Dogs, Crab, Hats and Beats: Just Another San Francisco Day

Our first full day in San Francisco and there was much to look forward to, including brunch at the Cliff House and our fifth trip to Steve Silver’s Beach Blanket Babylon in the evening, he timing of both dictated by tradition and designed to orientate us quickly back into life in the city.

After a comfortable night’s sleep in our new apartment in the North of the Panhandle, we woke to gentle but steady March rain that left large pools at the bottom of the wooden steps leading down from the kitchen to the shared back garden.  The forecast, however, was for it to clear later in the morning to leave a cloudy but dry afternoon and evening.

The Cliff House at Ocean Beach was just a straight ten to fifteen minute drive along Fulton Street to the Pacific Ocean. We passed a verdant Golden Gate Park on our left, whilst on our right, we caught tantalising glimpses of the towers of the glorious Golden Gate Bridge looming over the dense foliage of the Presidio.

We parked several hundred yards short of the Cliff House to enable us to take in the bracing appetite-inducing air for a few minutes before we entered the bistro.  The ocean presented a turbulent picture with a swift succession of high rolling waves chasing away anyone brave or foolhardy enough to venture too close to it.

The scene was, however, still a busy one – joggers passing in either direction at varying speeds;  people , like us, strolling contentedly in a wind ravaged state of dishevelment; but most of all, dogs everywhere bathing in the freedom and exhilaration of exploring the endless expanse of beach.  We must have seen a dozen different species, from caped miniature poodles and chihuahuas and enigmatic huskies to slavering rottweilers. It is claimed that there are more dogs than babies in San Francisco, and on a morning like this, you would not doubt it.

We felt as if we were committing an act of animal cruelty by not having one of our own to exercise.  Momentarily, I contemplated hiring one for the week because, after all, this is San Francisco and anything is possible.  But pets are not allowed in the apartment – probably just as well.

We had a twenty minute wait for our table, allowing us the opportunity to check on upcoming events such as the Wednesday prix fixe dinner and jazz evenings, and look in the gift shop.  As ever we both ordered Eggs San Francisco (two poached eggs and crab on toasted sourdough bread with roasted potatoes and fruit), accompanied by the establishment’s signature warm rolls – delicious.

Feeling replete we took another longer walk in the adolescent sunshine along the beach towards the south, inspecting the periodic bonfire pits on the beach.  Crossing the Great Highway for the return to our car, we called in at the Beach Chalet to marvel at the fabulous Lucien Labaudt frescoes depicting everyday life in the thirties in the city. The brewery and restaurant on the first floor apparently have outstanding views of the ocean, a fact we need to verify before much longer.

We abandoned our planned food shopping trip as we needed time to get ready for the evening (and for me to finish my previous blog post).  The mild, partly cloudy late afternoon weather encouraged us to take the long walk to Club Fugazi in North Beach for the early evening performance of Beach Blanket Babylon.  The near hour and a half  journey took in some of the less salubrious parts of the city (Fillmore and Civic Center) before turning off Market Street to snake through Grant in the heart of Chinatown.

Sadly and inevitably, there was no shortage of vagrants around the Civic Center vicinity, though we experienced no intimidating panhandling.  I did purchase a copy of Street Sheet from a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs when she dresses as a witch and tempts Snow White with a poisoned apple.  He even sported the hunch back and hood.  But he was very friendly and appreciative of my $2 donation.

For the uninitiated, the Street Sheet is a magazine that has been published by the Coalition on Homelessness since 1989, and is designed to provide information and support programmes for homeless people in the city.  The philosophy is not dissimilar to that of The Big Issue in the UK, in providing its vendors with the opportunity to earn money for food, shelter and other necessities.

We joined an already lengthy line outside Club Fugazi around fifty minutes before showtime.  I collected our tickets from will call (box office) and joined Janet in the queue.  We were surrounded by a dozen boisterous ladies of a certain age in varying states of drunkenness attending the show as part of a bachelorette party.  Whilst we didn’t begrudge them their fun, we couldn’t help but hope that their seats were in a different part of the auditorium.

Our prayers were answered as they lurched off to the area close to the stage on the ground floor whilst we were escorted to our seats in the center balcony – our preferred area to watch the show.  Arming ourselves with a bottle of Woodbridge White Zinfandel and a large packet of pretzels we were ready to support  Snow White in her worldwide search for a prince. No sign of the queen this time – which is just as well as Snow White had a hard enough (or not as the case may be) time without her.

Once again, Beach Blanket Babylon delivered.  Although we had only been twelve months before, there was still a lot of new content along with the familiar staples.  The highlight for me was when San Francisco Giants baseball stars Buster Posey, Tim Lincecum and Brian Wilson (no, not the real ones) burst onto the stage holding the World Series trophy and singing We Are the Champions. Her Majesty the Queen’s appalled put down of the upcoming wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton was hilarious and a typical Beach Blanket Babylon satirical slant on a subject often treated too reverently, no more so than in the States.

We had decided that we would try the North Beach Restaurant for dinner for the first time, provided we could gain entry (we hadn’t booked).  The restaurant looked very busy, but on presenting ourselves at the front desk, we were whisked to the only free table for two, adjacent to the kitchen.  That may not sound the most appealing location, and it was rather cramped, but Janet found it fascinating, catching regular momentary glimpses of the frenzy behind the scenes action as the front of house staff crashed through the doors leading in and out of the kitchen.

But what of the food and service?  This was traditional Italian fine dining at its best.  My linguine with porcini mushrooms and scallops was outstanding, as was Janet’s seafood risotto – even surpassing the excellent meals we had enjoyed at the Riva Grill in South Lake Tahoe a few days before.  And our waiter was suave, attentive and witty – well, Italian.

I had wanted to visit The Beat Museum on Broadway for some time, so as the night was still young (10pm), we called in.  The museum itself had already closed for the day, but we spent some time perusing the bookshelves and other fascinating memorabilia, and I bought a couple of books I had not seen before, one the 700 page Hippie Dictionary -  A Cultural Encyclopedia of the 1960s and 1970s by John Bassett McCleary and The Beats – A Graphic History.

After a canter past the fleshpots of Broadway, we sought refuge in Vesuvio’s bar on Jack Kerouac Boulevard – yes, another first night tradition.  Once more we succeeded in claiming the only two seats available, at the bar.  After a couple of drinks we walked down Montgomery through the Financial District before boarding a number 5 MUNI bus at Market to transport us back to the apartment.

It had been a long day but a satisfying one. We were truly “at home” again in our favourite city.

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Western Diary Day 24: Say Hello Wave Goodbye

Our last day and  the Giants‘ first in San Francisco for this year was greeted once more by clear blue skies and surprising sunshine.  With not having to leave the city for the airport until around 3pm we had considered going to AT & T Park to see the raising of the World Series pennant and possibly even catching an innings or two from the free spot below Levi’s Landing.  But we decided against this for a variety of reasons, including potential problems with parking and the likely size of the crowd around the park.  As it happened, we saw a good deal of the game, including the winning hit, from various locations during the afternoon, so felt that we had been part of the historic event.

We vacated the apartment a little before 10.30am after Janet had virtually done the cleaner’s job for him/her.  We headed for Ocean Beach where we took a short stroll before sitting down to drink in the view one last time.  Having already had breakfast before we left we resisted the temptation to eat at the Cliff House, using the time to drive over to Golden Gate Park to visit the Japanese Tea Garden which was less busy than it had been on our previous visit on Sunday.

Twee though it may be we have always liked the Japanese Tea Garden, and we were surprised to see that it had had a makeover since the same time last year.  Not only had the cafe area been extended physically, but the menu had expanded from the traditional teas and snacks that were ordered at the cash register to table service of more substantial fare.  Mindful that we planned to eat a large meal at the airport we decided to take advantage of the new set up and ordered sushi and Japanese tea sandwiches, both of which were delicious.   This was washed down by Sen-Cha and Jasmine tea.  The shop had also been upgraded from the previous incarnation which sold traditional tourist gifts to an outlet purveying crafts and more up market items. 

After an accidentally convoluted journey we parked up in Haight-Ashbury with around an hour and a half before we needed to set off for the airport.  Although we sauntered up and down Haight Street the only purchase we made was when I added two more to my growing library of books on San Francisco  at The Booksmith.

In need of a drink we found a great spot in Martin Mack’s bar where we watched the first three innings of the Giants game against the St Louis Cardinals over a beer, when they turned a 1-0 deficit into a 2-1 lead by the time we left, courtesy in no small part of Miguel Tejada‘s homer in his first ever at-bat as a Giant at AT & T Park.

We left for the airport at 3pm, enabling us, after another unintended detour that found us momentarily heading back into the city rather than the car rental return, to drop our bags off (we had already checked in online on the previous day) a full three hours before our flight time.  We settled, as tradition demanded, into the Firewood Grill, where I had a mahi mahi panini and Janet had chicken skewers, both with fries, with a couple of large glasses of wine.  The baseball was now in the ninth innings and Brian Wilson was attempting to finish the game only to concede a tying and leading run for the Cardinals.  Fortunately, the Giants tied it again, taking it into a 10th, 11th and 12th innings before we could not stay in the bar any longer.

As we proceeded to our gate I was fearful that we would leave San Francisco without knowing the outcome of the game.  But the baseball gods were smiling on me – as I went for a last call of nature before being called for the flight I passed a TV set just as Aaron Rowand made the hit to secure the winning run for the Giants, provoking a mighty roar from the assembled throng in the bar in question.

And one final bitter sweet moment – once in the air we flew directly over the city, allowing great views of the “bracelet of bridges”, downtown and Twin Peaks. 

The rest is silence.

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Western Diary Day 17: Hittin’ the Heights and MUNI Delights

As we were due to return the hire car by 2.30pm we felt we should make best use of it by visiting some of the sights less easy to get to by public transport or on foot.  Firstly, we drove out to Ocean Beach and explored the delightful districts of Parkside and Sunset, before stopping at 16th and Moraga to walk up and down the beautiful marble stairway with outstanding views of the Pacific coastline.   We noticed that many of the animal designs in the marble contained people’s names, presumably by way of sponsorship, and set me to look at the possibility of having our names included on it.

Our next stop was Twin Peaks.  It had been the first place in San Francisco we had visited on a coach tour back in 1995 and, to be honest, I don’t think either of us had taken much note of it then, more interested in later delights such as Fisherman’s Wharf and cable car rides.  The absurdity of that attitude was exposed when we feasted our eyes on The City laid out before us on this warm, sunny morning.  What struck me in particular was just how near everything was, you could almost take it in the palm of your hand and stroke it.  

We prised ourselves reluctantly from Twin Peaks and headed down into the Castro and the Mission where we tried to find a parking space close to Dolores Park to relax and enjoy the famed views of the city from there.   But it proved futile, after all it was Friday lunchtime, the sun was beating down and half of San Francisco had got the same idea – never mind, we will do it before we leave.

A tortuous drive back through the Mission and along the Embarcadero meant that we handed back the car to Avis on Beach Street less than an hour before we were required to.  By this time we were hungry and in Fisherman’s Wharf where we had a mediocre lunch experience on the previous day.   However, we had enjoyed a nice meal at Lou’s at Pier 47 in the past so felt comfortable in sitting down at one of the outside tables there.  We were not disappointed as my salmon cakes and Janet’s red snapper were excellent.

With the car returned it was time to collect our City Pass booklets which I had purchased online before leaving the UK.  We walked up Mason and Columbus in the blistering sun to Washington Square where, still replete from lunch, we crashed out on the ground with a cold drink.  However, we soon sought sanctuary on a park bench, as my damp shorts testified that the heat of the past few days had still not drawn the dew left by the incessant rain beforehand from the grass.

Washington Square was understandably busy with bikini clad girls stretched out in the sun, Chinese elders gossiping under the shade of the trees, a single hippie playing catch with himself and office workers resting on the way home to make phone calls to arrange their evening activities.

Refreshed, we walked through the heart of Chinatown to Union Square, stopping only to check the closing time of the restaurant we were planning to eat at later, and for Janet to have her first fix of DW Shoes on Powell whilst I collected the City Pass booklets from the visitor information centre on Hallidie Plaza.  We then used our 7 day MUNI passport for the first time in returning to the apartment.

The highlight of the day, with the possible exception of Twin Peaks, was the journey back into the time in the evening on the no. 5 bus.  After the no-show on Monday evening, which necessitated the life threatening cab ride to the Warfield, at least the bus had the decency to turn up tonight, even if we had more than a ten minute wait in the increasing cold.

The journey was uneventful until Fillmore when a middle aged woman with a motorised wheelchair got on.  The step onto the bus was lowered by the driver to allow her to enter.  The bus was very busy with standing room only at this point but the woman had to manoeuvre herself into the wheelchair user space a third of the way along the bus.  The next five minutes entailed those sitting at the front of the bus having to bring their feet up onto their seats to enable her to get past, when she then engineered a 27 point turn into her appointed position.  It was clear from when she told the driver where she wanted to get off that the same pantomine would be required sooner rather than later.

However, it got worse.  At the next stop a young girl got on with a child in a buggy, which would inevitably complicate matters a little.  But when TWO more girls got on with buggies at the very next stop, this was going to be very interesting.  Once we had reached Larkin and the female wheelchair user wanted to get off it looked an impossibility – until the three girls with buggies, noticing that seats had been vacated, leapt back into the seats, in an almost orchestrated manoeuvre,  with the buggies, complete with babies, in their arms, allowing the wheelchair to get through, and universal applause from the front of the bus.  In our experience there are very few MUNI journeys, especially at night, that cannot provide some such adventure.

We had decided to revisit our favourite Chinatown restaurant, the Great Eastern on Grant and Jackson, and despite the delay caused by the bus journey, we were found a table immediately.  Although the R & G Lounge that we had eaten at in 2008 was possibly the smartest Chinatown restaurant we have eaten at, the Great Eastern has now given us three consistently good meals and is thoroughly recommended – my scallops with straw mushrooms and sugar snap peas, along with shrimp fried rice, was filling and delicious.

And I can proudly announce that I completed my very first chinese meal without resorting once to a spoon or fork, even to clear the final scraps off my plate.  It was chopsticks all the way – and it was still warm when I had finished! 

A couple of large straight Jack Daniel’s for me and two gin and tonics for Janet at Vesuvio’s in Columbus and Jack Kerouac Boulevard completed our evening, apart from a relatively smooth if painfully slow MUNI bus home.

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Western Diary Day 11: Dogs, Crab, Hats and Beats

Our first full day in San Francisco – and it was a good one.  After a comfortable night’s sleep (another plus point for the apartment) we woke to steady rain that had left large pools at the bottom of the wooden steps leading down from the kitchen to the back garden.  The forecast was for it to clear later in the morning to leave a cloudy but dry afternoon and evening.

Tradition dictates that our first morning be spent at the Cliff House at Ocean Beach for brunch.  This was just a 10-15 minute drive straight along Fulton until we reached the Pacific Ocean.  For the majority of the journey we passed an especially verdant Golden Gate Park on our left, whilst from the passenger side of the car, we caught occasional and tantalising glimpses of the towers of the glorious Golden Gate Bridge looming over the equally healthy trees of the Presidio.

We parked a few hundred yards short of the Cliff House to enable us to take in the bracing appetite enhancing air for a few minutes before we entered the bistro.  The ocean presented what was, for us, an unprecedentedly turbulent picture with a swift succession of high rolling waves chasing away anyone brave or foolhardy enough to venture too close to it.

The scene was a busy one – joggers passing in either direction and at varying speeds,  people , like us, strolling contentedly in a wind induced state of dishevelment – but most of all, dogs everywhere enjoying the freedom and excitement of exploring the endless expanse of beach.  We must have seen twenty species, from caped miniature poodles and chihuahuas and striking, enigmatic huskies to imposing rottweilers.  We felt as if we were committing an act of animal cruelty by not having one of our own to exercise.  Momentarily, I contemplated hiring one for the week, because, after all, this is San Francisco and I’m sure it is possible.  I don’t think, however, pets are allowed in the apartment – ah well! (And just as I typed this I’ve spotted a very cute dog in the back garden – think it belongs to upstairs!).

We had a twenty minute wait for our table, giving us the opportunity to check on coming events (Wednesday prix fixe menu and jazz evenings) and look in the gift shop.  We both ordered, tradition again, Eggs San Francisco (two poached eggs and crab on toasted sourdough bread with roasted potatoes and fruit) – delicious.  Feeling replete we took another longer walk in the burgeoning sunshine along the beach towards the south, exploring the bonfire pits on the way.  Crossing the Great Highway for the return to our car, we called in at the Beach Chalet to look at the fabulous murals depicting everyday scenes of San Francisco history.

We abandoned our planned food shopping trip as we needed time to get ready for the evening (and for me to finish my blog).  The mild, partly cloudy late afternoon weather encouraged us to take the long walk from our North of the Panhandle (NOPA) hangout to Club Fugazi in North Beach for the early evening performance of Beach Blanket Babylon.  The near hour and a half  journey took in some of the less salubrious parts of the city (Fillmore and Civic Center) before turning off Market Street to snake through Grant in the heart of Chinatown. 

Inevitably and sadly, there were no shortage of vagrants in the Civic Center vicinity, though we witnessed no intimidating panhandling.  I did purchase a copy of Street Sheet from a man who bore an uncanny resemblance to the queen in Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs when she dresses as a witch and tempts Snow White with a poisoned apple.  He even had the hunch back and hood.  But he was very friendly and  appreciative of my $2 donation. 

For the unitiated, the Street Sheet is a magazine that has been published by the Coalition on Homelessness since 1989, and is designed to provide information and support programmes for homeless people.  The philosophy is not dissimilar from that of The Big Issue in the UK, whereby it enables its extremely poor vendors the opportunity to earn money for food, shelter and other necessities.

We joined an already lengthy line outside Club Fugazi around 50 minutes before showtime.  I collected our tickets from the box office and took my place in the line.  We were surrounded by around a dozen boisterous and slightly drunk ladies of a certain age taking in the show as part of a bachelorette party.  Whilst we didn’t begrudge them their fun we did hope that their seats were in a different part of the auditorium.  Our prayers were answered as they lurched off to the area close to the stage on the ground floor whilst we were escorted to our seats in the center balcony – having been five times now this is our preferred area to watch the show.  Arming ourselves with a bottle of Woodbridge White Zinfandel and a large packet of pretzels we were ready to cheer Snow White on her worldwide search for a prince.

Once again, Beach Blanket Babylon delivered.  Although we had only been this time last year there was still a lot of new content along with the familiar old staples.  The highlight for me was when San Francisco Giants baseball stars Buster Posey, Tim Lincecum and Brian Wilson (no, not the real ones) burst onto the stage holding the World Series trophy and singing We Are the Champions. The Queen‘s appalled putdown of the upcoming wedding of Prince William and Kate Middleton was hilarious and a typical Beach Blanket Babylon satirical slant on a subject that is all too often treated too reverently.

We had decided that we would try the North Beach Restaurant for dinner for the first time, provided we could get in (we hadn’t booked).  The restaurant looked very busy, but on presenting ourselves at the front desk, we were whisked to the only free table, for two, adjacent to the kitchen.  That may not sound the most appealing location but Janet found it fascinating, catching regular momentary glimpses of the frenzied behind the scenes action as the front of house staff went swiftly went about their work.

But what of the food and service?  This was traditional Italian fine dining at its best.  My linguine with porcini mushrooms and scallops was outstanding, as was Janet’s seafood risotto – both surpassing the excellent meals we had enjoyed at the Riva Grill in South Lake Tahoe.  And our waiter was suave, attentive and witty.  We would thoroughly recommend this establishment and certainly intend to dine there again.

I had wanted to visit The Beat Museum on Broadway for some time, so as the night was still young (10pm), we called in.  Although the museum itself had already closed for the day, we spent some time perusing the bookshelves and other fascinating memorabilia, and I bought a couple of books I had not seen before, one the 700 page Hippie Dictionary -  A Cultural Encyclopedia of the 1960s and 1970s by John Bassett McCleary and The Beats – A Graphic History.  On leaving we strolled around the fleshpots and nightclubs of Broadway before fleeing back into civilisation at Vesuvio’s bar on Jack Kerouac Boulevard.   Again, we were fortunate in claiming what must have been the only two seats available, at the bar.  After a couple of drinks we walked down Montgomery through the Financial District before boarding a number 5 MUNI bus at Market to transport us back to the apartment.     

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