Lounging Around: Farley’s


Farley’s, a staple of the Potrero morning scene, makes me realize that for better or worse I feel most comfortable around middle-aged people. They’re not the only ones in the cafe. But compared to San Francisco’s hip and swinging spots for a good cuppa, the numbers of comfy slacks in here are pretty high. What are slacks, exactly, anyway?

And what is it about middle-aged people? Maybe it’s that a lot of them seem to exude stability, comfort (turtlenecks and orthopedic insoles), a happiness that’s less excitedly tumultuous than just plain content.

Or maybe it’s that they know their coffee, at least in this city. I say if you see a dozen or so gray-templed locals lounging and sipping from ceramic mugs, chances are you’ve stumbled into a worthwhile café, one that the forty-plus crowd has enveloped into their routine.

Farley’s is young and hip, no doubt about it. It’s in Potrero, which seems to be getting real young real fast. But it’s also like the comfiest, most practical version ever of those Sundance catalogs, the ones with beautiful white-haired models and plush couches and moonstone jewelry. The coffee comes piping hot; the marble counters gleam; warm-eyed Potrero folk cram into the window seats and chairs outside.

Don those slacks and head on in. It’s about to get comfortable.

 

Farley’s
1315 18th Street
[Mission]
www.farleyscoffee.com
Photo credit: Trav…’s Yelp

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About the author

Lucy Schiller - Destitute Dispatcher

Lucy's been able to live lots of places but holds her cornfed/pie-fueled Midwestern roots most dear, maintaining too loudly and too often that the Outer Richmond is the Midwest of SF: driven through to get elsewhere and knocked around for no reason (but what other neighborhood has bison?!). You can find Lucy letting things languish in her fridge, purposefully (limoncello!) or not (yogurt...), mouthbreathing, scouring Golden Gate Park for apartment-worthy items, sleepily serving up double nonfat half-caf-half-non-caf lattes at a certain cafe, skulking in various other ones, and yelling under cover of night and costume at SF Bike Party.