Brigitte Bowers: Bay Area nostalgia – The Grotto was a treat

The Grotto, a restaurant in Jack London Square, was my grandmother’s favorite place to dine when I was a kid.

The Grotto was a treat, a place with thick white linen table cloths and napkins, with waiters in black suits who pulled out the chair for me when we were seated, even though I was just a kid. It was a large and busy restaurant overlooking the estuary, and we always got a seat by the window so we could watch the sailboats motor past on their way out to open water, always with someone at the bow ready to raise the sails.

My grandmother did not speak English, but speaking at all was almost wholly unnecessary at The Grotto since the staff anticipated every need, refilling water glasses and restocking the sourdough bread with alacrity and poise. We always started with oysters on the half shell and for my entrée I always ordered the clams bordelaise. The clams were so meaty that 12 filled me up, and when I’d eaten every clam, I’d dip my bread into the broth until nothing was left.

My grandmother worked as a governess for a wealthy family in Alameda who wanted their daughter, Penny, to learn French and believed that proximity to my grandmother, who was from Normandy, might help to achieve this end. Grandma did not make much money, but she spent her days in a mansion with marble floors and a sweeping staircase like something out of a Myrna Loy and William Powell movie.

There was a tall rock fence around the backyard, with a gate that opened onto a huge neighborhood pool which no one ever used. I know this because I sometimes spent my afternoons with Penny, who was my age and an only child. Penny was quiet and reserved, and we were not a good match for friendship, but she was always nice and I imagine that she grew up to be very refined and also, probably, very gracious in her relations with people.

In any case, my grandmother, though poor, was accustomed to the quality of life suggested at The Grotto, and while she was there she was no longer a servant.

I think of all of these things whenever I find myself in Jack London Square, though The Grotto is no longer named The Grotto and is today not at all the kind of place where my grandmother would choose to dine. I do not go to Jack London Square very often, but when I do, as I stroll along past the ramp leading to the foyer of the old Grotto, I always feel nostalgic for the old place.

The mansion where my grandmother worked was probably a money pit, with a bad roof and dry rot, and might have eventually landed Penny’s parents in bankruptcy court. Still, though I know these things are possible and maybe even likely, the older I get, the more I remember things as I wish they were rather than as they almost surely must have been. At 15, I probably thought The Grotto was boring and full of old, slow people, but now that I am getting older and slower myself, these are the memories which Jack London Square calls forth for me – The Grotto, my grandmother, Penny, a marble-floored mansion, and the still water of a pristine, unused pool.

It is not just memories of this one restaurant that are so evocative for me. In Livermore, where we lived during my early teen years, there was a Chinese restaurant where my father taught me how to use chopsticks. It was on Main Street and the tablecloths were oilskin. In San Francisco’s North Beach, there is Capps, where my kids have learned how sublime lasagna can be. The lighting there is too dim and the tiny bar always crowded. And in Merced, where I have lived on and off for the past 35 years, there are many, many restaurants, some gone now, that mean much more to me than just menus and service.

And so, in the spirit of over-sentimentality and also good food, I am beginning a three-part series about restaurants in Merced. Though I have nothing against franchises, they do not really offer the variety of experience or the personality of privately owned eateries, and so for the purposes of this series I will cover only small, independently owned restaurants. But rather than write about my memories, I thought it might be interesting to feature the memories of other Merced residents.

If you’re interested in having one of your restaurants mentioned in this series, send me a short email with the following information: Name and location of the restaurant, your favorite menu item(s), memories or experiences you associate with the restaurant, and your contact information (full name, phone number, and local address). Keep your emails short – I will not read emails longer than 50 words, and I will edit emails as necessary. We will publish these memories in the spirit of nostalgia, so that every place is infused with soft, golden light.

This story was originally published August 7, 2015 at 11:12 AM with the headline "Brigitte Bowers: Bay Area nostalgia – The Grotto was a treat."