The advantage of being the only restaurant in a dying mall is that you don’t have to compete with other smells anymore. The whiff of orange chicken hits you as soon as you walk into San Francisco Centre and has completely permeated it throughout. Anticipation built as we approached the lone eatery, feeling glee mixed with melancholy as we passed closed storefront after closed storefront (“I went suit shopping there for the first time in years,” “I got my eyebrows threaded there before I knew I break out so easily.”) Finally, there she was. Not in all her glory. She just was, operating in her own universe indifferent to the world around her. We got in line. I ordered a half-and-half with tofu and eggplant and the last of the orange chicken which was placed in my container right before a steamy, fresh batch of orange chicken came out. I paid $13.36. We sat “outside” underneath the curved escalators that once lead directly to a five-story, “open air” Nordstrom – not sealed off behind its own glass doors but a very part of the mall itself. I put every hot sauce packet they gave me on my two-item combo. The orange chicken tasted stale and fishy for some reason (should have noticed and waited they were about to bring out a fresh batch; the only thing worse than eating the last of the orange chicken is being a person who sends orange chicken back). My fortune was bad. A rat scurried underneath the compost bin near where we were sitting, not inside the Panda itself.

This is the view looking up to the escalators that once led to Nordstroms.

This was the fresh batch of orange chicken that came out right after I ordered the last of the previous orange chicken.

You can’t really see it in the photo but there was rat underneath the compost bin.

I waited for Ian to finish, then we got up and left. We went up to the mall’s third floor and walked to the domed atrium that lead to the spa (there was a spa!) and movie theater. An ornament-shaped selfie moment, a small tree, and a mailbox to Santa hung out in the massive, empty room. Christmas music still pumped through speakers. It wasn’t eerie. It was nice, stubborn assurance that Christmas music will play at the mall during Christmas time goddamnit, whether it’s dying or not, and that there’s nothing in the whole entire world that can change that.

Ian and I stepped outside. I hadn’t spent much time in SF during Christmas actually, and breathing in cold air while seeing lit up old buildings felt magical. We walked into the Palace Hotel, once the grandest hotel in San Francisco. They have a little museum, and I discovered that green goddess dressing was invented there. The little plaque displaying its history will live inside the glass display cabinet forever inside this historic building. Now that the mall’s buyer is trying to get every tenant out as soon as possible, Panda included, retailers are once again buying up shuttered storefronts in Downtown’s heart, perhaps where they should have all been to begin with. Uniqlo is coming back, a Christmas miracle. Maybe AI is actually creating lasting jobs here. Maybe the city is indeed returning, better and stronger than it’s ever been before.

But in a city with so much exuberant pride for its history, I fear that the San Francisco Centre will be overlooked. There will be no plaque in a glass display case containing plastic trays where the food court once stood. There will be no petitions to designate the San Francisco Centre as a historic landmark. This building’s failure is talked about in the same “oh shucks” way that startups are talked about when they fail, as an indicator of how the greater city is doing but not a tragic loss on its own. Maybe its because its fate is still unknown, that there’s still hope another mall will take its place or perhaps a Meowwolf or an indoor waterpark. Regardless, the San Francisco Centre is just as worthy a landmark to preserve as the Palace. With its curved escalators and imported marble, it’s also in conversation with it a public space, arguing that opulence could indeed be something accessible to all. Whatever happens, I hope that whatever reincarnation of it will keep its integrity as a public space. As for Panda Express, may I recommend Saluhall next door.

I Went to the Only Restaurant at SF’s Dying Mall. Was it Worth It?

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