I am grateful for food, in general. To have enough food for me and my family, to have the luxury of considering food preparation an outlet of creativity and flavor exploration, and on occasion, to spurge and enjoy the gut-bombing comfort-food experience that San Leandro institution Harry’s Hoffbrau provides.
At Harry’s, just down the street, food is ordered in a full-service carvery/buffet style and served by men and women in white chef hats and aprons who move your plate from main to sides to salad to dessert to register. The fully-carpeted, poorly lit hall features a lot of chunky, well-lacquered wood and brass. The walls are covered with hung memorabilia and tchotchke from yesteryear. What would it look like if geriatric Germans redesigned the IKEA cafeteria and featured “quality food in generous quantities? Something like Harry’s.
The food is indeed good quality if very dense, but dense is what we go for. I can’t think of anywhere else around to have all the good stuff: mac & cheese, myriad beef and pork cuts and chunky slabs of roasted tom turkey with stuffing and mashed potatoes, half chickens, stuffed peppers, rich soups, and countless sides, salads, desserts all staring you down from behind the glass. You’re gonna have a stomach ache and it’s gonna be worth it.
Even if it wasn’t COVID times, we might still prefer Harry’s take-out option on account of a traumatic dining-in experience a couple years back. We had ambitiously ridden our bikes there–Matteo in his rear bike seat behind me and the twins in the trailer attached to mom’s bike–and the twins cried relentlessly from before we even got there until we abandoned our mostly uneaten food at the table (and on the carpet) and fled. The twins stopped crying a few blocks from home. We laugh about it now as we enjoy the comfort of the food from the comfort of our home, while being grateful that such a fascinating place exists so nearby.