For several years after moving to San Diego in the late 80s, I was an avid diner at Crest Café. The restaurant represented the nucleus of Hillcrest, a beacon for casual eating before crops of other new kitchens began sprouting in all directions. Twenty-six years later the café known for its colorful, retro plateware ranks as something of a GLBT landmark, although in my opinion, it’s based largely on nostalgia.

Like in the early days, I still believe Crest Café makes the best tuna melts on the planet. The kitchen started using albacore tuna long before any place else, slapping it between big slabs of bread along with a slice of cheddar, and grilling each side to a luscious buttery crisp.

I credit the café also for pioneering the way to better salad-making at a time when you’d have to dine at fancier restaurants to behold things like almonds, avocados and gorgonzola crumbles in your greens. Crest Café was ahead of the game, especially when it introduced years ago raspberry vinaigrette – a novel draw during San Diego’s culinary “dustbowl days.”

But my love of the place has waned. With the exception of darting in occasionally for a decent burger or the tuna melt, I’ve observed a decline in other areas of the menu over the past couple years, as well as spottier service. Perhaps it’s because the grub has become old hat to me in the face of so much newfangled cuisine in the area, although new menu items are regularly emerging as trial specials. Those that are successful graduate to permanent status, says Cecelia Moreno, who has owned the café since 1985.

My last visit with a longtime Crest fan in tow should’ve been problem-free. We arrived after the lunch rush, with only three tables occupied. When I requested seating toward the back of the restaurant, the waiter tersely informed us that there were no clean tables in that area. We opted to wait. Within two minutes he motioned us forward, and miraculously only one table appeared un-bussed.

Flunking grades would ensue for his intruded-upon attitude and for taking our initial food orders from a few feet away while abruptly cleaning and resetting the aforementioned dirty table. The scenario was reminiscent of walking into a restaurant 10 minutes before it closes.

I’m guessing the cook was also worn down from what might have been a hectic shift earlier that day. An appetizer of spicy chicken thighs on skewers came dripping with oil. The meat was gristly and the “hot spice” tasted like nothing more than cayenne pepper. Celery was supposed to accompany the skewers, but didn’t. As for the blue cheese dressing included on the plate, it was pitifully weak. If this is some loose rendition of Buffalo wings, I veto the concept.

From the pasta section, we ordered fettuccine with artichoke hearts and shrimp in a so-called “creamy wine sauce.” Two bites each and we could take no more. The elongated noodles were as dense and gummy as dumplings, and the shrimp were dry and tough, though plentiful. Neither the insipid wine sauce nor the shavings of low-grade parmesan cheese on top could save the ship.

Whenever I make believe that the issue of cholesterol is a fabricated conspiracy by the food police, I treat myself to the Crest’s famous butter burger. Aside from its starring ingredient, the half-pound patty is stuffed with garlic, tarragon and basil. As proven in this recent visit, it’s as good as ever – juicy, mouth tingling and seriously naughty.

From a separate menu card featuring “south of the border” fare, we encroached on a pair of monstrous adobo pork chops rubbed in a homemade chili paste that didn’t taste too different from the spice used on the chicken skewers. The meat straddling the bones was terribly undercooked. With pork, pink is okay, red is not. A plop of gooey scalloped potatoes and room-temperature green beans sent the dish further downhill.

The breakfast menu beats to an easier drum, I’ve discovered. The griddle takes kindly to lemon-ricotta buttermilk pancakes, fresh salmon egg scrambles and the well established “veggie breakfast” consisting of potatoes, jalapenos, salsa fresca and avocados. All of the omelets are made with four large eggs. And if your weekend mornings signal a little extra indulging, the chicken-apple hash and artichoke-ham casserole available on Saturdays and Sundays are hearty winners, albeit the slight food coma that strikes afterwards.

The hits and misses at Crest Café vary wildly as of late. Yet working in its favor is a sunny atmosphere with Art Deco touches, in which you can hobnob with new and familiar faces and maybe share memories of what Hillcrest used to look like when the café’s doors opened more than two decades ago.