Monday, October 4, 2010

A Russian Father and his Son

Since the end of my old local, San Francisco Brewing Company, reincarnated as a very good vintage eatery & cocktail lounge, my allegiance has shifted to Vesuvio's the venerable Beat bar on Columbus Avenue. Everything about it is fantastic and affordable, still Beat in fact, which makes it a local's local. The Proprietress is warm and the waitresses are fine, the mix of visitors and denizens is matched, and the wine and brew flows in a convivial, non-douched atmosphere. It has layers of history, a patina of vivid conversations, art galore, written and spoken word from the Ginsberg & Kerouac past to the now of my words to you here and after; music at times certainly in the alley, enough windows to bring in light to read and write, and a last remaining gas lamplight glowing. On the mantle is the iconic Black Cat, once perched above the entrance to the city's first queer bar on Montgomery at Columbus next door to the studio where Frida and Diego set up shop in the 20s; a piece of historic flotsom marking the sites of our Bohemian City.
a Russian Father & Son at Vesuvio's in Autumn
Today i ate my lunch there with a Sierra Nevada, listening to visitors like this Russian father and his son.
Outside, I saw Patti Smith come out of City Lights Bookstore, speak to some folks (including me, i just had to!), then take her vintage box camera around the neighborhood checking out the sights.
I went back to reading Tony Judt's last book, Ill Fares the Land, and noting again the wonder of San Francisco.

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