By Curt Hopkins It took us until our second tenure in San Francisco to figure out how to eat in the city. Here you flee from fancy food like from a rural outhouse. Fancy food in San Francisco is overhyped, overpriced, and overcooked. Like Jonathan Gold advised Angelenos, it’s best
Working from home may be a luxury, but perhaps the luxury ends there. Perhaps “home” is little more than a sunlight-starved hovel, crawling with roommates and other forms of vermin. Perhaps you, like me, are in need of some alternatives. You might consider The Coffee Shop. San Francisco is littered
I am extremely excited to announce the release of The Delicious Card! Delicious cardholders get awesome deals at over 37 delectable Bay Area eateries! Membership is a great way to explore new places, support local businesses, AND support local journalism. And all you gotta do is join the Broke-Ass Stuart Patreon for $10
When you’re young, broke and beautiful and living in (or adjacent to) Manhattan there are a lot of great dive bars just a subway stop away. From a tatted up staff to a punk rock mosh pit by the kitchen these are the bars that wear their history on their
I miss being a barista. There are times when I’m standing in line at my local coffee shop and I feel that dull pang of jealousy while I watch the busy bees behind the espresso bar slam pitchers and gallons of milk around with purpose and gusto, trading jokes and stiletto-sharp snark that only they can hear over the whoosh and screech of the steam wands
We all have ideas in our minds of what the Gold Rush years were like, and what blossomed from that. No doubt, our thoughts–and the actual history–involve a lot of alcohol. In fact, in 1852, San Francisco had 350 bar rooms, and in 1853, 537 places in the city were serving alcohol. Ever wondered what exactly San Franciscans were sipping on in the 1800s? If so, read on.
Created by Bartenders against Nazi’s, inspired by neo-fascist Richard B. Spencer getting punched in the face
On the edges of Chinatown and North Beach there’s a basement gin joint that takes a secret pass code to enter. Once past the fake door of the sham clock repair shop, you find yourself inside a gambling den and cabaret that’s been filled to the brim with bathtub hooch. Outside, Prohibition has cleaned the streets but you’re a member of the 1930s social elite — low on morals and high on strong cocktails.
Since I was 11 years old and knew nothing about hooking up, or about ladies, I took every word of the album very seriously. But what I would later learn, is that everything that Too $hort taught me about sex turned out not to be true.