Longevity equates to preciousness when you’ve been feeding customers for more than a half century. Hob Nob Hill has earned that stripe by ranking as one of San Diego’s oldest restaurants, revered for its blue-plate fare served within an antiquated atmosphere that could pass as the servants’ dining room to some grand ballroom from the 1940s.

A museum to its time, Hob Nob has hardly changed since it was founded in 1944. Two seating areas trimmed in heavy wood are strewn with dowdy bric-a-brac and nearly a dozen faux crystal chandeliers, which makes for some awfully bright lighting after sunset. Halfway inside is a fluorescent-lit pie case that displays only a mere portion of the day’s homemade desserts. And menu prices are spelled out, a format seen generations ago before modern-day restaurateurs began using them pretentiously on expensive meal cards.

Bygone service formalities are still in place as well. Soup spoons, for example, are heated and presented to you on cloth-draped plastic trays. Or ask for an extra ramekin of butter or salad dressing, and they’re delivered on generic saucer plates lined with white paper napkins – quirky and endearing touches that build to a finale of liver and onions, if that’s what you’re here for.

In prior visits I’ve reveled over the house-cured corned beef (served on Mondays), and also took delight in the stacked-up barbecued beef sandwich, an old-fashion patty melt, tuna-stuffed tomatoes and some decent breakfasts. But mediocrity has played into my experiences as well, such as when forking through turkey croquettes and chicken ‘n’ dumplings. Both were afflicted by viscous, joyless gravy that the geriatric regulars tend to forgive.

Dinner at Hob Nob on a recent Saturday delivered a similar ratio of highs and lows, beginning with being seated in a booth offering minimal leg and body space. After accidentally kicking my companion in the shins a few too many times, it became clear we should’ve requested a table in the more harshly illuminated rear dining room.

The supper menu is void of appetizers, although the Fiesta Salad immediately piqued our curiosity. Even after eating it we couldn’t figure out if Hob Nob is trying its fiercely American hands at Mexican. The salad involved chopped iceberg lettuce on a bed of large iceberg leaves – kind of strange. And within the mix was a medley of black olives, hard-boiled eggs, cheddar cheese and warm meat sauce resembling Sloppy Joe’s. We actually liked it, but taco salad it isn’t. As for the accompanying “cabernet sauce,” it tasted like spoiled wine, leading us to ask for a side of Ranch dressing.

We followed up with navy bean soup that was salty compared to a superior vegetable soup infused with cabbage, carrots and celery, all floating happily in a pleasant tomato-based broth.

My hankering for an early Thanksgiving dinner was moderately fulfilled with a fair portion of all-white meat, tender and oven-roasted, although not pulled directly from a carcass. (Point me to a restaurant that doesn’t use those pre-packaged turkey breasts outside of the holidays and I’ll buy you dinner there.)

Bread stuffing hidden underneath the turkey slices was nice and sage-y. The mashed potatoes sported a few genuine lumps, and the light-tan gravy dousing the components resembled Swanson’s, which I accepted. The real winner on the plate, however, was cranberry-orange relish stuffed into a hollowed-out orange. It was cool, refreshing and downright enchanting.

We also ordered the Saturday special – slow-cooked baby back ribs yielding plenty of meat and a medium amount of tasty fat. The slab was smeared with thick barbecue sauce that upstaged the essence of the pork until we pushed some of it off. I’ll request less sauce or none at all the next time.

Dinners come with homemade bread or orange muffins, plus soup du jour, a choice of salad, veggies and a choice of potato. With the ribs, we ordered a good and steamy baked potato – the toppings dispensed by our waitress tableside (and hurriedly) from a fancy silver stem of hanging bowls.

Service here is normally efficient and folksy. But we weren’t feeling the love on this particular night. Despite a near-empty dining room, the waitress disappeared often while the busboy kept overlooking our table when it became gridlocked with spent plates and so many of those little saucers holding butter, dressings and coffee cream. And the sight of wadded-up linens at nearby dirty tables was unwelcoming.

Our desserts, when they finally arrived, showed off Hob Nob’s penchant for baking. Double-crust lemon pie contained semi-tart custardy filling captured by dense pastry crust on the top and bottom. And the carrot cake was rather supreme if you don’t mind extra sugary cream cheese frosting. Other choices include nearly every kind of pie known to man, plus various cakes and chubby muffins.

No matter what meal or dessert you order, Hob Nob Hill gives you an authentic slice of Americana with a retro environment that is neither forced nor glamorous, and home-style meals that seem lifted straight out of an old Fannie Farmer cookbook.