A Chronicle reader recently wrote to ask, "My in-laws are coming to town and they're very meat-and-potatoes. What would you recommend - Ruth's Chris or Morton's?"

My first inclination was to steer them to Harris' or Lark Creek Steak, because why go to a chain restaurant in San Francisco? Yet I was being reactionary. I hadn't been to Morton's since it opened on Union Square nearly 15 years ago, so it was time to check it out.

Although the restaurant has been remodeled and the main dining room is now upstairs, it looked much the same as it did when I first visited. The room, with an open kitchen in back, consists of a sea of tightly packed seats - three rows of tables and a row of booths, the type of restaurant design popular when the chain started in Chicago in the 1970s.

There's not a single local element to the place - except the staff, of course. The chandelier at the entrance, for example, has a cutout of a skyline on it; I was staring, trying to figure out where it was, when the host said: "Isn't it beautiful?" I replied: "Yes. Is that the skyline of Chicago?" And it was.

This was my introduction to a steakhouse that hasn't changed with the times or adapted to its location in the heart of San Francisco's Union Square.

The server introduces the menu by standing behind the rolling cart that displays a tray of plastic-wrapped steaks, purple onions, heads of broccoli, a humongous potato, fat spears of asparagus and tomatoes that looked anemic, even at the height of tomato season.

At the beginning of the scripted presentation, she told us not to fret, that we'd get a written menu. When we did, I went white. I would like to apologize to any restaurant in the Bay Area where I ever complained about prices.

A martini is $14.50, but comes in a big glass, and a Manhattan made with Jim Beam is $12.75. Breaded chicken cutlets, at $33, is the cheapest thing on the menu. Most steaks are in the $50 range. Nothing comes with sides: A baked potato, albeit huge, is $10, and creamed spinach is $12.

If everything were perfect, we could at least have fodder for a debate. But the food was barely edible and the service was a comedy of errors.

Attempting to economize, my companion went with what the waiter pointed out was a great deal for $85 - the fixed-price menu, which included an iceberg wedge salad, a single-cut filet or New York strip, lobster tail or Alaska king crab legs, and a few spears of jumbo asparagus with balsamic glaze.

I started with the oysters Rockefeller ($18 for four), the $33 chicken and baked potato and creamed spinach for us to split. Now, that would mean that a well-rounded chicken main course totals $44, figuring that the sides serve two. I ordered the lemon souffle ahead, not knowing until the bill came that it was $18 and designed to serve two.

When the appetizers arrived, I was mistakenly brought a half dozen oysters on the half shell. My companion gave me a taste of the wedge salad, smothered in blue cheese dressing, dotted with rock-hard bits of bacon and dices of mealy tomatoes. Fortunately, the dressing was good and the lettuce was cold.

Soon the manager came over, gave me his card and apologized profusely for the screwup, announcing that the oysters would be on the house, and that if we needed anything at all to let him know.

When the main courses arrived after a 40-minute wait, the sides didn't. Before long the manager stopped by to see how things were going, and went into overdrive when he discovered that the order was screwed up yet again.

When I finally did start on my main course, I realized I needed to offer a second apology to any food I've criticized in the past year; by comparison, everything I've had at other places was French Laundry quality. The steak was burned and acrid, and the lobster tail was mushy, as if it had been frozen and thawed multiple times.

The Chicken Christopher ($33) consisted of three huge cutlets coated with what tasted like sweetened bread crumbs, swimming in beurre blanc with bits of raw garlic, decorated with a limp sprig of parsley and a wedge of lemon. It looked and tasted terrible.

Creamed spinach was long on nutmeg - that was the only thing I tasted - and seemed to have no salt. Thank goodness for the baked potato, which had a crisp, slightly leathery skin and tasted great slathered with sour cream and chives.

We ate very little and took the meat to the dog.

When the souffle arrived, I was once again deflated. It was served with huge spoonfuls of whipped cream that had more substance than the souffle.

In the meantime, the manager brought over the VIP after-dinner service, which included Baileys Irish Cream, Frangelico and Port, offering them on the house. We declined.

When the check arrived, we noticed that the $18 for the oysters had been removed from the bill for "misorder" and $40 more was taken off for "Late Misfire." Even with items removed, the check totaled $159.05; otherwise, it would have been more than $200 for two cocktails and practically inedible food.

It was a nice gesture, but it couldn't chase away my feeling that with all the local steakhouses and restaurants in San Francisco, there is no reason to return to Morton's.

Morton's 400 Post St. (at Powell Street), San Francisco (415) 986-5830 or mortons.com Dinner 5:30-11 p.m. Monday-Thursday; 5-11 p.m. Friday-Saturday, until 10 p.m. Sunday. Full bar. Reservations and credit cards accepted. Valet $12. Overall Rating: ONE STAR Food -- Service Rating: TWO STARS Atmosphere Rating: TWO STARS Prices $$$$ Noise Rating Noise Rating: THREE BELLS