On A Toot!: San Francisco Edition
Competitive Sipping By Day; Recreational Sipping By Night.
Welcome to the latest edition of “On a Toot!,” a feature in which I try to remember some of the liquid highlights of the week, and other highlights in general. “On a Toot!”—which made its debut on March 10, 2023 (accept no imitations!)—will only run on Fridays and will only be available to paid subscribers. We hope you enjoy it.
“The bar is packed all day long with New York debutantes, brokers, Newport dowagers, bad women who walk good dogs on Park Avenue, chic divorcees and college boys on toots.”—Daily News, 1937, describing the scene at the Ritz Bar in Paris.
During my last visit to San Francisco, in October 2023, I had a long list of cocktail bars I wanted to visit. Of course, the bar that I didn’t manage to get to—True Laurel, the work of chef-owner David Barzelay and head bartender Nicolas Torres—ended up being the one that subsequently ended up on all the important “best-of” lists. Ironically, as I was leaving New York, True Laurel was doing a pop-up at Martiny’s. I was unable to attend that, so I went to the real deal soon after I checked into my hotel. The bar is in the Mission District. It was a beautiful day in San Francisco, warm and sunny, so True Laurel had its windows wide open and people were drinking both outside and inside…
True Laurel is one of that breed of cocktail bars that displays a loose-limbed persona to the world, while being tightly focused about its cocktails. It may serve the most precisely garnished drinks in the city—if you exclude the tiki bars, of course. (Tiki bars always win the garnish game.) My True Laurel Martini—London Dry and Botanical Gins, a vermouth blend, and “California Bay Tincture”—came garnished with the longest, most handsome bay leaf I’ve ever seen, a reflection of that mysterious tincture that accents the cocktail. My second drink was a Bobby Burns riff named Bobby Boo-urns that I simply had to order because it evoked one of my favorite lines from “The Simpsons.” (Hans Moleman: “I was saying Boo-urns.”) I was also curious why the drink was $19, when every other drink on the menu was $18. The ingredients were 12-year-old Single Malt Scotch, Vermouth di Torino, and sesame-washed genepy. The bartender use the back of an ice shovel to create an indent in the single large ice cube. Into this hollow, she carefully deposited a quantity of sesame seeds. Other drinks were garnished with beautiful pine needles and perfect apple fans and the like. Looking to balance the alcohol with some food, I ordered something called Buffalo Sweetbreads. How could that combination go wrong? It did not. It was spectacular. My obvious enjoyment of the dish caused the guy next to me to order the same…
While sitting at True Laurel, I realized that it was just around the corner from a bar with very similar energy, Trick Dog. So I swung by and gave the new menu a try. I’ve been to Trick Dog four times now. My experiences have always been the same: I always go on a sunny afternoon; I go because they’ve recently dropped a new high-concept menu I feel compelled to try; it’s always crowded; and it’s never quiet. I do believe Trick Dog, unlike most cocktail bars, never has a down time. I ran into noted bartender and all-around cocktail authority Devon Tarby at the bar before I sat down. The menu theme this time around is the Circus. I chose The Illusionist, which contained mezcal, Suze, carrot, cream Sherry, coconut, tarragon, absinthe and lime. I like 6 of those 8 things, so I figured I stood a good chance of liking the cocktail. It came to the bar in a pilsner glass, the color of radioactive carrots, with a tarragon hairdo. My gamble paid off; it was good, though I had to hunt for the mezcal and Suze flavors in all that carrot and coconut. To my left, I saw two patrons enjoying Trick Dog’s famous hot dogs. That almost made me regret having had the sweetbreads at True Laurel. Almost…
I walked 12 blocks to La Taqueria to get myself a celebrated burrito, which turned out to be mediocre. After that I grabbed a Lyft and had the driver take me to the House of Prime Rib. I didn’t stand a chance in hell of scoring a table at that always-swamped restaurant. But the last time I was here, I enjoyed their house Martini, which is served tableside in one of their signature logo-ed cocktail shakers. I have coveted that cocktail shaker ever since. But for whatever reason, the restaurant only sells this piece of merch on premise. So I went to the front desk and requested one. “I’m here because you don’t sell these online,” I told the front-of-house woman, by way of explanation/complaint. “Yes,” she said. “We don’t sell anything online.” And with that piece of un-illuminated explication, I left…
My walk back to the hotel was inadvisedly chosen as it was exceptionally hilly. But it took me past the Fairmont hotel. This reminded me that, as often as I am in San Francisco, I have never been to the Tonga Room, the famous tiki restaurant in the basement of the hotel. “This oversight has gone on long enough,” I thought to myself. So, after a little confused wandering around the lobby, I found the basement hideaway. It was at the end of an anonymous hotel corridor decorated in shades of beige and gray. Pointing the way was big sign saying “Tonga,” right under one for the wellness space. The atmosphere inside is a killer. The band plays from a gently rocking boat in the middle of a large blue pool, surrounded on all sides by people dining under thatched roofs. I ordered a $23 Wiki Wiki cocktail. While I sipped at my glass mug of sugar, juice and rum, the drummer, guitar player and vocalist took turns singing the hits of the ‘90s…
The next day, Portland bartender Jeffrey Morgenthaler—who is the head judge of the San Francisco World Spirits Competition (the reason I was in San Francisco)— told me he had dined the previous night at Bix. This reminded me that I was currently in the same city as that retro cocktail lounge, which gives 1930s cinematic supper clubs a run for their money. I had last been there in 2014 when I was researching my modern cocktail revival history, A Proper Drink. I found Bix much unchanged. The coat check girl was eager to rid me of my burdens. The Martini glasses were chilling upturned in a silver punch bowl filled with crushed ice. The clientele was of another time, an era when the cocktail hour was an inveterate thing. I took a seat at the bar just in time; the stools around me quickly filled up. The menu told me the house Manhattan was a Perfect Manhattan; I had to order it out of curiosity. It was so good that I became suspicious. Sure enough, the bartender told me the dry vermouth quotient was minimal, far outweighed by the sweet, which was burly old Carpano Antica Formula. Might as well have been a dry vermouth rinse. As I settled up, a man next to me order a Dry Rob Roy (that is, a Rob Roy made with dry vermouth, not sweet). Only in a place like Bix would you encounter an order so simultaneously old school and oddball…
My next stop was a block away: Quince, as posh and exact a restaurant as you’re going to find in the scruffy North Beach neighborhood. You could cut your finger on the intentions of chef Michael Tusk, so meticulous are they. There I met Thad Vogler, the San Francisco cocktail eminence (Bar Agricole, Trou Normand, etc.), who oversees the cocktail program. If anyone reading this is missing Vogler’s excellent drinks since Bar Agricole closed, Quince should be your next destination…
We took possession of two of the four stools at the finely wrought bar, with its view of the verdant mural by Galatée Martin. There we worked our way through a few of the house cocktails and several more of the kitchen’s exquisite bites. These included Feuilles de Bric stuffed with lamb tartare; ebelskiver with smoked trout roe and cultured cream; Beet root spaghetti with caviar, smoked sturgeon and yuzu; and roasted Don Watson spring lamb. Eric Johnson, who has worked alongside Vogler for many years, was behind the bar…
I had been looking for a Mojito in this once Mojito-besotted town since my plane touched down. But I hadn’t found one until then. It came, of course, with a Vogler twist: It was a Mojito Criollo, made with gin, a throwback to the drink’s early days in Cuba. It was made with Vogler’s own Apex Gin. I also tried the Agave Daisy, a Margarita variation sweetened with grenadine and rhubarb juice, a vegetable now in season in San Francisco and seen on many menus. As the bites drew to a close, a trolley stacked with vintage amari rolled up. I selected an Amaro Jörghe, an Italian liqueur which I was told was akin to the German Underberg Bitters…
It was Friday night and the North Beach neighborhood was hopping as no San Francisco neighborhood was hopping. After Quince, I wandered indecisively along Columbus Avenue, eventually popping into City Light Booksellers. The depth of their fiction section matches few stores in the nation. I was pleased to see several volumes by the undersung novelist Dawn Powell. I left with one of them, even though I knew it would be a while until I got around to reading it. (The stack of books on my nightstand is tall.)…
After that, I wandered up Grant Street until I got to Greene and found Bar April Jean, which opened last summer. It’s named after the mothers of two of the owners. I saw no mothers there, but plenty of mother’s sons and daughters. The calm security man gave my ID a respectful glance. I ordered the drink the bar named after itself, the April Jean. This sort of namesake drink usually ends up being one of two things: an exceptional cocktail of which the bar is justly proud; or, more commonly, a rather unremarkable crowd pleaser. It was the latter in this case—a clarified milk punch made of tequila and Meyer lemon. I slowly finished my fancy Tom Collins while I marveled at the casually civilized revelries of the crowd…
I then left and headed down the street to the more adult attractions of the Comstock Saloon. Live jazz was playing. There was no bouncer. Nobody asked me if I had a reservation and plugged my phone number in to Resy. I had no trouble finding a seat at the bar, though the joint was pretty well filled. I ordered what the kids call an Adult Happy Meal: a dry Martini (made with the local Junipero gin) and an order of French fries. I looked down at the trough below my feet, a leftover from the Barbary Coast days. I glanced up at the metal fans that continually swirl and keep the room cool. The band played “(Up a) Lazy River,” a likable Hoagy Carmichael classic that doesn’t get much rotation anymore. I had all I needed. Spinning around on my stool, I scanned the contents of the glass cabinets on the wall opposite the bar. They were filled with old bottles of Amer Picon and Pimm’s and antique cocktail shakers and similar artifacts. It reminded of the fervent curiosity among the cocktail demimonde of 2010, the year Comstock opened. I miss that energy…
Following the final day of judging at the San Francisco International Spirits Competition, several judges repaired to Johnny Logan’s Irish House down the street for a pint of Guinness. Judge, cocktail writer and clear-ice high priest Camper English told me the massive Irish pub amounts to the competition’s unofficial post-work hangout. We then walked the few blocks to Bar Maritime on the second floor of the Palihotel San Francisco, just off Union Square. It only opened in January. Larry Piaskowy (True Laurel) heads up the cocktail program and chef George Dingle (Benu) is in charge of the kitchen. The butterflied crispy shrimp, coated in Old Bay panko, were about as good as anything I’ve had like that in the past…
As for the drinks, freezer Martinis and Old Pals were quickly ordered (are Old Pals becoming more popular lately?), as well as an original called All That Glitters, which I primarily ordered because it was sprinkled with flecks of gold. Otherwise, it was a clarified milk punch (every cocktail menu must have one!) with a coconut-infused Islay Scotch base. Camper ordered a Honey Melon Scruff Scruff, an improbable cocktail made of sweet-rice-washed vodka, Japanese whiskey, Midori, Jarritos lime and Amaro Montenegro. Somebody was cleaning out the liquor cabinet…
On the way back to the hotel, I passed John’s Grill on Ellis Street, as I have countless times of various trips to San Francisco. It’s been there since 1908. That’s just two years after the deadly earthquake and fire, for those counting by San Francisco Historical Time. It has one of those great old neon signs that the city is so good at preserving—signs that promise a meal that is either classic in its timelessness or well past its culinary relevance. I was hungry and decided to give it a chance. I took a seat at the end of the bar, just off the small, dark-wood, first-floor dining room, and ordered a Manhattan and a petite filet with baked potato and veggies. Many old joints in San Francisco have a literary connection and John’s is Dashiell Hammett. His picture hung over the bar. In his novel, The Maltese Falcon, detective Sam Spade stops in John’s for lamb chops, baked potato and slice tomato. That exact dish is on the menu, for the princely sum of $49.95, but I didn’t order it. I was never much of a lamb guy. Mint jelly makes my skin crawl…
As my Manhattan was reaching its finish, the young Irish bartender turned to me and said, “You want a Chocolate Baileys? Everyone’s having them. It’s on the house.” I glanced along the bar. Sure enough, everyone had a Chocolate Baileys. I thought of Kasper Gutman, the chief villain in The Maltese Falcon, who said, “I distrust a man that says when. If he's got to be careful not to drink too much it's because he's not to be trusted when he does.” Who was I to buck the Baileys party? The bartender placed a rocks glass full of murky cream-colored liquid and ice in front of me. “Let that cool down a bit,” he said. I did. Had Chocolate Baileys been entered in the competition? Had it medaled? Would Hammett drink it? Would Sam Spade? I took a sip.
Until next time, Salute!
On a Toot! San Francisco 2025 Guide
True Laurel, 753 Alabama St., San Francisco, (415) 341-0020.
Trick Dog, 3010 20th St., (415) 471-2999.
Tonga Room, 950 Mason St., (415) 772 5000.
Bix, 56 Gold St., (415) 433-6300.
Quince, 470 Pacific Ave., (415) 775-8500.
Bar April Jean, 1371 Grant Ave.
Comstock Saloon, 155 Columbus Ave, (415) 617-0071.
Johnny Logan’s Irish House, 243 O'Farrell St., (415) 954-0777.
Bar Martime, 417 Stockton St., (415) 376-7679.
John’s Grill, 63 Ellis St., (415) 986-0069.
Bar Regulars:
Quick reminder that the upcoming Bar Regulars Mixer is happening on Saturday, May 10 - don’t forget to RSVP to marykatemurray@me.com!!
In the further adventures of my FOMC (fear of missing cocktails) - Robert reports on his trip to San Francisco! 🤣
OK, you were clearly riffing on the hard-boiled detective genre, and doing it well - so when do we get the video series of Robert Simonson: Ace Drink Detective and Gastronomic Gumshoe? With the fedora, natch!