A beloved old school Torrance chophouse founded in 1963 has kept it in the family, and kept it real
Words and Photos by Alex Khatchadourian
There’s a photo that sits proudly framed and mounted on the wall, directly to the left of the bar, inside The San Franciscan. It’s one of owner Merrill Failla’s favorite artifacts to point out if you catch him bouncing around tables, filled with regulars, on any given night. The photo shows the original San Franciscan sign illuminated in 1963, the year of its founding, and a handpainted sign advertising Prime Rib for $2.50. Its sentiment completely fits with this storied chophouse, where a strong emotional attachment to the old way is a powerful driver for the new.
Owner Merrill Failla
While anything for $2.50 is a rarity today, what remains is the fact that The San Franciscan is a South Bay institution, holding down its spot on Sepulveda Boulevard for 62 years, and hosting three-generations of meat-loving customers. Thick, quality cuts of lush, marbled prime rib paired with perfectly stiff cocktails, served in red leather booths with wood table tops, under low light, are the old-fashioned qualities that have made this establishment a famed destination for both locals and out-of-towners. Yet what might actually be the secret to The San Franciscan’s staying power is the intoxicating Cheers-like energy that the Failla family has fostered amongst its customers and staff, over their decades existence.
“Multigeneration family ownership, multigeneration staff, and multigenerational customers,” states Merrill Failla. “It’s what makes me most proud about this business.”
On any given day you will find as few as one, or as many as five Faillas in the restaurant. Merrill and his wife June are at the helm, operating the business alongside their sons Chris and Michael, and their daughter-in-law LuLu.
“We are all very hands on,” says Failla. “And one thing we all understand is that this is not a job, it’s a way of life. You have to live it and you have to be dedicated to it.”
The Pioneers of Torrance
It was 1952. Sam and Connie Failla owned a humble bar in Buffalo, New York, which comfortably supported them and their two sons. According to Failla family folklore, just after their second son Merrill was born, the local mafia approached Sam and made him an offer he couldn’t refuse. “Literally, my father told them, ‘No, sorry my business is not for sale.’ And they said, ‘No, I don’t think you understand, we’re buying your bar’,” retells Failla. “Apparently they scared him enough that he loaded all of us into the car and moved us cross-country to California.”
The Failla family first landed in Los Angeles and opened a small bar in the city of Bell, but in 1963, Sam decided to plant roots in the nondescript suburbs of Torrance, where he and Connie opened The San Franciscan.
“He was one of, what we like to call, the pioneers of Torrance,” says Failla. “There were a number of young families and small businesses that came here in the early sixties and took a chance on what was basically a very young city. They all came out here, ran their businesses and this place became a really good watering-hole for them.”
It’s hard to imagine that The San Franciscan was once just a simple roadside tavern offering a moment of post-workday respite and a cold one to local business owners, when its legacy is now upheld by its choice-cut tradition. But in its infancy it was a practical place where folks went to relax and come together. Merrill, only thirteen years old in ‘63, still recalls the lineup of locals that made The San Franciscan their sanctuary to unwind and socialize.
“My earliest memories are seeing the owners of Torrance Auto Body and Murphy’s Truck Rental from down the street, or the manager from the AAA, sitting here at the bar, recounting their days and having a good time,” says Failla. “There was a real camaraderie that began to grow.”
As good Italians, the Failla’s began spaghetti night. Bring the family, buy a drink, and get a plate of spaghetti for cheap. It’s as primitive a concept as it gets, but it became a marker destination for the community, knowing you could show up, see friends, and get fed.
A Family Affair
Midday, during his shift at the AAA, Merrill received a call from his mom.
“Dad’s going to be laid up for a while, do you think you can come help us out for a bit?” asked Connie.
After a heart attack that sidelined him for the foreseeable future, Sam called on Merrill to help with the business for the first time. Merrill took a leave of absence from AAA, and was immediately thrown in behind the bar.
“I didn’t know a thing about bartending, so my dad sent me to a bartending class in Downtown LA. I came back, started tending bar, and the business just got into my blood. I never did go back to AAA,” says Failla, with a chuckle.
It’s been fifty-two years since Failla joined the family business. He’s watched The San Franciscan go from a single-room, bar service-only establishment to a four-room dining experience. He’s seen businesses and buildings to the west and east of their property turn over three or four times, and the Eucalyptus forest that stretched from the corner of Sepulveda and Crenshaw down to Madrona Marsh be completely leveled in lieu of office buildings and parking lots. He’s weathered a slumlord that just about put them out of business during the pandemic, forcing Failla to shell out $21,000 a month to keep his doors closed for nearly two years. He’s worn every hat imaginable – bartender, server, host, cook, butcher, manager, owner, repairman. And even met the love of his life one serendipitous evening while tending bar.
“My friend and I went to another prime rib place that was on Hawthorne and Torrance Boulevard, but it was a two-hour wait,” recalls June Failla. “My friend suggested The San Franciscan, which I had lived here my whole life, and had never been to. She was 21 and I was 18. I remember we sat in those two seats right there. Merrill was bartending; my friend got served, but he wouldn’t serve me because I didn’t have an ID.”
Merrill chuckles. “Only in America, can you come into a place, underage, try to drink, and end up owning the place,” he says.
While many cosmetic changes have been made over six decades – certain booths have been removed and updated, tvs have been added, art has been moved, some walls have been knocked down during expansions, the kitchen has grown from teeny-tiny to just tiny – three things have remained at the core of what drives The San Franciscan’s staying power. Quality, value, and consistency.
“These are the keys to our continued success,” says Merrill. “I have customers come up to me all the time and say, ‘Please, don’t ever close,’ so I know we are doing something right.”
The San Franciscan stands as much more than just a bonafide old school joint for quality prime rib – although they are happy to assume that title as well. It’s both a place for camaraderie and quality sustenance, and has withstood the test of time, food trends, and a global pandemic. It’s truly a South Bay cultural beacon and gathering place.
The Golden Era
Wednesday nights at The San Franciscan are packed. My partner and I are initially greeted by Lulu’s warm smile behind the host stand. It takes a second for my eyes to adjust to the timidly lit room, but when they do, I see Merrill sitting at the end of the bar. He’s laughing with three regulars, a glass of wine in front of him, and the framed photo of The San Franciscan in 1963 to the left of him on the wall. Within seconds, Merrill nods at Lulu and we’re led towards our booth in the dining room. A server buzzes by us with a large tray balancing ranch-topped salads and the restaurant’s signature sourdough rolls with a bread knife pierced through the top. Every booth is filled and the regulars are bellied up to the bar. An older couple leaving with leftovers in hand gets a cheerful goodbye from them as they pass by to the exit. We walk past a table midway through a rendition of the “happy birthday” song. At another table a woman is posing for a photo, gracefully trying to hold up her Franciscan cut Prime Rib without the au jus sloshing off her plate.
It only takes a moment before you realize…this is the golden era of The San Franciscan.
“Take a look around, this place speaks for itself,” says Phil Cataldi. “I’ve been tending bar here for 28 years and I still love what I do.”
Merrill’s son and The San Franciscan’s third-generation owner, Chris, drops off a round of strong cocktails – an Old Fashioned and a salt-brimmed margarita – before we’re treated to an array of classic dishes: sauteed mushrooms, potato cheddar soup, the famed prime rib, perfectly grilled ribeye, and a healthy fill of starches. Chris bounces around from table to table, graciously greeting the clientele he’s come to know on a personal level, and laughing with his devoted staff.
“It’s an honor to carry on my family’s legacy,” says Chris amidst the 6:30 p.m. dinner rush. “I can only imagine how proud my grandparents would be to see how successful the restaurant has become and grown under the leadership and hard work from parents, myself, and my wife and children.”
In the end, not much has changed, and that’s the point. Phil pops the bottle cap off a Budweiser and places it in front of me as we belly up next to the regulars. “Consistency, consistency, consistency.”