Almost everywhere you look inside Saluhall, the new food hall tucked next to Ikea on Market Street, there’s something beautiful to see. The aesthetic warps and transforms seemingly every 500 square feet. You’d be hard-pressed to find a bad angle for a photo.
Floor-to-ceiling glass lets plenty of light shine in, illuminating a mosaic of furnishings that make the 23,000-square-foot venue pop. Subway tiles gleam in hues of tangerine, brick, jade, and slate, shifting as you walk through the ground floor.
The Swedish word “Saluhall” roughly translates to “market hall,” but the concept feels more specific than that. It’s an ambitious gambit from IKEA, which opened the main store in August to cheers from Downtown stakeholders hoping it will revitalize the block on Mid-Market. Saluhall is the first of its kind for the brand, and an experiment that, if successful, could expand around the country.
The first floor features IKEA’s in-house offerings, comprising Smörgasland (an all-day bakery with Scandinavian-hued meals), Snöberg (a soft-serve stand), and Burgere Bar (a … burger bar). Up the stairs are five independent restaurants with roots in San Francisco: Curry Up Now, Casa Boriqueña, La Venganza, Momo Noodle, and Kayma. Refreshments come from one of three bars, each themed to a distinct level of booziness and elegance, from non-alcoholic fizzes to classic Negronis.
There’s been plenty of buzz about Saluhall choosing to go primarily plant-based for its food options. After my visit on Friday, it’s obvious that was the right call. The culinary direction from Claus Meyer, co-founder of Noma, one of the most influential restaurants in the world, feels a bit like a manifesto: Local, inclusive, and rooted in regional cultures, from Sichuan to Algeria.
The past weekend was a rebirth for Lulu Nau, the chef-owner of Casa Boriqueña. On Friday, she was all smiles, standing outside her tiny kitchen while watching the crowds file in. And on Monday, she told me that the weekend unfolded like a fever dream.
“We were overwhelmed, but in a good way. The reception has been incredible, and I didn’t anticipate it at all,” Nau said, with a wobble of emotion in her voice. “That area of San Francisco is going through struggles, so I didn’t expect the outpouring. We were so busy that we had to shut down for an hour to catch up.”
Nau spent the last five years growing a pop-up operation in the East Bay, melding the foods of her Puerto Rican heritage with a vegan touch. Last year, she sank $100,000 into a cozy space on Shattuck and 63rd in North Oakland. But miles of red tape from Alameda County’s health department, plus fraught negotiations with an impatient landlord, led her to sever the dream after nine months.
In a stroke of luck, a representative from KERB, the London street-food incubator that partnered with IKEA for Saluhall, had tried her food. The group wanted her to apply for a vendor slot, but her hopes were low. “When we learned about the selection process, I thought, ‘Ehhh.’ I wasn’t sure, because big-name spots were being considered, and we were quite small,” she tells me.
So much for that. I’m just glad I got in early on Friday, because the food is delicious: The signature pastelillo arrived as a golden half-moon, crisp and piping-hot, stuffed with a generous mix of Impossible ground beef and warm spices. I also demolished Nau’s mofongo cups, a take on the traditional mashed-plantain dish, here filled with perfectly textured “chicken” and a fat drizzle of Nau’s “mama” aioli. It paired brilliantly with a crisp Saluhall-branded lager from local brewer Fort Point, although I was more envious of my partner’s prickly-pear “Pünsch,” humming with the peppery bite of rye whiskey.
Sitting on a lime-green stool on the second floor, peering down an atrium trimmed with glowing orb lanterns, it felt like Saluhall had already found its identity on just day 2 of operations. Nau said as much in our talk on Monday: “All the vendors seem to love the space,” she said. “It really is a gathering place, with good energy.”
A busy opening weekend is no harbinger of guaranteed success, but the formula stands out. Saluhall is cute as hell (even if, or perhaps because, it potentially ripped off a notable artist for its logo). It’s Instagram- and influencer-ready, but without pretense. It’s equally approachable for a casual date night or an impromptu group outing. The food and drinks are priced competitively for the city, with many offerings under $15. (I’m adding the $4 oat-milk soft serve from Snöberg into my weekly rotation, surely.)
It’s almost odd that San Francisco, a nexus of trendy food tropes, has been lacking this kind of food hall experience. I still remember when the historic Grand Central Market in downtown Los Angeles became the toast of the city a decade ago after infusing the 100-year-old space with a new generation of energetic food vendors. Back then, that downtown neighborhood was rife with empty retail space and laments over the lack of creative ideas (sound familiar?). But GCM, along with a slew of copycat food halls, created a new sensation of vitality by platforming small businesses with something to prove.
Of course, good intentions aren’t enough — you need good-faith action. Nau says that Saluhall management understood her financial troubles and helped structure a lease she can sustain. She’s even more ecstatic that the city of San Francisco waived the first year of licensing and inspection fees.
“It was nothing like what we experienced in Alameda County. San Francisco has been a whole different ball game, and the city is doing a lot to get business to go to the city. We didn’t have to pay for things that could cost thousands of dollars,” she explained.
There’s no doubt that downtown SF has a vacancy problem, but there’s more potential here than actual ambition. Property owners with yawning ground-floor vacancies seem to be waiting for the magical return of corporate retailers with big receipts, as if simply recycling the past will work. But Saluhall demonstrates how a little imagination can turn a dead building into something worth visiting multiple times, knowing that you’re supporting the little guy instead of, say, a multinational firm that is charging eye-watering rents for its depressing-looking food court.
I mean, that’s the illusion, right? Saluhall isn’t exactly a radical step; it’s a business model for a massive furniture company that has always played to hungry crowds. Yet IKEA’s Swedish meatballs have always been a good deal, and in a similar way, Saluhall feels the same way — especially because of how novel it feels on this stretch of Market.
It proves that small things do shift public moods, whether it’s by making a beautiful communal space, cutting red tape for businesses — or just seeing a big brand actually willing to invest in San Francisco, rather than survive it.
