DAVID NELSON ON RESTAURANTS : 2 Unpretentious Eateries Serve Generous Portions of Americana

Food circles have been buzzing lately about the “revival” of American cuisine. Some people even characterize the current interest in our national cooking as a rediscovery, as if recipes that have been used and cherished for centuries were like so many fossils needing to be unearthed by culinary archeologists.

For many of this country’s cooks, however, there has never been anything but American food. To them, such treats as slowly simmered greens, well done but fork-tender meats, and “quick” breads like muffins and biscuits are everyday fare rather than gastronomical exotica to be examined under a microscope.

San Diego enjoys the services of several such cooks. Two can be found on University Avenue, one at a full-service restaurant called the Bottle ‘n Beef, the second at an amazing little lunch counter called Mrs. Kipp’s Kitchen. At either place, guests can enjoy a slice of Americana cut as generously as a diner-sized wedge of coconut cream pie.

A cruet of vinegar and a bottle of pepper sauce arrive in advance of the entree at the Bottle ‘n Beef, but if you have to ask what they’re for, you probably won’t use them. Both these condiments typically are added at the diner’s discretion to the collard greens, black-eyed peas and other down-South vegetables that grace the plates here. If the chef-owner, who keeps an eye on the dining room from the open kitchen doorway, sees a guest reach for one of these bottles, he’s likely to dash to the table bearing a shaker of devilish home-prepared hot sauce concocted from various peppers pickled in vinegar. Such is cuisine a la Bottle ‘n Beef, where nothing is fancy but almost everything is delicious.

This restaurant is no dressier than its name implies. Red vinyl booths line three of the walls, and the slatted partition separates the dining area from the adjacent bar less successfully than it might. Various signs provide the predominant decor, such as the paper banner posted near the kitchen that proclaims “Good Southern Cookin’.” A more formal wooden plaque calmly announces “Fine Food,” and, if anything, these two signs understate the truth.

This is Southern cooking--with a vengeance. The modern dietary taboos that prohibit cholesterol and salt are unknown here, as are the nouvelle niceties about portion sizes and the proper length of time to cook vegetables. Portions are designed for the healthiest appetites, and the long, slow, moist cooking renders almost every food unusually savory and palatable.

The presence of chitlins (or chitterlings, to give this dish of hog intestines its formal if seldom-used name) helps to define the menu’s South-looking slant, a slant that goes on to embrace such country specialties as fried rabbit, ham hocks, pig’s feet and fried ham steak doused with red-eye gravy. This menu grows briefly prosaic when it mentions meat loaf and baked macaroni and cheese, but returns to its roots by offering gumbo (unfortunately, only on Mondays and Tuesdays) and fresh catfish, fried Southern-style (served on Fridays and Saturdays). Barbecued ribs, chicken and sausages also are available.

The meats, as unusual as many of them may be in these parts, are no more exotic than the vegetables. The South loves fresh produce, an affection evidently shared by the Bottle ‘n Beef’s chef, as he garnishes entrees with the diner’s choice of no less than three vegetables selected from a list that runs to okra, butter beans, “fried” corn, black-eyed peas, red beans and more. A few moments spent with a bowl of his vegetable soup is like taking a stroll through a truck garden; each spoonful turns up something delicious, like a bit of soft, succulent cabbage or a square of tender bell pepper.

Many people like to compare the flavor of rabbit (or frog’s legs, or other foods about which they may feel slightly squeamish) to chicken, although it really seems just as well to say that rabbit tastes like rabbit. As prepared here, it is a light, delicate meat, very mildly flavored and cooked to a succulent juiciness during a lengthy process in which it is floured and fried like chicken, then steamed a bit as well, to keep the meat moist. A rich gravy elaborated from the pan juices is ladled over the finished product.

Red-eye gravy comes in several varieties, of which the best (at least if one is a red-blooded American) may be the kind that calls for strong black coffee. Other cooks use ice water, but in either case, the liquid is used to deglaze the frying pan in which a ham steak has been quickly browned. This thin but potent liquid adds a pleasing moistness to the meat, which at this restaurant consists of a thick slab of crimson, country-tasting ham that is delicious to the very last bite.

Plates are automatically garnished with a mound of fluffy, real mashed potatoes drizzled with brown gravy, as well as the three diner-selected side dishes. The mashed yams sizzle with so strong a voltage of clove that they could be taken as a toothache remedy, the “fried” corn (a wonderful country concoction) is rich in pimentos and mild banana peppers, the collard greens are steaming hot and best when finished with pepper sauce and vinegar, and the black-eyed peas have a unique, somewhat musty flavor that one either loves or hates. Cornbread also appears at this point, and although it is not as richly crusted as the kind baked in a cast iron skillet, it is good.

The homemade dessert list includes a smooth, nicely spiced sweet potato pie. One of this restaurant’s few shortcomings was the strawberry shortcake, which would have been fine had fresh berries been used, rather than the frozen sort.

Mrs. Kipp’s Kitchen takes an equally regional approach to cooking, although the region in question here is the Great Plains. Suzi Kipp, who does all the cooking and baking at this minuscule 12-seat counter establishment, acquired her culinary skills in South Dakota before moving in 1983 to establish this tiny Hillcrest eatery.

The decor basically consists of the mounds of ground corned beef, the potato “floddies” and the other foods that Mrs. Kipp shuffles around on the grill with the deftness of a Las Vegas blackjack dealer.

This is basically a breakfast establishment, with a few luncheon sandwiches available before the 2 p.m. closing hour. But it does serve the breakfast of champions, with choices ranging from whole wheat-honey pancakes to biscuits with country gravy, immense omelets and even oatmeal.

The undisputed star of all this is the corned beef hash, a pristine creation that excludes potatoes and merely seasons the freshly ground meat with a bit of chopped onion. Browned on the grill until it acquires a crusty magnificence, it is then slipped on the plate and garnished with the diner’s choice of eggs (poached, please!) and a “floddie.” (A floddie is a hybridized creation that is part pancake, part hashed brown potato.)

The meal also includes a choice of home-baked buttermilk biscuit or orange muffin; the biscuit is as large as the eatery is small (it could house a respectable-sized hamburger, for example), and is so light and tender that a mere glance seems sufficient to make it fall apart.

Here, as at the Bottle ‘n Beef, the portions are anything but modest. In the case of the corned beef hash-cum-fixings, there was enough food on the plate to keep a full-sized trucker gleefully jamming gears all day long. Bottle ‘n Beef 4383 University Ave., San Diego. 283-8213 Dinner served 4:30 p.m. to 9 p.m. weeknights, until 10 o’clock weekends. Most entrees priced $4.50 to $5.50. Mrs. Kipp’s Kitchen 1227 University Ave., San Diego. 260-1948 Meals served 7 a.m. to 2 p.m. Tuesday through Friday, until 1 p.m. Saturday. Closed Sunday and Monday.