full Nelson

Carrington Nelson (Fox) has been my bestest friend since kindergarten. Her parents are equally awesome, and I came out to Sandy and Billy before I was able to come out to my own parents. Billy had several children from a previous marriage, and sufficiently previous that Carrington has nephews older than she is, which makes for an interesting family tree. The Nelsons all are pretty awesome.

Two of her nephews have revived the old family business. "Old" as in "the 1860s."  Andy and Charlie have successfully revived the Nelson Green Brier distillery and are again producing the wonderfully delicious Belle Meade Bourbon. It's available in a dozen states now, and in finer restaurants and bars around the country. Prentiss Nelson made sure to have it served at his birthday party in the Hancock Room of the Sip Lounge last month.

This week, the Intuit blog interviews the brothers about their small business, getting started, and family tradition. Nice.

J9 on Rye

Best comment to a photo.

After hours at the Stork Club: J9.

Posted to Facebook.

Her husband, who was on stage at the time, comments later:

"Well, this explains a lot of things."

wine-no

Oh Lord. I forgot to mention. If you go see Noises Off! at the Shelton Theater, which I heartily recommend, by whatever divinity you hold dear do NOT drink their wine before the show. Get your drink on, which does help with the funny, before you get to the theater. The seven-dollars-a-glass from four-dollars-a-bottle is so offensively disgusting as to border on poisonous. I am by no means a wine guy, but I know rancid swill when I taste it.

We had to begrudgingly balance our cash investment and desire for a comedy buzz with the abhorrent taste of their reds. Seriously. It nearly killed me.


Rizzo suffered through it too. We suspected while not ultimately fatal it should still be alcoholic.

And we should not have been surprised that it tasted like bleach. I mean, the skull and crossbones were right there on the sign.

four soft tacos

How drunk are you? On a scale of "One" to "Taco Bell?"

bad things make good stories

I had a date last week. It was a first date, but sort of not. A 1.5st date. I asked him. And I had been a little giddy about it, then a little dashed, then cautiously optimistic. He's down in Mountain View, and as the gentleman caller I offered to drive down rather than ask that he drive up. He was in the mood for Italian, and suggested a place near where he is house-sitting. A local chain of some regional renown: Frankie, Johnnie & Luigi Too!

The restaurant was just awful. The service was friendly enough but the execution was so far beyond terrible that it made for a terrific date. There comes a point where one has to celebrate a fiasco. And if you are with the right person, and in the right frame of mind, you can have a good time anywhere. Even the band played as the Titanic sank.

Not only did I have a wonderful time for the charming company, but I got a good solid ten minutes of stand-up out of this. For this post, I am going to set aside the odd, tandem waitering of the tall lactose-intolerant skeleton and his diminutive mute shadow ("How do you know he was lactose intolerant?" you ask. Precisely. Why should I know this?), the 70s cliché iceberg salad, and the barely warm, flavorless calzone, and just talk about the cocktail experience (which after the following still took two more attempts to reach "acceptable.").

There was a menu of "specialty martinis" with no regard as to if the drinks there listed were actually martinis, and regardless all were given a -tini suffix. Just a note: a cosmopolitan may be considered by some to be a form of martini, but even then it is not called a "cosmopolitini."

Unable to bear the syrup and dessert concoctions which comprised the specialty menu (how many drinks can one make with chocolate liqueur?), I thought I would try one of their three specific house specials (also promoted as always happy-hour priced!), and while I knew it was a gamble at best I ordered the Manhattan and asked for it in a lowball on the rocks.

When it finally arrived, it was straight up in a martini glass, and it didn't have just one, but TWO BUGS in it. Seriously. To mix a bug in a drink is one thing; to not notice two bugs in such a small glass, with a nearly clear liquid and no ice is another. And the fact that there was more than one fly in the cocktail is just gross. In my head I could hear my mother adding jokes such as "Don't say anything or everyone will want one." or "Well, he won't drink much." Which is all fine and dandy for my mother, but when the sidekick waiter returned with a glass of ice for my cocktail (realizing their mistake) and I told him quite calmly and pleasantly (I am still on my best behavior on this first-point-five date here) that there were bugs in the drink, he actually said "Good thing they don't drink much." And that was it. No apology. No shame. No mea culpas.  No comps. No recognition of the issue that they just served me a glass of bugs as if their error was that I ordered them on the side.

I tried again.

When Icabod returned I asked if they had any orange vodkas (Clementine, Mandarin, L'Orange?).  "Yes," he said, "We have Citron."

Now I have always said that the first rule cocktails is that a lemon is not a lime, but I left that thought unvoiced and asked, "Do you have Mandarin?"
"Yes we do."
"Then I'll have a Mandarin and soda, no fruit. Please.  Thank you."

He returned again some time later to inform me that they had no Mandarin.
"But you have Citron? ...That will do."
"No. Actually, we only have one flavored vodka: PB&J"

Peanut Butter and Jelly flavored vodka. I'm going to let that one sink in a minute. Seriously. A full bar and bar room in the front of the restaurant, and the only infused vodka they have is flavored with peanut butter and jelly.

I was dumbstruck (rare for me I know). So many thoughts ran through my head: "PB&J? Is there a kid's drink menu? That can't be an 'infused vodka'—what would they 'infuse' it with? Is there a distillery somewhere with vats and vats of alcohol steeping with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches? Is the vodka murky? Do they put in white bread too? Are the crusts cut off? What do they garnish it with? Is there a jelly rim? Is there going to be a wedge of a PB&J sandwich perched on the rim of the glass? Maybe a toast point.  Maybe there will be a peanut butter ball with a plastic sword speared through it. Should I expect a sandwich-based drink to have fewer bugs in it?..."

I looked at the waiter in stunned silence, then nonplussed across the table to my date. Our eyes met and GJ turned to look up at the waiter and asked, "What flavor is the jam?"

Best date ever.

way ahead of you

The limes help me keep count.

completely biased brief guide to Castro bars

Tis the season for the tourists. I've had a couple requests for Castro bar descriptions/recommendations (I'm looking at you Colin and Eugene) so I thought I would post my quick and completely biased rundown here.

First of all, be aware that on Friday and Saturday nights, the Castro has become the ghetto trash Bourbon Street of San Francisco. The Café, Badlands, Toad Hall and Q-Bar are overflowing with bridge-and-tunnel kids getting drunk on the cheap, and they cannot hold their liquor. I'm all for inclusion, but the gaggles of young straight girls need to learn how to behave if they want to remain welcome. As long as the messy continue to line up for those four bars, I'm good. It keeps them away from "my" bars. And off my lawn, as it were.

And if you are a straight woman visiting a gay bar: you are welcome, but show some manners. (By the way, lesbians find lame straight girls annoying too.)

Here are the brief and insufficient bar sketches, working from Hartford and 18th westward across Castro Street, then back from 18th up Castro to Market:

Moby Dick: Neighborhood bar. 30s to 50s. Above average guys, and guy's guys. Pool and pinball in the back. Awesome bar staff. Casual, comfortable crowd. Good all times. Whiskey Thursdays are tasty. While there are different happy hour specials, the only two-for-ones are for the frozen margaritas if that's your pleasure.

The Mix: Neighborhood bar with more of a party/tourist air. The inside is low-ceilinged and basement like with a cramped pool table, but the back patio is open and airy, when not too smoky. Good all times.

Midnight Sun: Video bar with tv show-specific nights. Friday is bear night and very popular. Two-For-One-Plus-a-Dollar drink specials at happy hour. Get's dead by 10:00 or so. Open during renovation as it adds windows to the street side.

Harvey's: Restaurant/Bar. Simple suburban menu fare. Far from foodie, but certainly good enough. Tasty burgers. The staff is friendly and all around great guys. And it boasts full bar, which is an attraction for dining here too. Brunch has a fun energy and allows for good people watching. And heavy drinking.

Badlands: Perfect if your are a 20-something local tourist and/or a complete mess.  And it is one of the only places to dance in the Castro. Two-For-One drink specials with a heavy pour. Popular with gaybys, gasians, and the young straight girls who cling to them. AKA Sadlands. AKA Shitshow. Lines Friday and Saturday. Beware of pickpockets and iPhone stealing.

The Edge: A man's bar. Sometimes older leather (rarely) but generally a late 30s to early 50s crowd. Two-for-one drink specials during happy hour, which runs until 9:00 (with wooden token, so you don't have to hold both at the same time) and also a warm and fun bar staff. Go-go boys on some nights, beer busts on weekends, and gay rodeo and other benefits are held here. Monday is showtunes night (Musical Mondays) advertised as starting at 7:00 but it's been my experience that it's more like 8:00 or 9:00. Thursdays feature The Monster Show hosted by Cookie Dough—an always fun drag show with mere $5 cover. Worth it.

Toad Hall: The hip-hop version of Badlands most nights. Ru Paul's Drag Race nights are very popular, and Friday and Saturday nights are 20s and 30s crowd with a line out front. Daytime, the crowd is more mature and pretty chill. Sunday afternoon the bar reverts to its roots with softball beer busts, 30s-50s crowd, decent music, and a fun and welcoming population. There is a large back area for smoking/chatting and ample clean urinals in the new back bathroom. Want some natural light in your bar? Go here. (No link as it seems they haven't paid their web host recently.)



Up Castro Street:
Q-Bar: The college and fake ID gay crowd here, with the messy straight girl clingers. Very crowded, with a street-facing smoking room. The now defunct Cockfight night from SF Underground has been remained here, and Booty Call has the best beats. As shallow and messy as this crowd is, the bar has great dance DJs. There is no dance floor really, rather it is "tables get pulled off the concrete when it gets late enough for dancing." Considering their undying popularity with the kids, they have no incentive to offer good drinks or good service, and provide neither. When it's packed, there is definitely a sexually charged vibe.  The straight girls here are almost agressively annoying and need to realize they are not in Marina South (my new name for Polk Gulch).

440: Formerly called Daddy's, and while no longer a leather bar it remains the bastion of manly manliness on the Castro. (This is also the site of the original Toad Hall in the 70s.) While you don't have to be a leather guy or muscled butch dude to hang out here, this bar is the man's man gay bar in the Castro. Yes there are muscles and bears here, but also kind regular guys, and no circuit queens nor twinks. Rarely do women accompany their male friends to this bar, but those who do are women of character who can hang. The occasional gaggle of straight girls with proverbial bows on their heads stray in here with their Kurt Hummel-eque boyfriends to check the place out for a drink, and then leave (if we're lucky) when they realize it is not their scene. Mondays are underwear night, but those have sort of fizzled, although the later the hour on any given night, the more frisky the crowd. Sundays are Sunday Furry Sundays. The primary DJ is always much fun, and there is a coat check in the back when it's open. For being a man's man sort of bar, the guys are almost all welcoming and friendly. Friday after happy hour even more so. There are regular drinks specials during the week, with wooden token two-for-ones during happy hours (until 9:00). As a rather dark bar, I tend to end the night here rather than start here, but Sunday afternoons here are fun too. I consider this "my bar."

Twin Peaks: The senior citizen's gay bar you'll love. Considering the predominantly geriatric clientele, Twin Peaks has also been known as the Gray Bar, The Glass Coffin, or God's Waiting Room. No drink specials and it doesn't need them. And if not having drink specials keeps the kids out, so much the better. The jukebox is full of fun discs, and the bathroom vents open out to the kitchen vents of Hot Cookie next door so it smells delicious. The crowd is really of all ages, but with a markedly chill vibe. It's a bar to sit and actually talk with your companions. And as an all-glass bar on the busiest corner (historic for being the first gay bar in the country with windows), it is an excellent perch for people watching. If there are empty seats at a table, ask if you can join them. Conversely, if you have extra seats at your table, offer them to those looking. It's that kind of place and I've met many lovely people that way. Also known for their coffee drinks.

The Café: The big dance club in the Castro. Different themes each night. Lots of LEDs and disco lights, and sometimes drink specials. Very popular with the dance and club kid crowd, boys and girls, none of whom appear to live in the City proper. Also Boi night. Sunday nights feature the wildly popular and high-energy GlamaZONE hosted by Pollo Del Mar. No cover for the show unless there is some celebrity appearance.

Down Market Street:
Hi Tops: The first and only true "sports bar" in the Castro. Beautifully renovated with tasty food from the back kitchen, full bar and beer selection, and surprisingly crafted cocktails. And lots of screens for lots of sports action. And a clientele with well above-average hotness. Bar staff is friendly, and game days and trivia nights (Tuesdays) are full of fun energy. The drink and food price points are on the higher end, but it's new and you're paying for the premiums which this bar provides.

I'm leaving Manhattan

and headed to the Bronx.

The Bronx Cocktail is essentially a Perfect Martini with orange juice added. It was ranked number three in "The World's 10 Most Famous Cocktails in 1934",^[1] making it a very popular rival to the Martini (#1) and the Manhattan (#2). Today, it remains a popular choice in some markets, and is designated as an Official Cocktail by the International Bartender Association. Like the Manhattan, the Bronx is one of five cocktails named for one of New York City's five boroughs, but is perhaps most closely related to the Queens (cocktail),^[2] which substitutes pineapple for the Bronx's orange.

Although I think I'd like mine made with vodka. I'm going to try one each away.

By way of Nick and Nora. With a hat tip and glass clink to Kathryn Wood.

However, I think of this as being in the same family as a sidecar.

That is to say, it's not just for breakfast anymore.





From this discussion

Ms. Wood: "I went through a big Sidecar phase in my mid-20s."
Me: "That will be the throw-away line most quoted by gay men after your biography airs on Lifetime."

I got your picnic basket right here

Kevin introduced me to the completely hidden gem that is 620 Jones, or just "Jones" to be precise. Sure, it's a little douchey, but it has an enormous outdoor area and will be an awesome downtown spot when the weather is good, and great for a pre-show cocktail.

The best bartender there is little Boo Boo, which was fun as my nickname is sometimes Yogi. (As I am smarter than the average bear.)



I gave her one of my cards which said as much. She's thinking about having cards made that just feature a kid's band-aid. Get it?

Jones is cool, but the price point is what you'd expect for a high-end bar near Union Square. Be forewarned that it's cash only, unless you download a "pay your bar tab from your phone" app.

The super-large deck area is perfect for warmish summer nights.

the increasing messiness of the Castro

I've been thinking about writing a longer piece, taking some photos and some information samples, about what I have been referring to as "the Bourbon Street-ification of the Castro."

That is to say, the Community of the Castro has become less neighborhood and community bars, restaurants, and shops and more lowest-common-denominator gay strip-mall shops (look! yet another tobacco, porn and lube shop!), mediocre eateries, and full on drunk crowds of barely 21-year-olds and tourists foreign and domestic, i.e. the SF equivalent of Bridge and Tunnel.  I can't remember a Friday in the past year where I didn't see three girls on the corner of Castro and 18th.  Not always the same three actors, but always the same characters: One girl loudly bitching on her mobile phone, throwing attitude while another girl comforts the third who is throwing up between the cars parking in front of Harvey's.  I would take bets that none of these girls live in the City.  Odds are only 30% that they are gay.

The wider recognition of the "gay pour" and the standard Castro happy hour specials of two-for one has made the Castro the new popular spot for young people to get drunk cheaply and quickly.   And they cannot handle their liquor.  I think of this as the New Year's Eve crowd but now out every weekend.  They are just so excited to be out, drinking late and up past midnight.  Or what I call "Wednesday."

I do love 440, but didn't really consider it "my bar" until I spent the past several weekends entertaining out-of-towners who wanted to tour the Castro and hit the "young" bars.  I'm sorry, but I am established and established socially, and I have a policy that I do not (1) wait in line for a bar or (2) pay a cover.  There are zero bars I consider worthy of either.  I am, of course, happy if not eager to pay a cover if there is a performance, but that is more about my supporting the arts, and I consider SF drag to be an art.  I will also wait a few minutes for Bear Fridays at the Midnight Sun, although my enjoyment of that is more in theory than in practice.  440 truthfully has become my community/neighborhood/home bar.

My sneaking suspicion that the Castro has just become a drunken toilet for tourists, baby gays, and the gaggle of accompanying often annoying straight girls, was cemented last week when I popped out briefly to see a friend on a Thursday night.

Usually Thursday is a Sundance Saloon night, with a possible stop at 440 with the cowboys afterward, but last week I was home busily cleaning and cooking for the Dinner and a Movie event.  The Jamez had been dragged escorted out with Special K and her friends and he found himself hugging the side of the dance floor while the drunken girlfriends were salsa dancing at Ladies Night at, God help him, the Café.  I still consider James to be my best friend even though I see him maybe once a quarter these days.  So when I got his text asking if I were perchance in the Castro and if I could come hang out with him, I took that as a rare opportunity not to be passed up.  I got to a stopping place, put clothes back on (not that I was cooking naked mind you, just going Out clothes) and met them as they were leaving the Mess that was the Café.

They had been at it for a while.

The girls still wanted dancing, and James was happy to continue the crawl with my company.  The next reasonable dance venue was Sadlands Badlands, which mid-week has become a total shit show, but does play dance music.  Sometime me and mine will stop in there mid-week just to watch the base crowd debase themselves in a rather extraordinary manner.  I don't think that I have just gotten older, and I don't think it's just that the crowd has gotten younger.  The crowd has just gotten that much trashier.

Unfortunately, between here and there Special K went from 60 to Zero and put herself in a cab.  The four of us made it into Badlands, but I could only do so much before giving up to warn the girls to clothes their purses and consider the coat check as pick pockets and casual crime has really overrun Badlands and Toad Hall.  The crowd was all early 20-somethings, young techies and "girls on the town" and messy, messy, messy.  One large Asian kid was leaned on the bench, swaying and drooling, and being checked on by his friends every so often between his spitting on the floor in his build up to getting sick.  Nice.  After a round of drinks had been ordered, James returned to me for cash unaware of the cash-only nature of the Castro.   Unfortunately, shortly after drinks were poured, James was called back home as K had left her house keys in her other jacket, leaving me to care for the absolutely charming and absolutely lovely but also absolutely hammered girls I did not know.

Even they looked at the dance floor and asked WTF?  "These are the lamest gay dancers I have ever seen."  Yes.  Welcome to the Shit Show.

And two shows on Sunday.

How I invite someone over for a drink

This is what photo IMs are for.

I love a parade

My favorite view:



Sunny sunday afternoon in the catbird seat of Harvey's. Open windows, parade of friends stopping to socialize, and a Mandarin and soda.

ahem

This I need.  And I need to order some as gifts for some specific peeps.



From Neil Girling and TheBlight via LaughingSquid.

booze bitte

I had to go to the lamp store in the Inner Richmond and spied this bar across the street. It's straightforwardness makes me want to check this place out as soon as possible. And I'm bringing the cool drinking people with me.

It's called München.



The slogan painted on the simple exterior reads:

No whiners
No website
Just booze

Agreed.

bitch and wine

Saturday, my good friends Jeff and Brian invited me and Rick up to their place in San Rafael for breakfast and then a tour of their favorite reservation-only wineries in Napa. It was hot in the city, pushing 90, and at 10:00 a.m., so I knew it was going to be a scorcher out of the City. And it was a hot day in all kinds of ways. Just an unreasonable amount of fun and beauty.

This is how we started out our day:


At Biale, where our flights included the wine rated "the best zinfandel in the world." So there was that.


And gotta love anyone who celebrates 80 years of secret wine making with the code name Black Chicken.


Just a gorgeous day with gorgeous company.














Jeff can really pick the best wines/wineries in Napa. A nice surprise though, was the unexpected Swipe gourmet cupcake truck who offered us free chocolate or pink champagne cupcakes with our wines (oh look, pairings!). Orgasmic cupcakes.


My favorite online comment to this pic was "[starts making cupcake disguise]."

Of course, the day was just chock FULL of snark and great lines. I started keeping a running tab of quotes on my phone.

Here's our day:

• Um...actually...if you get herpes on the nose it's kind of a medical emergency.

• There's too much blood in my alcohol system.

• Okay, so the worst-slash-best thing I've said at a winery was...

• Jeff, looking at shirtless guy on a street corner in San Rafael,: "That guy is way too skinny. He needs a sandwich!" Me: "I bet he'd agree with you." Brian: "That's a homeless guy. He's in front of Whole Foods begging for a meal."

• Wine host, inspecting the "clean" glasses from the dishwasher: "We've got some strong lipstick on these glasses." Me: "It's the eye shadow that has me worried."

• "I call that a metric fuck ton." "Really? What's that in shit pounds?"

• I think "Attractive Nuisance" would be a good drag name.

• "Did he really try to kill himself or was that just a drug-addled accident?" "It was an accident. If he had really tried to kill himself I wouldn't be laughing so much.... Probably."

• [Later] Hey, where's that hilarious suicide story we were promised?"

• That's not where the cork goes.

• SeeMeSmellMe dot com.

• So, you're a barbequista?

• Well, he's just calling that "tennis" elbow.

• Excuse me.... Popeye's.

• Chandon would be like the Disneyland of wine tastings, but it's more like Great America. Or Six Flags, because, you know: Vallejo.

• Wife beaters can be hot, but his was more like: "No. Seriously. I beat my wife."

• [When asking why I was so quiet today] The only people who consider me "quiet" are people like you.

• "Why would she have herpes?" "Because her name is Sally Knees Apart."

• He was the master of the single entendre.

• "Any time your boyfriend has an age with a fraction in it, there's a problem." "I think just having a boyfriend with an age with 'teen' in it is kind of a problem."

• The hard-on wants what the hard-on wants.

• I don't know why they're together. All I can think of is that he must have some sort of stunt genitals.

• Me: "I think my new drag name is going to be 'Warning Drinking Distilled Spirits Beer Coolers Wine and Other Alcoholic Beverages May Increase Cancer Risk and During Pregnancy Can Cause Birth Defects.'" Brian: "...Williams."

hold me like an official office....

Somehow, Coco got pumped off of FourSquare and her account reset, so when she checked in at her home, on the map as "Coco: Goddess of Drink," it registered her visit as the first time.

Which made me Mayor.



As such, I was notified of her check in and was asked to "Add a comment with some expert advice."

Heh heh heh. Totally did. Including tips for checking in the bed and behind the toilet for stray booze bottles. Visitors can now benefit from my experience. I'm a nice guy like that.

have it your way

I secretly love The Gangway bar.

I really want to put up a sign for a fake bar next door called "The Threeway" just to make it look awesomer.

on happy hour in the Castro

I like my men like I take my cocktails: strong, stiff, and two at a time.

fruit punch

An Alert Reader messaged me with a link to the NPR story "When Fruit Flies Strike Out, They Like To Booze It Up," admitting that, "When I saw this headline, I completely read it wrong." As a boozy, rejection-averse fruit fly herself, the mistake was understandable.

Who hasn't been there before? In fact, I think I am going there tonight.

suckling at the teat

Baby needs his bottle.