One SF resident recently put it perfectly, lamenting that a regular, old-fashioned turkey club is "woefully hard to find" in the city — and honestly, they're not wrong. The classic club sandwich — turkey, bacon, lettuce, tomato, mayo, toasted bread, held together by those little frilly toothpicks your grandparents had at every diner lunch — has become something of an endangered species in a city obsessed with culinary reinvention.

This is, in miniature, the story of San Francisco's relationship with simple, affordable, no-nonsense things. We've got restaurants deconstructing everything, putting miso aioli on dishes that never asked for it, and charging you $19 for the privilege. But a straightforward club sandwich? The kind you'd get at any diner in the Northeast without even thinking about it? Good luck.

It's not just about sandwiches, of course. It's about a city that has increasingly priced out and pushed away the basic, working-class establishments that used to anchor every neighborhood — the diners, the lunch counters, the corner delis. When your commercial rents are astronomical and your permit process could make a grown adult weep, the businesses that survive are the ones charging $17 for toast with fancy butter, not the ones slinging honest club sandwiches for a fair price.

So here's our call to action: if you know a spot in SF still making a proper turkey club — triple-decker, toothpick and all — drop us a line. Some of us just want lunch, not a culinary experience.

And to the city's aspiring restaurateurs: there's clearly a gap in the market. No permits should stand in your way. (But they will.)