Follow in the Beat poets' footsteps and San Francisco will reward you with some of the world's coolest bars.
GOLD built San Francisco. In 1848 when the first precious nuggets were found, sailors entering the port would abandon ship to join the rush, leaving a forest of masts in the bay. The City by the Bay burgeoned, further blossoming after the discovery o
f silver ten years on. The treasure hunt has never ended.
Now tourists come to see the impossibly steep hills down which picturesque trams rattle, the majesty of Golden Gate bridge to the north of the city, the imposing fort of Alcatraz and the buzzing, colourful Chinatown. By day they can look out for the nobs (the old money) of Nob Hill, stroll in beautiful Golden Gate Park – which stretches from the heart of the city to the Pacific ocean and catch the faint patchouli-whiff of the Summer of Love in the vintage clothing stores of Haight-Ashbury.
But as evening approaches it's time to seek out food and fun. A quick glance at the map shows a city of rigid straight lines – it's built on a grid that refuses to meander even to get round its 50 hills. But look harder and you'll see a labyrinth of back alleys between the regimented city blocks, which seem to offer endless possibilities along with the slightly scary prospect of getting lost – really lost.
So I wandered down a few of these concrete crannies and quaint cobblestone backways (a legacy of the speed with which San Francisco was built after the gold rush – and rebuilt after the 1906 earthquake) to see what was there.
It takes determination to root out remote waterfront hideouts like the Ramp, but if you find this sunset margarita spot you can practically dabble your toes in the bay from the front deck.
As befits a city whose literary legacy includes both the Beat poets and Sam Spade, these out-of-the-way addresses also include hipster bars and speakeasies whose Jazz Age ethos includes tuxedo jackets and torch songs.
Many cities have built over or ignored their old service streets, but San Francisco has embraced them. Belden Lane is a tourist-friendly spot downtown, home to a row of restaurants specialising in everything from Spanish food (B44) to vodka (Voda). Cast an eye down any alley near the Union Square shopping district and you'll find a different national cuisine, including French (Cafe Claude, Anjou), bar-top bar food (Azul), Vietnamese (Le Colonial) or Irish (the Irish Bank), though much of the 'eating' there seems to be of the liquid variety.
But there are also less obvious places throughout the city, in such neighbourhoods as Laurel Village, near Pacific Heights, where Sociale, an elegant little restaurant, is hidden in a vine-laden inlet off Sacramento Street. Telegraph Hill has Julius' Castle, literally pitched on the edge of a cliff, while in the area around City Hall you can hunt for the Hotel Biron, a tiny wine bar on Rose Street, where imaginary musical instruments adorn the walls. The nook known as South Park is so cloistered it is accessible only by side street. And unlike the television show that shares its name, it is pretty, quiet and home to several sweet spots, including the South Park Cafe, a one-rose-to-a-table French restaurant.
Finding such places is half the fun and I began my exploration on the type of night that would have made Dashiell Hammett happy, with fog making visibility somewhere between lousy and none. In other words, typical for March in San Francisco. (Or August. Or May. Or December.)
The first stop was a pair of downtown side streets, Natoma and Minna, whose names have become well known to nightlife-hungry dot-commers. Located in the SoMa district – south of Market Street – the city's main drag, just off Second Street, is home to a cluster of DJ-happy establishments. Among the more popular are 111 Minna, a gallery with a licence to serve alcohol, which often becomes an impromptu boogie room as art fans get tipsy, and John Colins, a beer-and-banter bar that attracts singles and anchors a trio of night spots.
None was harder for me to find than Harlot, a selective bar and dance club that opened last year along a bleak stretch of Minna Street. The velvet-roped Harlot takes its name from the 19th-century streetwalkers said to have worked the same alley. There were no working girls in attendance when I visited during a relaxed happy hour to find a gothic-inspired lounge: black walls, semi-nude portraits and a selection of nasty-looking insects framed on the wall. The bar staff had spiky hair and the music was already thumping at 6pm.
Other alleyway establishments revel in a different kind of nostalgia, including Bix, where bartenders in white tuxedos serve cocktails in glasses left chilling in shaved ice on the bar. Blessed with soaring ceilings and a doting staff, Bix is regularly packed with anniversary couples and first-daters, soaking in the jazz and sucking down local oysters. I did both, cheered on by Bruce the barman, who had the line of the night. "They say oysters are aphrodisiacs, but it's not true," he said. "I had two dozen last night and only eight worked."
No place, however, is more old-school than Alfred's Steakhouse, tucked away on Merchant Street, near Chinatown. Alfred's was founded in 1928 and looks as though it hasn't changed much since. The walls are red, the carpet is faded and the steaks have names. The waiters wear ties, the booths are bigger than your average car and a 'Notice of Prohibition' is posted next to the bar – in defiance of the vast array of different Scottish malts behind the bar. Wines are in abundance too, including a 2,199 bottle of 1989 Château Pétrus, which was only about 2,190 more than I wanted to spend.
I chose instead a couple of house specialities – a Blue Moon and a Priscilla, both decidedly more macho than they sound.
Afterwards I stumbled outside and soon found myself in the heart of North Beach, a jumble of strip clubs, Italian restaurants, bars and cultural throwbacks. Into that category falls the lovely Specs Twelve Adler Museum Café, which sits on Saroyan Place, across from the City Lights Bookstore, where Ginsberg howled and Kerouac is still considered alive and well. Neither museum nor café, Specs is a catch-all, home to both never-say-die bohemians and newly minted college graduates. The decor is classic clutter, with a pianist who serenades anyone who will listen.
Around the corner and up a steep alleyway is 15 Romolo, on the ground floor of a low-rent hotel with much to appreciate: a dark wood bar, coloured bottles behind frosted windows, big turquoise booths and a jukebox stocked with everyone from Curtis Mayfield to The Clash. I finished my drink and headed back into the night.
There was fog and mist. Typical. But this night, San Francisco seemed anything but.
Fact file San FranciscoKLM flies from Glasgow to San Francisco. Fares start at around £345 (
www.klm.com). Book return flights from Glasgow with seven nights at the Holiday Inn from £793 per person with Expedia (0871 226 0808,
www.expedia.co.uk). For somewhere more rock'n'roll, check into The Phoenix, once frequented by the Red Hot Chili Peppers, from 119 per person per night (
www. jdvhotels.com/phoenix).
Find the most happening bars in town at
www.timeout.com/travel/sanfrancisco or check out
www.concierge.com/destination/sanfrancisco.
