All Aboard

Anchor & Hope, from the team that brought us Salt House and Town Hall, docks downtown.

If you're opening a restaurant, one of the most important pieces of the puzzle is tapping into what diners want. Sounds obvious, but satisfying the desires of the fickle masses is no mean feat. Front-of-the-house man Doug Washington and chefs (and brothers) Mitchell and Steve Rosenthal have nailed it thus far: Their first restaurants, Town Hall and Salt House, remain two of the city's most beloved, owing to approachable menus that have such duh-it's-delicious dishes as fried chicken, braised short ribs and crispy shrimp. Like a designated hitter who always manages to loft it out of the park, this team has found the sweet spot.

With their latest restaurant, Anchor & Hope, they're betting on lucky number three. The restaurant has taken over a converted mechanic's shop (just like Spruce—what is it with restaurants and former garages?), and the decor is East Coast fish shack meets downtown San Francisco. Exposed bricks and beams, lengths of thick rope and distressed wood help to fill the big space. And though it's a little bit loud and a little bit bright, the room has a lively, fun and buoyant feel—another hallmark of the Washington-Rosenthal restaurants.

Chef Sarah Schafer (formerly of Frisson) has created a menu that incorporates myriad influences. There's the nod to the Maine fish house (a classic lobster roll with house-made kettle chips), to Anchor & Hope's namesake, a gastro-pub in London (Smithwick's-battered Alaskan halibut with rosemary potato wedges) and to the California coast (Dungeness-crab Louis). Don't let the handwritten menu and understated service fool you—the plates are more refined than you might expect. Even a simple baby-beet and watercress salad with blue cheese is thoughtfully composed.

Schafer's version of fish stew is a spicy, saffron-scented broth loaded with fat mussels, chunks of monkfish and tiny chorizo meatballs—dig deeper and you'll discover shreds of lacinato kale, ribbons of roasted peppers and coins of fingerling potato, along with a scattering of pearl onions. The dish is an excellent representation of the menu as a whole. The food has roots in tradition, but Schafer's unafraid of giving it her own twist. And though this is ostensibly a seafood restaurant, there are a couple of turf options too: the obligatory steak, and a breast of guinea hen stuffed and served with morels and English peas. On two different occasions, the server described the latter as his or her favorite dish on the menu.

It's only a matter of time before diners start developing their own favorites—like the menus at Salt House and Town Hall, Anchor & Hope's is larded with dishes most people will like, from the addictive bacon-wrapped oysters to the fried clams. Its owners have figured out how to give the people what they want before they know they want it. Thanks to them, Anchor & Hope seems preordained for smooth sailing.

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