Sonsie is 30. So is Stephanie’s. And lordy, Grill 23 is 40. Here’s a look at Boston restaurants celebrating milestones. – The Boston Globe

Salvi wouldn’t work anywhere else. She’s been in the business for a long time, from Max Brenner to the Four Seasons. She ended up at Sonsie because “it was the place to be. Everybody knew Sonsie,” she says: pols, visiting celebs, the Back Bay elite. And, pretty soon, everybody knew her. Some restaurants just have it — the alchemy, the elixir of more.

Salvi attributes Sonsie’s success to a sense of family among staff and regulars, many of whom have been showing up since day one thanks to charismatic owner Patrick Lyons, who also runs scene-y spots such as Scampo and Lucky’s.

“I’m like ‘the Sonsie mom’: It really has become family. I have staff who worked here five and six years ago who will still call me. They still come by and say hello. People come in who met at Sonsie. They got engaged at Sonsie. Now they have children who they bring into Sonsie. I say to everybody: ‘You’ll never find another place like Sonsie,’” she says.

Down the block, Stephanie’s on Newbury is also celebrating its 30th anniversary. Stephanie Sokolove initially envisioned the Back Bay restaurant as a Manhattan-style gourmet food shop. But Sokolove pivoted when she discovered that Bostonians would rather relax over cold poached salmon and white wine.

“She quickly learned that Boston wasn’t a place like New York City. People weren’t taking food to go the way people do in the Hamptons,” says her restaurateur sister, Kathy Sidell (Saltie Girl), who now operates Stephanie’s, too.

Instead, Sokolove turned the namesake into a comfortable restaurant and a lively bar with reliable favorites, like lobster mac and cheese (something that will never depart the menu) and chunky chicken salad. Sidell has updated it for modern times, with healthier options — you probably wouldn’t see cauliflower mash in the old days — and fun diversions like cotton candy.

Even though the restaurant has an unbeatable location at the corner of Newbury and Exeter (they don’t own the building — “it is what it is,” Sidell says), location alone doesn’t keep the doors open. Whereas places like Sonsie and Stephanie’s were once the flashiest games in town, competition is steep and fast-casual restaurants now line the block. But these restaurants deliver something the others can’t: nostalgia mixed with consistency, tweaked for the times.

“You know, the expectations are higher. It’s not just another meal. [People] are spending hard-earned money, so you better deliver. People want less dressing, more veggies, more grains. I mean, did Stephanie know what farro was 30 years ago?” Sidell laughs.

Jim Hoben was once a place-maker, too, serving tacos at El Pelon 25 years ago, when the Fenway was a sleepy corner of the city. He’d been around the block: Rocco, The West Side Lounge, Delux Café. The Boston food scene was growing. But affordable burritos? In the Fenway? Eh. He couldn’t find any, and the dining universe wasn’t exactly exciting over there, despite colleges and hospitals nearby.

“The neighborhood at the time was completely different. It was a lot of students. Boylston Street had a lot of one-story parking lots,” he says. “There was a Burger King and a McDonald’s. The Sears building was empty. … This was before the Red Sox had won a lot of games,” he says.

So he marketed his food to students and workers on a budget and tried to keep prices low, even as the neighborhood got busier (and the home team got better).

No, cheese enchiladas aren’t $3.75 anymore, as they were in 1999. And a $5.75 cod taco seems laughable today. Guacamole at $1.65? Preposterous. But Hoben still strives for affordability, and it’s worked: Enchiladas are $6.95; two fish tacos are $11.95. These days, college dining plans have expanded and improved, so his clientele has shifted a bit from students to hospital workers and neighborhood residents. Delivery services have changed his business, too; there’s less interaction with customers than in the old days.

But, while the neighborhood has gentrified, his landlord has stayed the same. Affordable rent has helped. He can keep doing business as usual, more or less. And, at 56, that’s the plan. He still runs marathons and feels most energized when he’s working seven days a week.

“We’ve signed three 10-year leases,” he says. “We have a small space. The same landlord. We’re lucky that it hasn’t changed hands. I’ve been able to keep it simple.”

That’s also the philosophy at State Park, celebrating 10 years just outside of Kendall Square.

“Even though it’s really big, and it’s a really popular place, it still feels like your bar. We say, ‘Your friends are already here’ as one of our slogans, and that’s what we shoot for,” says owner John Kessen.

Like the Fenway, this a neighborhood that has experienced rapid transformation. Many neighbors closed in recent years: The Blue Room. Flat Top Johnny’s. The Automatic. But State Park, part of the group that also runs Mamaleh’s and once ran Hungry Mother, has held on.

How? Through the years, it’s kept things simple. Just a neighborhood watering hole. No big surprises. They did expand into brunch and lunch for a bit but pulled back due to the pandemic and haven’t tried again.

“Lunch at restaurants is still a real challenge for those who depended on nine-to-five,” Kessen says.

“We try to keep some things on the menu very stable. The fried chicken is always plated up the same, and it’s always a good value,” says general manager Heather Mojer. In an area known for innovation, sometimes familiarity is key. They also attribute the appeal to their slightly hidden location at One Kendall Square, farther from the heart of the neighborhood.

“It has a neighborhood feel and is a destination place,” says Kessen.

There’s something to be said for moving into a neighborhood without much competition. When Cassie Piuma was contemplating opening meze parlor Sarma with Ana Sortun 10 years ago, she didn’t know much about Somerville. She was on her day off from sister restaurant Oleana and wandering around.

“What I did a lot before I had kids, when I just worked in restaurants all day, was to go for very long walks. I would walk the earth. I would walk from Boston to Cambridge to Boston. I was just like Forrest Gump,” she says.

She got caught in the rain and took shelter in a real estate agent’s office owned by a pal. They got into her car, drove around, and stumbled upon The Paddock on Pearl Street in Somerville. At this point, The Paddock was a bit past its prime and in a part of town not especially known for restaurants.

“There were carpets on the floor that kind of smelled like pee. There was a lottery machine in there. It was abandoned, like people had walked out right in the middle of service and just left it as it was. But I instantly loved it. I just got this energy. You could just see right away that it was going to be something interesting,” she recalls. And, a decade in, it is. In addition to many other awards, Piuma and company recently earned five stars from the Globe.

But it’s not all fairy tales. Many operators say there’s more bureaucracy these days; more paperwork, more forms to fill out. Red tape is worse. Rents are higher. Serendipity can be harder to find.

“My daughter is now 21, and she works in restaurants and stuff, but it’s so much different now. Working at the Delux, and knowing other people who worked in other restaurants, there was really a whole group or class of people I think you don’t see anymore,” says Hoben. “I think one of it is housing prices. You go to cities that have cheaper housing and see a more vibrant restaurant [community], like Providence or Portland, Maine.”

But some servers do stick around a while, like Dalton Dasilva from Grill 23. The Back Bay steakhouse turns 40 this year (and got four Globe stars when it opened); Dasilva has been there for 29 of them. Dasilva had left his job at the now-closed Top of the Hub and found this position the old-fashioned way: through the Globe classifieds.

“I applied. And I’m still there,” he says, laughing.

Now 66, he has the luxury of taking off weekends and maintains a reasonable Monday through Thursday schedule. But he enjoys coming in, first from Billerica, and now from Watertown.

“It’s like family. Everyone is so well-trained, and basically, we’ve become a family. We spend more time working together than at our own house,” he says.

Things have changed since he started. For one thing, people tip better now, he says.

“People nowadays are more respectful to the waitstaff. They don’t treat us as servants,” he says.

And, as Sidell says, they’re more concerned about dietary restrictions and allergies. Chefs are more accommodating, even when guests make questionable culinary requests.

Dasilva recalls serving President Biden while he was still vice president. He ordered filet mignon, medium well. Perhaps not the optimal way to enjoy meat, in the opinion of some gourmands.

“I almost said to him: ‘Sir, can you not do that, please?’’ Dasilva laughs. “But we’ll give him what he wants!”

He also waited on one-time couple Pamela Anderson and Kid Rock. Anderson was afraid of the shellfish sampler, which had a lobster shell as a garnish.

“She was scared. I had to remove the lobster head,” he recalls.

And, in other ways, the barrier to entry is easier because enthusiasm and hospitality count for more than mere pedigree.

Decades ago, “I think [the Boston food scene] was a lot more chef-driven, when Todd [English], Jasper [White], and Lydia [Shire] and everybody, those uber-chefs, were launching their restaurants. And it was, I think, less boutique,” Sidell says. “Now, you don’t have to have been a great chef to open a restaurant and to be acknowledged. You can just love to cook and want to share that with the world and your patch of the universe and create magic.”

And, most of all, magic comes from hospitality. Fine dining is out, Sonsie’s Salvi says; casual dining is in. When she started, guests didn’t want to chit-chat. They expected white-glove service. Now, familiarity is best. Sonsie used to be a celeb hangout. And maybe it still is — but these days, anyone with a TikTok account can be a celebrity and expects to be treated as one. Kessen got his start working at L’Espalier, the pinnacle of fine dining in Boston for so many years. He agrees.

“Chefs today aren’t presenting themselves as the star. People are recognizing the [whole experience] as really important. I mean, you can go out, and if someone puts the best food in the world down and says, ‘Here’s your food, jerk,’ it’s not going to taste good. If you’re in a bad mood, or if you feel you’re not welcome or unrecognized, or even if the air is too cold, the same food will not taste the same,” he says.

“I can teach you how to cook, but I cannot teach you how to be a nice person,” says Piuma.

“You need people who are believers,” says Sidell. “That’s why having people working for you for 20 years, they get you: what your mandate is, that you don’t want fries that aren’t crispy. You don’t have to say it. They know,” she says.

“I treat everyone as I would treat my own kids,” says Salvi. “But it’s more than that. You can count on the place. You know what I mean?”

Kara Baskin can be reached at kara.baskin@globe.com. Follow her @kcbaskin.