If you’re not familiar, the Stinking Rose is a restaurant that proudly declares, “We season our garlic with food.” Since 1991, the stench of the pungent allium has been emanating from the novelty spot on Columbus Avenue. While the garlic-themed restaurant moved into a smaller space in early 2022, it’s still just a block away from its original location.

Owners Jerry Dal Bozzo and Dante Serafini both grew up in North Beach and were inspired to open the Stinking Rose after a visit to the Gilroy Garlic Festival. The quirky spot was such a success that they opened a second location in Beverly Hills in 1996, although it has since closed.

(Charles Russo/SFGATE)
(Charles Russo/SFGATE)

With about 40 different garlic-based dishes on the menu, the Stinking Rose goes through a whopping 7 tons of garlic a year (that’s about 40 pounds of garlic a day). There’s even an urban legend that taxis and Ubers won’t pick people up from the restaurant due to the garlic breath of it all.

On my weekday lunch visit, the restaurant was fairly quiet, although it’s usually a buzzing spot on weekend evenings. A few groups of tourists huddled over candle-warmed tubs of roasted garlic in oil, dipping their bread contentedly. A smattering of solo lunchers dined outside at the street-facing bistro tables, just steps away from other iconic North Beach institutions like Stella Pastry and Caffe Trieste. 

Despite the calm atmosphere, the decor inside was loud: strings of garlic bulbs hanging from the bright red walls, black-and-white checkered floors and anthropomorphic garlic figurines climbing the light fixtures. Near my table, a busty mannequin wearing a garlic hat kept catching the corner of my eye, like someone was watching me. 

My dining companion and I followed suit with the rest of the diners and ordered the bagna calda, also known as garlic soaking in a hot tub. While the candle-heated presentation was fun, I was underwhelmed by the dish, finding it lacking much flavor aside from the mild sweetness of roasted garlic and the slightest whisper of anchovy. 

I much preferred the garlic rose relish, which the menu labels, “for [garlic] main liners.” Our server recommended we pair it with an oven-baked Acme baguette, which arrived toasty and warm. 

Compared to the mellow tones of the bagna calda, the relish punched me in the mouth — in the best way. The bright green dip of parsley, raw garlic, vinegar and olive oil was heavenly with the warm baguette. 

I initially put off ordering it due to my turning stomach, but I knew before I even stepped into the Stinking Rose that I needed to order the Gartini. I regret to inform you that’s exactly what it sounds like: a garlic martini. 

When I asked our (very wonderful) server if she was a fan, I was impressed by her honesty. She told me no, she wasn’t, but that it’s part of the Stinking Rose experience. 

The odious cocktail arrived, looking like an unassuming dirty martini. I took one sip, and immediately blanched and pushed it to the other side of the table. Nope. 

The Gartini, left, a garlic flavored martini, is one of many garlic-heavy menu items at the Stinking Rose. (Charles Russo/SFGATE)
The Gartini, left, a garlic flavored martini, is one of many garlic-heavy menu items at the Stinking Rose. (Charles Russo/SFGATE)

The worst thing about it wasn’t even the garlic. It was too salty, too bitter, too everything. Granted, I’m not a particular fan of dirty martinis, but I’ve never had such a negative reaction to one.

I am only comforted by the fact that I was spared the garlic-infused white wine the restaurant once served. Serafini told me they excised it from the menu because “it was terrible.”

The rest of the meal passed far more pleasantly. We ordered the Stinking Rose garlic salad, juicy tomatoes and soft avocado highlighted with a zingy garlic vinaigrette. The garlic mussels, steamed in a rich Calabrian chile and nduja pork sausage sauce, were tender and just the right amount of spicy. 

A selection of dishes at the Stinking Rose, clockwise from top left: 40 Clove Garlic Chicken; garlic mussels; garlic ice cream; the Stinking Rose Garlic Salad. (Charles Russo/SFGATE)
A selection of dishes at the Stinking Rose, clockwise from top left: 40 Clove Garlic Chicken; garlic mussels; garlic ice cream; the Stinking Rose Garlic Salad. (Charles Russo/SFGATE)

My dining companion loved the 40 clove garlic chicken, a quarter of the bird slathered in cream sauce and scattered with roasted garlic cloves, served with a side of garlicky mashed potatoes. Unsurprisingly, this is Stinking Rose’s most popular entree. While it was the most expensive thing we ordered ($29.95), it yielded plenty of leftovers.

For dessert, we took a leap of faith and ordered the garlic ice cream. After confessing to our server that I, like her, hated the Gartini, she reassured me that the ice cream was interesting and worth trying. It’s actually the same garlic ice cream that can be found at the Gilroy Garlic Festival, made by Marianne’s Ice Cream in Santa Cruz.

Served with a hardened drizzle of chocolate sauce, the garlic ice cream was unexpectedly subtle. It just tasted like vanilla with a slight savory aftertaste. Or maybe there was just already so much garlic on my breath I’d grown numb to the taste. Either way, I didn’t mind it. 

Before tip, our total came out to $115.74 (including a soda), which, while it wasn’t cheap, felt about average for an indulgent lunch out in San Francisco. Some touristy restaurants will price-gouge you to hell and back, but my wallet and my taste buds could make peace with this check. 

Despite all the foreboding chatter I’d heard about the Stinking Rose, I was surprised at how light-handed they’d actually gone with the garlic. Not even the 40 cloves in the chicken felt like too much. 

Serafina explained it to me this way: “We have different varying amounts of garlic lovers. We have some people who love garlic, and no matter how much you give them, it’s not enough. … The majority of people fit in the middle. They like garlic and that’s why they come to the restaurant, but they don’t want an overpowering garlic dish.”

Maybe I’m just too much of a garlic head, but I honestly craved more of it — only the raw garlic relish truly satisfied my masochistic urge to be bonked over the head with pungent flavor. 

But perhaps it’s for the best that not every dish was an assault on my senses. Where I expected a harrowing novelty restaurant experience, what I got instead was a decent Italian meal with a tasteful amount of garlic (and one truly atrocious martini). Silly enough to be a festive outing, but also delicious enough to recommend to a friend.

It turned out, however, that I grossly underestimated how garlicky my meal really was. Hours later, regaling my boyfriend with a play-by-play of the meal, he told me my breath still reeked.

Friends, it’s called the Stinking Rose for a reason. If you go, please don’t forget your breath mints. 

The Stinking Rose, 430 Columbus Ave., San Francisco. Open daily, noon to 8 p.m.