I wanted to hate Palmers when I first walked by.
I rolled my eyes at the animal heads jutting out from the wall like drywall centaurs. I remained unmoved by the faux speakeasy banquettes. Striped awnings for the French bistro effect?
Then I washed down my day with a pair of Parisian Bouquets. That’s elderflower, basil, lime, grapefruit and heaven swirled in a cocktail glass. I felt my mind opening just enough to let the aroma of spicy beef sliders seep in: my gateway meat of choice.
Nestled among the boutiques hawking $80 face cream on Pac Heights’ Fillmore strip, Palmers does a few things very well while leaving most other things to wallow in the mediocrity that happy hour patrons have come to expect.
Just know what you’re there for: the burger, namely. For your trouble, splash a reasonably priced, reliably mixed cocktail down your gullet and split before the dinner crowd starts muscling their way though the door. Your tastebuds and wallet will thank you.