One of the many great things about San Francisco is that there has been so little turnover, the same classics still exist.
Gino and Carlo, where I used to drink beer and play pool at the ripe age of 22.
City Lights and Vesuvio, where I used to stalk Lawrence Ferlinghetti and channel Jack Keruoac’s ghost.
We used to drink cocktails and listen to opera at Tosca.
I never went inside the strip clubs on Broadway, but they—and Enrico’s and Tomasso’s and Café Trieste and Greens, all nearby—are still kicking.
I went to at least one wedding at the Fairmont and definitely had more than one tiki bowl at the Tonga Room.
I used to sit and brood over mochas and books of poetry for hours at this Royal Ground on Polk Street.
Mr. Bing’s, House of Nanking and Budda Bar all still happily (grubbily) exist.
The Bus Stop, Blondies, Bottom of the Hill, Ella’s, Dalva, Zuni, Cha Cha Cha, Real Foods, Tadich Grill… it’s so great to see all the signs—neon or California cool—that they’re still in existence.