Survive long enough and they call you venerable, as they do the Balboa Cafe, another one of those rustic American saloons in San Francisco. Established in 1913, it still has that great old San Francisco powerbroker smell to it that makes you want to put your foot on the rail, order a whiskey neat, and tell a story about the way business used to be done. You can take your mother in her pearls here for lunch, or turn up for dinner and expect great food and a lively crowd. Save room for crab cakes or the burger with shoestring potatoes. The service can be rude, so don’t take any lip.