2241 Chestnut ~ (415) 931-8529

4:30pm Saturday 26 January 2008

Prologue: ‘Aye, another Irish pub. This town is riddled with them, apparently. Hell, I just celebrated Martin Luther King, Jr. day in one (not on our list) with Nora Charles (the pre-cocktail hour cocktails actually being her idea — brilliant Irish lass that she is). Well, let’s see how this one compares, shall we? Come and weigh in on whether or not “The Bars That Are Irish Pubs” ought to be a feature The Hostess tracks for you. Just please try not to fall off your bar stool in shock: I’ve switched to Manhattans for duration of this frosty cold spell … (at least until I can find a bartender who knows how to make a Sazerac without asking me what is in one, although it suddenly occurs to me that Michael might be just such a bartender — and he works not that far from Delaney’s — should their own bartenders fail to satisfy this Sazerac Attack by which I have been quite, if inexplicably, seized recently). And speaking of brown-hued drinks, The Hostess has finally come across a “w—pedia” version she can actually endorse. I’m reserving the right to be skeptical as to the site’s authoritativeness, but I applaud their concept. Enjoy!

Ms Olive Says:
January 25, 2008 at 3:31 am edit

  1. Ugh! I am going to Blackwells to taste wines from the Rhone! Can’t we make it Sunday? Sorry i don’t mean to winnnne but somebody has got to leave some comments.

Unfortunately, no, Ms Olive. The Hostess has to go investigate a new San Francisco live music venue on Sunday with her tragically un-hip, smooth-jazz friends. (Someone has to go along to add some semblance of classiness to this jaunt!) Enjoy your wine-tasting, though, dear. I’ll make sure the Barflies intrepid enough to brave the downpour (& the Marina zip code) on Saturday drink a toast to you…

Afterword:  Wow.  As a fine fellow named Dave who spends a lot of time at Delaney’s Bar pointed out, it’s a very un-Marina Bar that just happens to be located smack dab in the middle of the Marina.  We got ourselves a new Barfly (hi, Malvolio!).  There was much merriment and copious drinking.  There was free popcorn.  And then The Hostess noticed the brass pole inexplicably extending from the floor to the ceiling at a corner opposite the bar.  If you weren’t there, you’ll just have to wait to hear exactly what happened next, but if you are among those who have heard the rumor about The Hostess’ days as a certain kind of dancer in Tucson, you can probably guess what ensued …

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