San Francisco has plenty of weird history. We’ve got a park full of old tombstones and a street that’s basically a giant brick squiggle, but nothing quite tops the story of a forty-ton floating island. If you ever found yourself wandering around Pier 39 a decade ago, you probably saw it. It looked like a Bond villain’s lair mixed with a high-end nautical clubhouse. This was the Forbes Island San Francisco restaurant, a place that defied every rule of traditional real estate and hospitality.
It wasn't just a gimmick. Well, okay, it was a massive gimmick, but it worked.
The island was the brainchild of Forbes Thor Kiddoo. He wasn't some corporate developer with a spreadsheet; he was a guy who wanted to live on a boat that didn't feel like a boat. So, he built a 700-square-foot floating island. It had palm trees. It had a lighthouse. It had a waterfall. Eventually, it became one of the most sought-after dinner reservations in the city, mostly because people couldn't wrap their heads around the fact that they were eating prime rib in an underwater dining room while sea lions barked just a few feet away.
The Engineering Madness Behind the Island
Most people think of "floating restaurants" as just old barges or renovated ferries. Forbes Island was different. This thing was built in Sausalito in the mid-70s using concrete. Yes, concrete. Kiddoo used millions of pounds of the stuff to create a hull that was virtually unsinkable. The "land" on top was actually a sophisticated layer of soil and sand where real palm trees grew.
It spent years anchored near Sausalito as a private residence before the city got, let’s say, "complicated" about the permits. After a bit of a legal tussle and some creative maneuvering, it found its way to Pier 39 in the late 90s.
Walking onto the island was an experience. You didn't just walk over a gangplank. You had to take a small shuttle boat from the dock. It was a three-minute ride, but it served a purpose. It separated you from the tourist chaos of the Embarcadero and dropped you into this weird, self-contained ecosystem. The lighthouse wasn't just for show either; it functioned, casting a beam across the water while guests climbed the spiral stairs to see the Bay Bridge.
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What it was Like to Actually Eat There
The dining room was the real kicker. It was located underwater.
Honestly, the food was secondary to the atmosphere, but the menu stayed pretty classic. Think 1980s high-end California cuisine. Scallops, thick steaks, and rack of lamb. Because the dining room was below the waterline, there were portholes. You weren't looking at coral reefs—this is the SF Bay, after all—but you’d see the murky green water of the Pacific and the occasional curious fish.
It felt heavy. In a good way. The wood paneling, the brass fixtures, and the massive stone fireplace made it feel like a cozy English manor that just happened to be submerged in salt water.
There was a specific smell, too. It wasn't fishy. It was a mix of sea air, expensive mahogany polish, and woodsmoke from the fireplace. It's one of those sensory details that locals still talk about when they reminisce about anniversary dinners or "impressing the out-of-towners" nights.
The Logistics of a Floating Kitchen
Running a kitchen on a floating island is a nightmare. Period.
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Every single ingredient had to be boated over. Every bag of trash had to be boated back. If the dishwasher broke, you couldn't just have a repairman pull his van up to the back door. You had to coordinate a water taxi for a guy with a toolbox.
Despite those hurdles, the Forbes Island San Francisco restaurant maintained a level of service that felt surprisingly formal. It wasn't a "beach bar" vibe. The servers were often in vests, the linens were crisp, and the wine list was surprisingly deep. They had to be careful with the storage, though. Space was at a premium, so the cellar was meticulously organized to keep the weight balanced. If you put too much weight on one side of a floating island, things start to get... slanted.
Why it Left Pier 39
All good things in San Francisco eventually run into two things: rising costs or red tape.
In 2017, the island officially closed its doors at Pier 39. It wasn't because people stopped going. In fact, it was still a huge draw for tourists. The issue was a combination of lease negotiations and the sheer cost of maintaining a massive concrete structure in the middle of a saltwater environment. Saltwater eats everything. It eats metal, it wears down concrete, and it’s hell on electrical systems.
The island was eventually towed away. For a while, it sat in the Delta near Antioch. People would spot it from the shore, looking like a ghost ship with palm trees. It was a surreal sight for anyone who remembered it in its prime, surrounded by the bright lights of the San Francisco waterfront.
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The Misconception About "The Move"
A lot of people think the restaurant just rebranded or moved to a building on land. That's not what happened. The "Forbes Island" experience was tied entirely to the vessel. When the boat moved, the restaurant died. There have been rumors for years about it reopening in a new location, perhaps further inland where the water is calmer and the permits are cheaper, but it hasn't happened yet.
Currently, the structure serves more as a private curiosity than a public landmark. It’s a reminder of an era when San Francisco was a bit more eccentric and "let's build a concrete island" felt like a reasonable business plan.
The Legacy of Nautical Dining in SF
San Francisco has a long history of maritime-themed kitsch, from the Shipwreck at the Cliff House to the Tonga Room’s indoor rainstorms. But Forbes Island was the only one that actually felt like a voyage.
It occupied a specific niche. It was the "special occasion" spot for people who hated standard hotel ballrooms. It was the place you took your kids to see the lighthouse, and the place you took your spouse to feel like you were escaping the city without actually leaving the harbor.
Even though you can't book a table there today, its influence persists. You see it in the way newer "floating" concepts are designed, though most stick to stable docks rather than free-floating concrete hulls.
Actionable Advice for Modern Waterfront Dining
Since you can't hop on the shuttle boat to Forbes Island anymore, you have to look elsewhere for that specific "on the water" feeling. If you're looking for the best alternatives that capture the spirit of the Forbes Island San Francisco restaurant, here’s how to navigate the current scene:
- For the View: Head to Scoma’s on Al’s Alley. It doesn't float, but it’s tucked away in a part of the wharf that feels authentic, and you’re literally feet from the fishing boats that caught your dinner.
- For the Kitsch: The Tonga Room & Hurricane Bar in the Fairmont. It’s underground, not underwater, but the floating stage and the simulated rainstorms give you that same sense of "how did they build this?" wonder.
- For the Boat Experience: Look into the San Francisco Spirit or other dining cruises. It’s more "touristy" than Forbes Island ever was, but it’s the only way to get that engine-hum-and-sea-spray feeling while eating a three-course meal.
- Check the Delta: If you're a real history buff, keep an eye on the San Joaquin River Delta. The island is still out there. While it isn't a restaurant, it remains one of the most unique pieces of maritime architecture in California history.
The era of the floating concrete island might be over for now, but the stories of those underwater dinners remain a staple of San Francisco lore. It was a weird, expensive, beautiful anomaly in a city that’s slowly becoming a bit too predictable. If you ever get the chance to visit a restaurant that requires a boat to reach, take it. Those are the places that make a city worth living in.