It beckons you. Through neon lights and an illuminated martini glass, it calls your name. With cheap booze and rambling conversation, it pulls you in. Like a moth to a flame, or rather, a fly to a bar, The 500 Club sings a sweet siren’s song to all who pass her by. It says, “We are for each other,” and you admit she’s right, popping in for just one drink, which always turns into three.
This originally appeared in my Weeknighter column in the SF Bay Guardian There’s something romantic about San Francisco’s summertime fog. Those damp and chilly nights belong only to us, and the atmosphere they create is what dreams are made of. While the rest of the country simultaneously shares the same
Sutter Station doesn’t give a fuck. In fact it has been steadfastly sitting on Market Street, not giving fucks since 1969. That’s before BART existed, before Tales of the City came out, and before the Beatles broke-up.
Oh man, I have had some very strange nights at the Showdown. A few years ago Sonny Phono and I threw a monthly party there called Freaky-Deaky Friday. It was a “costume box party” which meant that if you didn’t show up in a costume we had a box full
This originally appeared in The Weeknighter column I did for the SF Bay Guardian for a little while before it’s unfortunate demise. I used to hang out at the Noc Noc for too many hours in a row just so I could make out with the bartender after she got
This originally appeared in my Weeknighter column for 7×7. Anthony used to call Kilowatt “Kil-a-game” because we never met any girls there. We were both single and in our mid-20s and thought bars would be the answer to the question of “Where can we meet women?” Apparently the answer we found was
This originally appeared in my Weeknighter column for 7×7. Weekends are for amateurs. Weeknights are for pros. That’s why each week Stuart Schuffman will be exploring a different San Francisco bar, giving you the lowdown on how and where to do your weeknight right. From the most creative cocktails to the best