While it’s been pretty much confirmed that San Francisco’s Indian summer is over (which makes total sense because apparently now it’s December — where did 2010 go??), on the bright side, we’re SO CLOSE to Christmas!  This also means SantaCon 2010 is almost here, that joyous day on which legions

I am obviously not talking about the decade, but the beautiful, classic, satisfying beyond words party in a bottle.  That’s right.  The Forty.  Forty ounces of your favorite malt liquor or beer beverage all in one sexy package for less money than it takes to ride the bus (which you

Primarily researched and written by Stephen Torres with help from Stuart Schuffman. We stand at the precipice of one of the most polarizing federal elections that has ever occurred in this country. Each day brings another dash of chaos, and yet here we are, once again sifting through another labyrinthine

Usually the only “cause” I’m drinking for is be “cause” (get it, assholes?) it’s Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, or Sunday.  And that’s what I do.  But I’m also all for using my borderline alcoholism to help a good cause, like the Big Brothers & Big Sisters of the

You’ve probably heard of The Monk’s Kettle, the 16th St. Mission bar/restaurant with arguably the best beer list in San Francisco and the notoriously long wait to get in for dinner, but you may not have stopped in because it’s not exactly broke-ass friendly. Or so I thought.  Though I’ve eaten

I recently had some effing delicious homebrew made by some friends, who I now think are some kind of wizards or something because how could beer made at home taste like anything other than butt?  But seriously, this beer was comparable to anything you’d buy at any one of the

Ever find yourself sorta stuck in the West Village somehow?  Like, you work around there and don’t want to stray very far, or you have to stick around waiting around there before something else you’re going to?  Well, for some reason, I do…like, A LOT, and I really don’t enjoy

When I was younger, my mom really loved fruit punch.  Everywhere we went — soccer games, my middle school orchestra concerts, Applebee’s — there my mom would be with her plastic to-go cups bought in bulk from Costco (née Price Club) filled with extremely pungent, blood-red juice. OR SO I