimmer than Gott’s, Quik Dog has everything calibrated to its proximity to two of the city’s biggest arenas. Like a center fielder with his eyes peeled and knees slightly bent, Quik Dog has to be in the ready position at all times, in case it gets mobbed with 150 people exiting a Warriors game or looking to pre-game on their way to the Giants.
It’s a sports bar that welcomes kids.Quik Dog emerged out of Trick Dog’s pandemic-era side hustle, selling hot dogs and fries to go.The operation is set up to handle a surge of game-day customers.
Based on my visits, Quik Dog can handle a surge of customers, most of whom are there for the superb, if somewhat unorthodox, burgers and dogs — seven in all, all served on seeded hot dog buns (yes, even the cheeseburgers). While not quite as tricked out (sorry) as some of the other glamour glizzies that have taken the Bay Area by storm, they’re nothing like the dogs hawked in the bleacher seats.
The baseline QD Mission Dog eschews ketchup for fire-roasted jalapeño spread, mustard, sauteed onions, bacon, and the spicy aioli “doggy sauce.” (A veggie version, which is just as delicious as the meat dog, swaps out the bacon for red relish.) And they’re butterflied, the way Harris’ father grilled them. Family memories aside, slicing them lengthwise has another purpose: more surface area. “That adds more structure and makes them more enjoyable to eat,” Harris says.
On top of better-than-ballpark hot dogs, Quik Dog serves a family-friendly menu of fried things — chicken sandwiches, fish tacos, and all the loaded fries and buttermilk-battered nuggets one’s heart desires. But the marginally healthier items are worth considering too. (I say marginally because the nicely acidic wedge salad, a tray of four halved gem lettuces, is piled with bacon bits and blue cheese crumbles alongside cherry tomatoes and pickled onions.)
Quik Dog skateboard decks decorate the interior.
Sarah Beets prepares a drink behind the bar-within-a-bar.
The layout shrewdly sequesters the bar, containing it so that if the main dining room is depopulated, the quiet won’t harsh the vibes. Unlike Trick Dog, there is no themed cocktail menu that rotates every six months. And instead of complex creations involving obscure, molecular-gastronomy-derived ingredients like chamoy vinegar or coffee shoyu, there are approachable drinks like bloody marys, three types of margarita, and a frozen Irish coffee made with oat milk. There’s something for all palates; the elderflower spritz is sweet and gentle, while the white Negroni is bracing and salty.
With ballpark-bound drinkers in mind, efficiency reigns: Many drinks are batched and carbonated. The espresso martini is on draft, using a nitro system that allows for swift service while yielding a pleasant mouthfeel. “It comes out of the tap like a Guinness and cascades,” Harris says. And the cocktail list — all priced at $14, versus Trick Dog’s $18 roster — includes three nonalcoholic drinks and is accompanied by more than a dozen beers and wines by the glass.
High-end booze aside, Quik Dog is as much a place for bringing the kids after a soccer game as it is for cheering on the Valkyries on TV. Harris once walked in to find two dozen third-graders queuing at the counter, until a parent took charge of the situation and ordered everyone a plain hot dog and vanilla shake. “And that’s exactly what I envisioned,” Harris says.