This new Union Square restaurant is what late summer was made for

Eat Here Now is a first look at some of the newest, hottest restaurants around – the ones we think are worth visiting. We dine once, serve forth our thoughts, and let you take it from there.

The 2-month-old Maritime Boat Club is, first and foremost, a seafood restaurant. But at this time of year, chef Felix Santos’ commitment to wringing maximum flavor out of peak-season produce almost threatens to overshadow the oceanic orientation. That’s not a complaint — and visitors can see that for themselves by checking out the cornucopia-like display of melons and tomatillos near the kitchen. 

For me, summer reached its fever pitch when I took my first bite of Maritime’s $17 tomato salad. The red, yellow, and green icons of late-season bounty were presented in halves and quarters, still big enough to require additional cutting. Kissed with mint and sorrel, with their flavor deepened through a dressing of acidic-umami tomato water, they had a rustic, unfussy quality straight out of a Jacques Pépin cookbook. The best way to describe their intensity might be: tomatoes, squared.

The vegetable hits kept coming from there. A $14 bowl of broiled, fire-red Jimmy Nardello peppers — one of the chef’s favorites, by his own admission — arrived atop a black radish ranch dipping sauce, like crudité on steroids. The aromatic baby corn ($10), its scorched husks still attached, came with both guacamole and romesco for good measure.

Oh yes, and the seafood. Bluefin tuna aguachile studded with radishes, jicama, serrano chilies, zebra tomatoes, and avocado ($24) stood head and shoulders above most ceviches, thanks to its wild variety of textures. The flaky grilled halibut, a kitchen workhorse — and a sustainable counterpoint for anyone put off by bluefin tuna — was so buttery it didn’t even need the bearnaise it came with. A heaping bowl of tender Monterey squid over al dente Romano beans ($19) was something I could easily eat every day for a week. 

As a rule, Santos — who has worked at heavy-hitters like Quince, Sorrel, and Atelier Crenn — is a big fan of sauces and gelées. But he stops short of molecular gastronomy’s showy foams and other “chef-y” tricks. (Pro tip: Order the $8 sourdough, go light on the whipped eggplant dip it comes with, and save the rest to mop up everything else.)

Maritime Boat Club also offers plenty of large-format options, like the $125 “Kraken” seafood tower and a $135 côte de boeuf served with eggplant, guajillo, and tallow (the latter is a contender for San Francisco ingredient of the year). Overall, the price points are conceived so that diners can go hog wild or put together a great meal for two without feeling cheap or timid. 

Still, that approach invites a potential drawback: The section-less menu layout can come off as random or confusing. Thankfully, the staff is trained to work proactively with guests to figure out how many dishes will be enough. More important, they’ll guide you through the coursing so that everything doesn’t drop at once. (This is unfortunately becoming a lost art.) Plus, everybody gets an amuse-bouche to start, a classy touch for an à la carte experience.

“You can snack, or you can splurge,” Santos says. “I want to offer high-level, fine-dining hospitality in a setting that’s a little more relaxed.”

Relaxed it is. Maritime Boat Club took over a semi-dormant rear space on the second floor of the Palihotel, near the Stockton Tunnel’s southern portal. It’s dimly lit, high-ceilinged, and essentially windowless — design challenges met with model sailboats and other nautical bric-a-brac. Up front, through a curtain, is the 6-month-old Bar Maritime, one of several excellent reasons for locals to revisit Union Square’s nightlife. 

Putting the similarity of their names to one side, the two have distinct identities but form a coherent whole. Toward the bow, Bar Maritime is the domain of one Larry Piaskowy, who commands as devoted a following as any San Francisco mixologist. Astern, Maritime Boat Club is like a fishing vessel pulling into port, its hold as full of tomatoes and baby corn as halibut and squid. This is what late summer in California was made for.