An Angry Hum

The evening started as A Tale of Two Bars. Absinthe, and Brass Tacks. One block apart in the Hayes Valley neighborhood of San Francisco. We’d been to both before, on previous visits. If you’re in the area, I’d highly recommend Brass Tacks. In an upscale neighborhood it manages to be pretty unassuming. You think you’re going into a dive to have a Miller Light. What you’ll get is colorful locals, highly skilled bartenders, and great drinks. On the other hand I don’t think I’ll return to Absinthe. The bartender was nice, but sloppy and too harried for the situation. And she was wearing oversized blue rubber gloves while mixing drinks. Weird. The drink was good but overworked, like it was trying too hard to be cool. And the crowd…

“I love this place. But I won’t be getting the ice cream again,” says Dude On Right (I’ll call him Lance). “It’s too Ice-creamy, if you know what I mean.”

“I do,” says Girl On Left (we’ll call her Pearson. Definitely not ‘Pearce’, or ‘P’)

Dude In Middle (we’ll call him Silent Bryson) nods sagely, pointing at Pearson with his drink-holding hand, elbow on bar. Because he’s smooth.

“I mean, not to sound…you know,” says Lance, as Pearson and Silent Bryson nod knowingly. “But I prefer my ice cream to be a bit more adult, if you know what I mean.”

Hey San Francisco, these three are not doing you any favors.

I love this city, and as a frequent tourist to it, I have mixed emotions whenever I’m here. Homelessness is absolutely an issue here. It’s hard to countenance the enormous swing between abject, heartbreaking poverty and beautiful, luxurious and gated homes just blocks apart. It makes me feel helpless because a few bucks or a sandwich will make little difference. An obviously mentally ill homeless man crapping in an alley is a horrible and tragic thing. A woman trying to nap on the sidewalk in a cardboard box while keeping the pigeons away from her scrap of food is heartbreaking.

It can be tough to reconcile what I love about this city with it’s obvious issues. Tourists can’t really know a place, at least not until they’ve been many times, and explored all it’s parts. And even then can’t really know a place they haven’t lived in. But I’ve been here many times, and walked a great deal of it. And I do love it here.

If you’ve never been, I suppose you’ll have to go to Fisherman’s Wharf. Fine, go. But don’t eat there, don’t buy anything, and spend no more than an hour there. Times Square in Manhattan finds Fisherman’s Wharf inauthentic and ‘touristy’. The Las Vegas Strip sees more locals than Fisherman’s Wharf. The only reason to go to Fisherman’s Wharf more than once is to take the ferry to Alcatraz or Sausalito.

Instead, go to the Ferry Building by the Bay Bridge. I love people watching down there, with a fresh tamale or a bag of pistachios. Walk up to, and check out the view from Coit Tower. Eat several meals in Chinatown (I’ll see you soon China Live, thanks for the dumplings). Across the street from the Hilton I usually stay is a park normally filled with people practicing Tai Chi, or playing Mahjong. I like getting noodles from Chong King Xiao Mian and taking them over to the park to watch as the normally elderly Mahjong spectators yell at each other after every move (I still haven’t the slightest clue what is happening). And while you’re in Chinatown, go to City Lights bookstore. Get tacos in the Mission (that’s where I’m headed today). Buy some records and get some tea in Haight-Ashbury. In the Financial District I always eat one lunch at Muracci’s, a Japanese curry lunch counter.

She and I stumbled on a restaurant, Rich Table, that was certainly our favorite dining experience there. The food was great, well past great actually, because it was surprising. We were not expecting to have such a meal. I’ll be back next time I’m in town.

We also ate at Petit Crenn. Owned by chef Dominique Crenn, I’ve wanted to go for some time. She’s the subject of an episode of “Chef’s Table” on Netflix. Her story and her restaurants are compelling, I’d recommend checking it out. We got reservations for 9:00 on a Wednesday. It was our first 3 Michelin Star experience. I loved it. Frankly, I needed to love it. There was to be no surprise. How could I not have sky-high expectations? The bar was set so high. But I did love it. I think, however, being honest, I prefer being surprised. I prefer finding greatness in small places.

I love San Francisco, blemishes and all. Except for Lance, Pearson, and Silent Bryson. I prefer my perfectly-coiffed self-indulgent assholes to be less ridiculous, if you know what I mean.