When a friend e-mailed me to ask whether I wanted to go “hob-nobbin” with her on a particular afternoon I knew immediately what she was getting at and wrote back, “yes!” It had been months since I put on my bib to scarf down the fiercely retro food that flies around one of San Diego’s most antiquated eateries – Hob Nob Hill.

After agreeing that we wouldn’t subject each other to the sight or smell of liver and onions, we began our merry lunch under the gaudy faux-crystal chandeliers hovering over an otherwise shadowy dining room with heavy wood trim. The thought of Turkey Croquettes crept into our heads as we zeroed in on two daily specials – a thick, flaky Grilled Salmon Filet for my friend and a mouthwatering, stacked-up BBQ Beef sandwich for me. The croquettes, however, would serve as a lesson in gluttony.

In what appeared like two columns from Stonehenge rising from a pond of flavorless giblet gravy, the molded turkey meat sported a rocky outer crust and a displeasing mealy texture inside. Casting that aside, we kept busy with the above-mentioned items and plowed through the many side dishes that accompanied them.

My four-bean salad, sweetened with apple cider and served in a tulip of iceberg lettuce, was a tasty example of blue-plate cuisine from the 1940s, which is when this all-American restaurant first opened its doors amid the stately Victorians of Bankers Hill. Our side selections also included a mini loaf of warm raisin bread that arrived with small chilled salads, applesauce and homey Chicken Rice soup. What was meant to be lunch quickly began looking like a Norman Rockwell portrait of Sunday dinner.

As my friend confessed her love for raw parsley – and started nibbling on a few of the sprigs that garnished our plates – I tried getting to the root of my mashed potatoes. Though good and creamy, I suspect they originated from a box. A small ear of lukewarm corn abutting my beef sandwich got tossed to the croquettes, although we kept at close reach a side order of excellent spiced cranberry relish that was meant for the turkey.

The meals here manage to escape the lower quality of cheap diner food because of their homemade essence. The corned beef, for example, is cured on the premises. The beef ribs undergo extended braising. And items such as Waldorf Salads, Patty Melts or toasted bacon-and-tomato sandwiches keep customers coming back if only for their nostalgic value.

Additionally, an old fluorescent-lit pie case shows off an array of homemade desserts that beckon back to mom’s soiled Betty Crocker cookbook – things like German Chocolate Cake, two-crust lemon pie, bread pudding with brandy sauce and some rather chubby muffins.

If you’re an early hob-nobber, the kitchen fires up its griddle every day for a variety of satisfying breakfast fare that includes eggs with Canadian bacon, corned beef omelets, blueberry pancakes and filet mignon with eggs, to name a few.

Service at the “Hill” is a notch statelier than what you might expect from a casual restaurant that still serves tuna-stuffed tomatoes and cottage cheese with sliced pineapple. I’m always taken by surprise here when the waitperson appears at the table holding a linen-covered tray from which you pluck your salad fork. Water glasses are replenished regularly. And if it’s a slow day, you could end up with more than one of the wait staff serving your table.

The restaurant’s beer and wine offerings are also unexpected, considering that you’ll find Portland Honey Ale, Warsteiner, Pilsner and a fairly decent selection of California wines averaging about $18 a bottle. But you may need to do your homework first and figure out what pairs best with that Chicken Fried Steak.