Pakwan Restaurant — Restaurant in San Francisco

Last night, I stumbled into Pakwan for dinner, a casual Pakistani spot that somehow manages to feel both unpretentious and deeply nostalgic. There was no rush, no line, and plenty of open tables both inside and out. The kind of place where time slows down just enough for you to notice the little things: the soft hum of conversation, the sizzle of the open kitchen, and the aromatic swirl of cumin, garlic, and smoke that instantly reminded me of Lahore. The owner himself was behind the register, greeting guests with that quiet hospitality that makes you feel more like family than a customer. Watching the kitchen from my table, I could see the flames leap as the chefs worked, each flicker echoing the street food stalls of Bun’s Road. The air carried that unmistakable perfume of char, chili, and masala that every Pakistani knows by heart. The menu struck the perfect balance, authentic, diverse, and focused. I ordered lamb chops, chicken karahi, chicken tikka masala, chicken boti, and naan. The lamb was tender, smoky, and perfectly seasoned, each bite pulling apart like a slow confession. The chicken karahi was a soulful, tomato-forward masterpiece, brimming with ginger and green chili heat that built slowly, never overwhelming. The tikka masala had that rare honesty you rarely find outside a home kitchen, creamy, spiced just right, with depth instead of sweetness. The boti was grilled to perfection, juicy and kissed by fire, and the naan... golden, crisp on the edges, soft in the middle, the kind that makes you forget utensils exist. Everything together felt like a sensory homecoming. For a moment, I wasn’t in San Francisco. I was back in Lahore, sitting on my grandmother’s veranda, her hand running through my hair as the smell of karahi drifted from the kitchen. That’s what Pakwan does. It doesn’t just feed you, it transports you. If you’re looking for something real, something with heart, skip the white tablecloths. Come here, sit down, and let the food remind you what authenticity...

Review:

Chicken Tikka Masala

• Rating: 5/10 • Comments: The dish had too much butter or oil separating from the sauce, giving it an unappealing texture. The taste was mediocre, resembling ordinary tomato soup more than the rich and flavorful chicken tikka masala I was expecting.

Nihari (Beef Curry)

• Comments: The nihari was overly sweet, similar to the chicken tikka masala, which is not typical for this dish. The beef was overcooked and felt like it was just smothered in gravy, lacking the authentic taste and texture of proper nihari.

Garlic Naan

• Comments: The garlic naan was burnt and lacked the distinct garlic flavor. It was the worst garlic naan I have ever had, which was very disappointing.

Service:

• Comments: The service was extremely lacking. I had to seat myself, and no one asked if I liked the food or if I needed anything. I had to grab all my own things, making it feel like a fast food experience rather than dining at a restaurant. Given this level of service, I should’ve gone to McDonald’s if I were just going to be brushed off as a customer.

Atmosphere:

• Seating: Self-seating was required. • Parking: The parking situation was terrible. • Cleanliness: The tables were dirty, which impacted the overall dining experience.

Summary:

I spent $40 on three items and found the quality to be very disappointing. Despite the good reviews that brought me in, the food and environment did not meet expectations. The dishes were poorly prepared, the service was non-existent, and the cleanliness of the restaurant was lacking. I regret not going to “Curry Me Up” instead, as I believe I would have had a much better...

The Punjabi dhabawala with build of a warlord puts his hands to work at lightning speed, sliding a dozen lamb kababs onto piping hot iron skewers that rest over a coal-fired cave which make their juices rush out like the summer monsoons. Friends, strangers, lovers—they bring their plates to the benches and share exotic teas together. There is no pretense, no bouncers whose palms must be greased merely for admission, no shouting over repetitive and obvious rap music while trying to order overpriced liquor for unimpressive women. There is only the sound of others meeting, laughing, enjoying good food—which without question, enjoying what Indians call 'dhaba' style food, such as what they have here, is one of life’s great pleasures that is also the most unappreciated.

True, the ambiance is close to zero. The air is perfumed with the smoke from the tandoor. No one comes here for that. Just the North Indian/Pakistani style kebabs. A fine meal lingers on the mind and lips like the perfect kiss. I find this place to be very San Francisco. Is it the healthiest food? Perhaps not. But no lifestyle is more toxic than a diet of indifferently prepared food and evenings idled in colorless houses of noise. I assure you, a Saturday night is better spent in an anonymous dhaba than in the clubs of playboys, for no one is lonely or sad where good food is found. Microwave dinners, canned meals, frozen dishes—gluten free or otherwise—all products of a malevolent conspiracy by lawyers and admen.

While this is not ideal for a date, it's an experience not...