The place is small and the cooks work right behind the counter, so you can observe everything. The place seems a bit dirty and grimy as the turn over is quick and there is not a lot of effort to make it shine. The bathroom is really scary!

The service is fast and brusque. The owner will take your order and if he does not like what you ordered he will tell you that you are crazy and will change your order. It's all part of the charm and mojo here. The rude service and dirty hole atmosphere is actually part of the reason people flock here. You came for good, no GREAT Chinese food and you have found the best place in San Francisco. The fried eggplant or the spicy beef is like nowhere else in the city. Everything is the best here. I have never had a bad dish and I have had many of lunches here.

You may be a bit grossed out that the health department has not raided the place, but once you taste the first bite you will understand the long lines and why this is a San Francisco favorite hole in the wall. The prices are in line too and everything is a good deal! Notice the awards of the wall. They are real! This place has even beat out places like The Ritz Carlton for foodie awards. Who needs a clean bathroom or friendly service when the food is so great?

Let’s walk through a typical Nanking experience.

It’s dinnertime. We arrive to find a long line of hungry hungry hipsters lining the sidewalk, waiting to eat. We join the end of the line and instantly become friends with our fellow diners; we all share laughs brought on by the indecipherable things people -- local winos and wait staff alike -- shout at us as we stand there, tummies rumbling. When our table is ready, we crawl into our seats. The table is pulled back into place. At our elbows, a couple sits eating, their table flush against ours. “What’s that?” we affably ask them, pointing at their dinner. They reply, coldly, violated. So they’re an antisocial bunch. We order our food (“What do you recommend?” I ask. The waiter nods, grabs our menus and whisks himself away). We are in their hands now. As our neighbors eat, they splatter onto our faces; that’s how close we are sitting. They listen to our museum plans for the following day; we listen to their cold bitter dispute over carpet samples. Our food arrives expeditiously on tin platters and we moan with delight. The bill immediately follows, as well as the impatient glares of the wait staff, itching for us to be gone already. The food is so good, we don’t even mind their rudeness. After we finish and eventually succumb to the pressure of their evil eyes, we push our table out and crawl over the laps of our new friends. “Good luck with that living room renovation,” I offer. Our table is refilled before we’re out the door. The line outside has grown. In all, the meal took about 20 minutes, leaving us with plenty of time to catch an early show.

My favorite dishes: fried potstickers with peanut sauce (spicy), beer-sauce chicken, and anything “Nanking”-style.