Waiting for Danko

The kitchen at Gary Danko at Fisherman’s Wharf is diminutive, just about 400 square feet, with skinny walkways that require a flip of the hips every time you pass a cook. That flip comes naturally for the staff, which was already in rhythm by the start of dinner service at 5 p.m. on a Thursday last month. 

Two cooks chatted while sculpting little crowns of horseradish onto cylinders of gleaming salmon. Another was hunched over petite bowls of buttery corn soup, dotting them with red pickled peppers. A pair of cooks in the center of the kitchen juggled hot pans of sauteéd goods, while a stout man off to the side seared off a row of plump steaks.

If a great kitchen is indeed an orchestra, as Fernand Point the father of modern French cuisine once said, this felt more like a jazz ensemble poised to deliver their take on the standards served up with signature flair.

I watched as chef Brandon Lucero momentarily lost himself in a pan of risotto, using a flick of his wrist to melt cubes of butter into golden waves of rice. Studded with lobster and rock shrimp, the risotto hasn’t left the menu since Danko opened his eponymous restaurant in 1999. 

“This menu is tried and true. We try to do simple things really, really well here,” said Lucero as he spooned the risotto into a bowl. It flowed off his spoon like lava: the perfect texture. 

Change for change’s sake is anathema to Danko.

It is rare for a dish to stick around for 25 years in an industry with a terminal case of attention deficit disorder. There’s always something novel, especially in San Francisco’s fine dining scene, which has a staggering number of Michelin-star restaurants. For so many food writers and young chefs alike, deliciousness isn’t enough: innovation and newness is the thing. 

Change for change’s sake is anathema to Danko. “I return to a restaurant because there are certain dishes I’ve had there and I want to go back and enjoy it again,” he told me. “It’s not like I want to go back to have some crazy discovery of, ‘Oh, wow, they’re putting popcorn on it and it’s so creative,’” he said, waving a hand in mock amazement. “I blame the Food Network for really screwing up everything for entertainment value, basically.”

You don’t become a Bay Area institution by just serving up the trends diners see on TV (or, these days, Instagram and TikTok.) To some, Gary Danko’s consistency reads more like his restaurant is frozen in amber. To others, it’s timeless, an honorable trait in an era obsessed by the new and the next.

As hundreds, if not thousands, of restaurants have opened and closed in San Francisco since the turn of the millennium, Danko, 69, has stood alone. He no longer mans the kitchen, but he scrutinizes the restaurant from floor to ceiling nearly every day. “I’ve got the eye for everything,” he told me. Spending time embedded with his team and dining at his restaurant as a customer, I had no reason to doubt it.

This is a man who put San Francisco on the fine dining map in the 2000s and stuck around ever since. There may not be another like him.

Step into Gary Danko at 800 North Point St., and odds are, your eyes will need adjusting: first to the dim light of the dining room, and then to the decor, a throwback to the sumptuous design of high-end restaurants in the early 2000s. 

In the last decade, many of the world’s best restaurants have adopted minimal, Scandinavian-inspired decor. Gary Danko, meanwhile, remains a temple of flower arrangements and crisp linens, all illuminated in amber light. The space is divided into two cozy rooms with about a dozen tables each and a petite bar in the center. You can hear the buzz of conversation in the air, but it’s never loud. Every window is blacked out, encouraging diners to lose track of time. 

When I dined here in September, my partner and I were greeted warmly and whisked away to our table. A minute later, an amuse bouche, a tiny bowl of sweet, summery pea soup, appeared in front of us with the speed and efficiency of an F1 pit crew. 

“Part of my whole philosophy is that I can’t see this restaurant just as a cook,” Danko would tell me later. “I have to see it as an owner, as a guest. If you walk in the door and you’re ignored, and you’ve seen this in many restaurants, it feels like they could care less that you’re here.

“There’s an old saying: The handshake of the host affects the taste of the roast.” 

Our first course was Danko’s famous glazed oysters. Three trimmed oysters sat in a pool of emerald lettuce cream and a buttery fondue of leeks, topped with generous dollops of briny caviar. Hiding in the sauce were little pearls of zucchini, a melding of land and sea, luxurious in texture and flavor. I wouldn’t have changed a thing. 

The restaurant has always had a prix-fixe menu, in which you select either three, four, or five courses from a series of starters, seafood, meat, and dessert. As first-timers, we stuck to the hits. Each bite clarified why the old favorites just work. 

The roast lobster with potato puree and chanterelle mushrooms, perfumed with tarragon, was on every other table for good reason. (A waiter told me that a gentleman once ordered three of them in a row.) 

An herb-crusted duck breast came with a smoky round of crisp duck hash and a baton of braised endive, all of it dressed in a pool of sticky, savory jus. 

Our desserts were charmingly vintage: a tropical baked alaska, lit on fire at the table, and a silken creme bruleé dotted with golden cherries and other sweet garnishes. 

Danko would tell me later that he abhors the kind of fine-dining restaurant that leaves people craving a burger on the way out. After my two-hour meal, however, I could barely budge. Three courses cost $130 per person: Not cheap, but a great deal in a town where you can blow the same money for a smattering of “small plates.” 

It’s also hard to put a price on hospitality. Everyone cared that it was my first time there. It made me feel like I needed to come back. 

Danko credits a trio of women for inspiring a life in the kitchen. He grew up in the upstate New York town of Massina, where his first influence was his mother, a Louisiana farm girl who had a deft hand at soul food. She later adopted the Hungarian culinary traditions of Danko’s father, who built homes for a living.

The second figure was Mabel, his boss at a local eatery called the Village Inn, which Danko’s father had renovated. 

The younger Danko, who tagged along to the construction site, wasn’t so fond of pulling insulation and pouring concrete. Instead, he disappeared into the Inn’s kitchen, where Mabel took him under her wing. His stint began at 12 years old with odd jobs and continued all the way through high school. There, he graduated from hat-check boy to a line cook, learning every element of the business (“even laundry”).

His third, and most formative, mentor was Madeleine Kamman (1930-2018), a French-born restaurateur and teacher known for her masterful sauces, obsession with quality, and blunt opinions.

Danko discovered Kamman through a cookbook in the library of the Culinary Institute of America, where he enrolled in 1975. She was an influential advocate for French cookery, opening a critically acclaimed restaurant, Chez La Mère Madeleine, and a cooking school in Boston. To Danko, Kamman had knowledge that seemed far more evolved than the basics he learned at CIA. He knew how to make a hollandaise sauce; Kamman taught him why it worked and how to perfect it. 

As Danko roamed both coasts, taking gigs in San Francisco and Vermont, he kept thinking of Kamman. Their first meeting came when he enrolled in her two-week class in Boston. Afterward, Danko kept reaching out, even after Kamman moved her restaurant and school to New Hampshire. Kamman waved off each request, replying that her program was "full."

After repeated rejections, Danko mustered the courage to ask her a loaded question: Was it because she, a famously strong feminist, didn’t want to deal with another man? 

“She told me, ‘Gary, you are full of shit. I don’t want to hire you because you’re a CIA graduate. They give me too much grief,’” Danko said, laughing. 

Finally enrolling in Kamman’s school led to years of tutelage and collaboration. She helped Danko land a job as chef of Beringer Vineyards in Napa Valley in 1986, and in 1992, he moved to the Ritz-Carlton in SF. It was there that he debuted the anything-goes prix-fixe menu, a revolution in an era when restaurants only offered identical courses for the entire table. 

His work at the Ritz garnered him rave reviews from local press and the award of “Best Chef – California” from the James Beard Foundation. Danko has zero desire to wax poetic about those accolades, but remains pragmatic about their importance: “They get attention. They help you build your own business.” 

The idea for that business started to come together after Danko departed the Ritz in 1996. He was soon courted by Michel Elkaim, a friend and the proprietor of Chez Michel at Fisherman’s Wharf. The longstanding bistro needed a reset, and Elkaim wanted Danko to lead the kitchen. 

Danko, though, was done with the idea of working for someone else.

Then, as if destined by the gods of Fisherman’s Wharf, Elkaim decided he would sell Chez Michel. Danko and his then-business partner, Nick Peyton (whom Danko met at the Ritz), pounced on the opportunity. They opened their doors in 1999, and immediately won praise. The Chronicle’s Michael Bauer deemed Gary Danko “the most refined, sophisticated restaurant to open in the Bay Area in the past decade.” The Examiner’s Patricia Unterman called the food “exquisite” in a perfect four-star review, emphasizing the generosity of service and Danko’s depth of flavors.

Within a year, Gary Danko won the James Beard Award for Best New Restaurant in America. Then, in 2002, the Zagat guide declared Gary Danko the best restaurant in SF — a title it would hold for five straight years. 

Danko had come a long way from laundering linens at The Village Inn.

Many employees, such as director of operations, Matt Moffitt, and general manager Cole Mathers, have stuck with Danko since the early days. The restaurant used to tout the most experienced front-of-house team in the city; while Moffitt mourns the loss of veteran staff during the pandemic, Danko continues to recruit top talent from institutions like Quince and House of Prime Rib. In Moffitt’s view, the draw is not just Danko’s reputation for excellence, but the stability and gregarious vibe of the restaurant. 

During my dinner, the entire team demonstrated the precision that comes with experience and good mentorship. My water glass never ran low, nor did the bread on the table. Servers offered curiosity, care, and the right dose of friendly banter. 

Greg Lopez, Danko’s life partner as well as his director of service, has seen it all over the last two decades. After my dinner, Lopez sat with me at the bar, telling endless stories while we sipped espresso martinis (the best in the city, for my money) mixed by ex-Quince cocktail wizard Michael Kudra. 

“Gary is like a chemist. He’s so exacting about the flavors he wants. It’s not about weird combinations. It’s that technique he learned from Madeleine. It’s not about a sprig of this, or a sprinkle of that for decoration,” Lopez said. “It’s more like: Is the food hot? Is it delicious? Will people come back?” 

Lopez met Danko while working as concierge at the Ritz, and it didn’t take long for the duo to start dating. After about a year, Danko asked Lopez to meet him in the former’s apartment on Nob Hill. Lopez expected a breakup since Danko, after all, was subsumed by the restaurant. Instead, Lopez walked into a room lit by dozens of candles and dressed in roses.

“Gary looked at me, and he said, ‘Greg Lopez, don’t mess this up. You’re good for me, and I’m good for you.’”

Lopez joined Danko's staff in 2004, and they will celebrate their 24th anniversary this month. He summed it up neatly: Whether behind a stove or in romance, Danko is a man of conviction. “He knew,” Lopez explained, “in his heart.” 

Belinda Leong, the acclaimed chef-owner of b. patisserie, joined Gary Danko as a prep cook in 1999, fresh out of culinary school. What struck her about Danko then was his intensity. 

“Back then, chef was in the kitchen at all times,” she said, using the culinary honorific for Danko. “He was a very scary chef. Very, very demanding. He wasn’t abusive, but everyone was scared when he was around. This was when he was training everyone in the kitchen himself.” 

Leong remembers “a lot” of cooks who took a verbal beating for their blunders, but she also effused about Danko’s desire to teach. She had next to no pastry experience, but her head-down, focused demeanor, even with menial tasks, impressed Danko. He mentored her into the role of pastry chef, and Leong stuck around for nearly nine years. 

“He was always so hands-on. He cleaned everything himself. He’s huge on cleanliness and not wasting anything,” Leong said. “Cooks would throw stuff like onion trim or pineapple scraps in the bin, and he would be right there, picking it up and showing exactly how much they wasted. To this day, I don’t waste a single ounce of anything.”

French-born Killian Guillotin has been in charge of desserts at Gary Danko since 2023. For his entire first year, however, Guillotin pumped out the old-school hits, slowly earning Danko’s trust. 

His patience showed Danko he wanted to learn, not flex, and the chef eventually gave Guillotin freedom to change signature dishes. Instead of serving three different crèmes brûlées in ramekins with cookies on the side, for example, Guillotin now composes a far more beautiful plate, garnished with seasonal fruit, dots of tart fruit gel, and a crisp sablé biscuit that sits on the plate like a crescent moon. 

Danko’s reticence to reinvent his crowd favorites isn’t born of caution, Guillotin observed. It’s about pleasing the guest. “When you lead a restaurant for so long, and you are that successful, you’re going to see a lot of faces come and go in the kitchen,” he said. “I’m not the first to come in and want to change things. But I needed to prove myself. That’s not a bad thing. It’s what makes you successful.” 

Danko can no longer tackle 16-hour days; his feet and hands hurt, and his back has been bothering him, he told me. 

As Danko was saying this, Moffitt interrupted: “He says that, but he’ll never show it to me. He still walks faster than I can. I can’t keep up with him half the time.” 

Danko’s appetite has changed, too. When I asked him about any notable meals or trends in the SF food world, he offered a soft shrug. Lopez is the one who explores SF’s hip new restaurants, Danko said. The chef prefers simpler things now: quinoa with fruit for breakfast, a roast chicken salad with chickpeas and avocado for lunch, the occasional wagyu burger. 

“I can’t eat like I used to,” Danko admitted. 

Last year, the restaurant lost its one Michelin star after 17 years in the Guide, but there’s little sign that the loss has affected bookings. Danko doesn’t seem to be bothered. 

“I was against Michelin coming to America in the first place. I called it the Wizard of Oz — some guy in a tower with power,” he said. “And I never wanted a second star. Once you get it, you have to up all your accoutrements and reduce the number of covers. But I want this restaurant to be reasonably priced.” 

Though he didn’t say it to me outright, Danko must be thinking of life after his restaurant. He has a second home in Provincetown, Massachusetts, where he enjoys entertaining old friends. Danko and Lopez also travel for industry soirées, including a recent birthday party for Patrick O’Connell, the chef-owner of The Inn at Little Washington in Virginia. The couple stayed up all night, mingling with fellow culinary kings like Daniel Boulud and José Andrés. 

“I keep telling Matt that he could take the restaurant over…” Danko says, trailing off. 

Moffitt shakes his head shyly at the suggestion. 

Back in the tiny kitchen, I watched as Chris Maluso, a veteran expediter, commanded the pass and called out orders. Guillotin flitted around with arms full of ingredients. The servers cracked jokes as they snagged their plates and flew into the dining room. Nobody had to yell. This jazz ensemble was, in all senses, cooking.

A cook suddenly appeared next to me and offered a snack: A teeny buckwheat pancake topped with caviar, a slice of smoked salmon, and crème fraîche. 

It was sublime. Exactly what I needed, and I didn’t need to ask for it. It was so Danko: a simple, perfect bite that made me feel at home.