Barbary Coast Ranger

So Sweetie and I are in North Beach, after seeing Valeriana Quevedo at Amante, and I’m trying to catch a cab off Columbus so we can get home at a reasonable hour.

A Dark Haired Girl, just walking by, stops and says “Are you trying to get a cab?”

“Yes.” [since it seemed to be a little rude to say “No, I just like waving to taxis.”]

DHG: “You have to stand out in the street, like this . . .” she walks out into the street “. . . this is the way I learned it in New York.” . . . she waves her arm . . . “Where are you guys from?”

“Noe Valley”

DHG pauses, processing, then says “Well then you should know this.”

About then a cab comes, we get in, and dark haired girl goes on her way. This brings to mind two things:

1. Leave it to an (even an ex) New Yorker to piss you off while she is doing you a favor, (you can always tell a New Yorker but you can never tell them much . . . ) and
2. What is it about me that makes me look so much like a tourist?

Now when I’m out walking all over town, I admit I do look like a tourist: I’ve got the walking pants that convert to shorts in case it gets hot and a big stupid, touristy, hat (if you’re bald enough that your head gets sunburned you understand) and I seem to be checking maps or guidebooks a lot, so yeah, a lot of the time I deserve it. But walking around North Beach on a Sunday night with just normal clothes on and no funny hat, bag or map?

Lately I’ve been thinking I need to make this work for me. I figure that, as long as I carry a camera and a map, I can barge into almost any place in San Francisco and, if anyone gets mad, just say something stupid like “Isn’t this the way to the Ferry Building” and get away with it. There’s a lot of short cuts to take and areas to explore where it seems like a local will get yelled at but a tourist will get a good set of directions and a hearty “Have a nice day!”

If my unexplained tourist aura gives me lemons, I’ll make lemonade . . . or is that something a tourist would say?

Oh, also Valeriana is pretty good: a latin/swing/show-tune melange with a little dancing thrown in. Check it out.

Far from the Barbary Coast, all the way over in Oakland, is a great old (really old) waterfront bar called Heinold’s First and Last Chance. Made from the timbers of an old ship and with a slanted floor, courtesy of the big one back in ‘06, it was the first chance sailors had to get a drink when they docked and their last chance to get a drink before they embarked.

[photo is courtesy of Jef Poskanzer on Flickr and is used under a creative commons Attribution 2.0 Generic license]

It’s also famous, and quite proud of itself, because Heinold himself took quite an interest in young Jack London. There’s all sorts of memorabilia from Jack London, and old sailors and old ships, around the bar, but that’s not important right now. Perhaps there is no greater emblem of how “Jack London Square” is gentrifying around the obstinate Heinold’s than the fact that I got my white wine sangria recipe from a bartender there.

[photo is courtesy of Genista on Flickr and is used under a creative commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license]

Eddie H. is a fine bartender and, as it turned out, quite the foodie. After trading restaurant recommendations the conversation turned to an elaborate cocktail party Eddie was planning for his friends. One of the ‘courses’ of drinks was the imbiber’s choice of either red or white sangria. “White Sangria?” we asked.

Here’s Eddie’s recipe. Yes I’ve made it and yes it’s good; it goes down smooth on a hot day.

1 bottle Chardonnay
1 liter soda water (put this in at the last minute)
2 granny smith apples
1 cup white grapes
1 cup simple syrup (1/2 cup sugar dissolved in 1 cup water)
4-5 kiwis (sliced and diced)
1/2 cup Cointreau

Mix everything except the soda and let it sit over night. Add the soda at the last minute and have a refreshing beverage. om nom nom nom

The Elixer Saloon in San Francisco’s Mission District: not just the deadfall of the week but also one of the coolest places in the world. Why? Because they have a Bloody Mary bar on Sundays that features Bacon. That’s right: BACON. BACON, BACON, BACON for your ‘make it yourself’ Bloody Mary along with onions, asparagus, green beans, pepprocini, olives, carrots, celery, and a whole bunch of other stuff. Talk about breakfast in a glass! Momma, I’m home.

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H. Joseph Ehrmann is the current owner of Elixir. He’s very aware of the history of the place and has compiled it, both in the bar and, edited down, on the bar’s web site. I find this pretty admirable and also like his willingness to talk to people about it, though it can be tiresome when his historical descriptions to some couple distract him from the fact that I really need a Moretti draft right away.

Elixir is a great neighborhood place. It tends towards locals, often in groups who know each other and wander in and out as they make their way through a lazy weekend day. They open a little earlier for football (college and pro) and have one of those internet jukeboxes, so what you lose in charm you make up for in selection (as long as some idiot isn’t dredging up the ten coolest songs from his high school days that everyone else hates . . . but I digress).

Elixir is also very ‘green’ featuring organic beers and cocktails and all sorts of commitment to the environment and yada yada yada.

The inside of Elixir in San Francisco’s Mission District. Sasha, the world’s most beautiful dog, can just be seen napping in the foreground, which is one of the reasons that Sasha is also the world’s best dog. A dog that’s a drinking buddy? Who could ask for more.

By the way: just ‘Elixir’ is the correct name. The bar was Jack’s Elixir Bar for about 13 years, but the bar renovation that H. did when he got the place included shortening the name.

You see and hear a lot around San Francisco about how progressive the city is, and events that support this narrative (like 1934 West Coast Longshoremen’s Strike) get played up, but the foundations of the city are greed, vice, and free wheeling capitalism. A song supposedly still being sung as late as the 1930s talked about the origins of the people of San Francisco, after the gold rush of 1849, this way:

The miners came in forty-nine,
The whores in fifty-one,
and when they got together
they produced the native son.

One half of a cell phone conversation on the back of the 22 Bus: teen girl talking.

Teen Girl answering phone: I’m on the 22 Bus

pause

TG: Then how’d you get home?

pause

TG: He threw you a BART ticket . . . he THREW you a BART ticket . . .

pause

TG: You have a key? . . . You should have scratched his car . . . (laughs) . . . you should have scratched a^^hole in it

The Lusty Lady is a unionized, worker owned strip club, the only one of its kind in the US, located in San Francisco. Here’s their float in this year’s Pride Parade:

To paraphrase Groucho Marx: Union Strippers are to strippers what military music is to music.

In 2006 they scheduled an all big girls night and the customers walked out. A counterman sent a confidential email to the board of directors saying that fat strippers were costing everybody money, the email was publicized, people were mad, lawyers were involved, a union grievance was filed, and the whole thing wound up in mediation (and in all the local papers). It’s a great ‘only in San Francisco’ story.

Still, you have to respect the workers for seizing the means of production, though that sounds kind of dirty . . .

I like the Buddha lounge, I really do: I just can’t recommend it.

Buddha lounge is in the heart of Chinatown. It’s got good Chinatown decor, a nice Buddha tapestry, a bartender who’s poor English is more than made up for by her good service and agreement to turn up the juke box and leave the volume up (even after Amy played Dancing Queen four frickin’ times).

Buddha Lounge only has one problem: it’s across the street from Li Po and I love Li Po. So, regrettably, Buddha Lounge does not win the coveted ‘deadfall of the week’ award. Nevertheless, I salute Buddha Lounge for keeping the quirky dive bar tradition going and serving as a fine alternative if Li Po is full or you are too lazy to cross the street.

Nothing says ‘nirvana’ like pink neon and the international symbol for cocktails.

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Authentic Chinese decorations, courtesy of the Tsingtao marketing department.

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The Buddha Lounge’s namesake. Presumably having a Buddha tapestry commissioned where the Buddha is holding a beer would be considered poor form.

The Robert C Levy Tunnel, better known in San Francisco as the Broadway Tunnel, is some serious urban tunnel, a little spooky to walk through, and an art canvas.

“Reverse Graffiti” is done by selectively cleaning parts of a dirty area to show designs / patterns / art, whatever you want to call it. It’s credited to Paul “Moose” Curtis who did this little project at the entrance to the Broadway Tunnel.

Interestingly enough, since only cleaning is involved reverse graffiti is often legal where regular graffiti would be illegal. This has attracted the attention of advertisers and, though it is conveniently omitted from the YouTube video, this was commissioned by Clorox to promote their Green Works line of ‘green’ cleaning products.

Moose actually seems like an interesting guy and anyone who can get money from a major corporation to do stuff that’s cool has my respect.

Here’s a photo of the San Francisco Medical Examiner (not the coroner) contingent in the Pride Parade awhile back:

I like the skull and cross bones motif: it’s like they’re the pirates of pathology. They are, however, a tad touchy about the whole “we’re not coroners” thing, which seems a little elitist for egalitarian San Francisco. Here’s what the SFME has to say about it: “The Medical Examiner differs from the Coroner in that the latter is a lay office . . . is usually not a physician, is not trained in medicine, Forensic Pathology or Forensic Science.” Well la di da.

The SFME goes on to snootily remark that “It was the Coroner’s system that was first brought to the United States as a fledgling Country. The Medical Examiner System is a modern replacement.” I am sure this is news to the Los Angeles County Department of Coroner. Our neighbors to the South are the equivalent of the SFME for Los Angeles and, while I’m not sure of their parading skills, they surpass San Francisco for sense of humor: you see the LA Coroner has a gift shop. Here’s an example of their work, a beach towel, one of the many items for sale at their Skeletons in the Closet store.

The SF Medical Examiner is not without a sense of humor entirely however. Their web site features this prominent warning:
“IF YOU ENCOUNTER SOMEONE WHO APPEARS TO BE DECEASED: CALL 911″

I met Dan on Market Street. You will note the sign, which explains that he needs money “four” a cat show entry fee and grooming (presumably for the cat). To his credit, Dan seems to be taking better care of Samantha than he is himself. She actually is well groomed and seemed like a happy cat. Plus Samantha just seems like a good name for a cat; it has that whole Bewitched angle going for it too.

Question: Why should anyone give you money?
Answer: So I can get her to a cat show; got one coming up.

Q: Tell me something about yourself.
A: I’m a nice guy.

Q: Where do you think you’ll be in 5 years?
A: I hope in an established place; probably still here in California . . . be a lot better off than I am now. There’s a lot of organizations that say they’ll help but they don’t really help. I’ve got to do it myself.

Here’s a gratuitous shot of Samantha, just because she’s so cute: