Bar Crawl

April is doing some work for a travel guide, so we went to check out a bunch of high-end bars. You know, the kind of bars I'd be afraid to go into usually, because even if they are really splendiferous, the people in them would suck big donkey balls. And I don't need another cool SF place spoiled by fratboy hellspawn.

We were going to dinner at Town Hall first, so I ducked into Harlot. Bars like Harlot are not built for happy hours, especially on one of those SF nights where it's hot enough to wear short-sleeves. Also, Harlot is as black as your hairstylist's dye job or a goth girl's fingernails, only it's that kind of shiny black that gives black a bad name. Black shouldn't be slick. Black should be scary. Not yuppie scary, but Halloween scary.

Anyhoo, Town Hall was good, almost great. And afterwards we walked to Bourbon & Branch, password in hand. Now, I'd been doubtful about this place, because of the yuppie fucks who flock there and the ridiculous drink prices. Turns out, B&B is awesome (if ridiculously expensive, but hey the travel guide was paying). First of all, the whole speakeasy thing is cool without being annoying. The only sign outside says "Anti-Saloon League," and you have to go online to get a password and a reservation. Inside, it's the right kind of dark -- plush and sultry and shadowed, kind of like Anne Rice's vagina. They play old scratchy jazz and give you free drinks to start off and wow was my $14 bourbon cocktail some kind of amazing. Plus, there's a library that you enter through a fake bookcase.

Nothing was going to live up to Bourbon & Branch. Certainly not the Redwood Room at the Clift, even if they still have those creepy digital image "paintings" that seem to follow you when you move. The drinks were even more expensive than B&B, without all the cool atmosphere. That said, the giant chair in the foyer never fails.


Next, the Ambassador, owned by those dudes that throw parties for Paris Hilton and shit. It was totally empty, which meant we could sit in one of the leather booths with the phone built in (you can't call Australia, we tried). Drinks were eh and oddly they had no whiskey specials, which means it must be a Cosmo crowd. Oh yeah, they were playing some neo-soul music that white guys put on the stereo when they want to have sexy time.

Swig had a private party when we passed it, which meant we didn't have to go in, which was excellent because it looked like hell on earth or at least in the Marina. I do like the big open window though.

Let's see, Olive was Olive. Vessel is like an LA club mixed with a terrarium -- lots of different levels to sit at and everything was sparkly and I kept hitting my knees on things. Also, it's got those bizarre shared bathroom stalls where everyone uses the same sinks, and tables with speakers in them. The crowd was a weird mix of Blow Up kids and Walnut Creek hoochie types. I like the potted plant, though.

Finally, Otis. There were only two customers at 11:30, but the DJ was extremely happy and friendly. I'm not sure which is a better indicator of the plummeting economy: that Otis is empty or that LA Girls closed down.