Mission District

Hot New Microhood: Missionary's Wharf

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

A few weeks back, tastr published a bold statement alleging 18th and Valencia was “the Wharf of the Mission.”  Naturally this accusation made me excited to the point of disorientation, as I adore sea lions and Hooters, but I've never spotted an aquatic mammal or Bubba Sparxxx purchasing narcotics from busty women along Valencia. Figuring there must be some justification for such a neighborhood-to-tourist-trap comparison, tastr followed up with an explanation:

Let’s get to the “wharf of the mission” question.  I had just come across an article on Eater that Monk’s Kettle was opening a fancier beer bar on Valencia between 17th and 18th and I couldn’t help but think that the “gourmet ghetto” on 18th was getting way out of character for the Mission.  My girlfriend has lived here for 14 years and she recalls the Mission during the dot com boom and how all these expensive restaurants opened in the Mission with total disregard for neighborhood’s character, it was a playground for the rich.  In comparison though, I was walking through the neighborhood during Carnaval and I was surprised to see all these Latino families stoop partying like I’d never seen before and I had this weird feeling about what was happening at 18th and Valencia.  Again, it’s becoming quite different from the rest of the Mission.  It’s very different from what the neighborhood was 20 years ago, and it’s getting similar to what happened during the dot com boom just over 10 years ago.  I mean come on, a fancier Monk’s Kettle?

I’m not all up-in-arms about it, but the area already has Bi-Rite, Delfina, Tartine, Bar Tartine, Luna Park, Commonwealth, and Locanda.  Coming soon is a fancy tequila bar by the Beretta people (which I’m excited about, I’m conflicted about this whole thing), Tacolicious (ugh) is opening a branch here.  That stupid Summit thing that’s just up the street.  I just don’t see that as representative of the neighborhood anymore, it’s for gastro-tourists. […]

That’s why the 18th & Valencia is the Wharf of the Mission.  Just like most people in San Francisco see the Wharf as some weird Disneyland that they only go to take their parents when they visit, I’m starting to feel the same way about that part of the Mission.  It’s not for people who live here anymore, it’s a place to take your parents when they come visit for a fancy dinner and expensive ice cream.  Perhaps it’s a tenuous argument, but when’s the tipping point?  When does that part of the neighborhood file for a name change with the realtors office?

Just sayin.

And when the tourists are done buying their morning buns, they all go watch the denizens lolling about on the green hills of Dolores, basking in the sun and barking at each other.

I love sea lions.

[tastr | photo by atomicjeep]

Check Out the Premiere of "Career Courier" and Drink All the PBR You Want

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

Mission Bikes is hosting the premiere of “Career Courier” Sunday evening [6:30 doors / 7:00 film] at The Woman's Building on 18th and Lapidge.  From Mission Bikes' blog:

Career Courier is a deeply personal portrait of 8 real people that have made a career out of bicycle delivery.  It's about risk, freedom, sacrifice, and love.

We'll be screening this new film and presenting “The Making Of” a short presentation by director Kenton Hoppas. Kenton filmed this documentary in 5 cities from coast to coast and will share with us his behind-the-scenes perspective.

Not only do you get to check out the film and rub elbows with the director, but you can apparently put back all the free PBR you want before and during the premiere.  Yessir, all that for 5 bucks if you buy tickets in advance at Mission Bikes' shop or $10 if you buy online or at the door.

"Is There Any Good Coffee Around Here?"

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

I found myself standing on the corner of 22nd and Valencia early on Saturday morning.  It was 7:30am and I was staring at the bright blue sky wondering what I ever did to deserve the torture of being up that early.  Suddenly, a hideously light blue BMW convertible [not pictured] pulled up next to me, breaking my meditative self-loathing.

A short, skinny bald man wearing a bluetooth emerged from behind the vehicle's tinted windows.  He was not bald in a menacing, skin-head way, but bald in the “I have nothing to show for my life other than my money” sort of way.  He leaned out the window and yelled in my general direction, “Excuse me, is there a Starbucks or any good coffee around here?”

Startled by the question, I figured I was being trolled by a friend and, in my head, quickly ran through everyone I knew and tried to recall if any of them recently aged 10 years and came into a lot of money. Nope, this man was actually asking if there was any good coffee around the Mission.  I let out a quick laugh, suggesting he was a fucking moron, pointed towards 16th and replied, “You should be able to find something in your price range along Valencia.”  With that, he thanked me and drove off.

For the following hour, I kept going over this troubling interaction in my head, which was a subject much more enjoyable to ponder than my insomnia.  In the four years I have spent in this town, I have been asked all sorts of things: “Where are the great murals around here?” “Where would you recommend I go for a burrito?” “What's the cheapest beer around?” But never once “is there a Starbucks or any good coffee around here?”  He didn't even ask “where's good coffee around here?” he specifically said “is there [..] any good coffee around here?,” suggesting the neighborhood might not even have a decent cup of joe for him to waste his money on.

I consulted my friend from Seattle on the matter and he blurted out one of his favorite sayings: “When it comes to coffee, San Francisco will always be Seattle's little retarded brother.”  Typically I'd tell someone denigrating the great city of San Francisco to eat a big bag of dicks, but maybe he has a point.  San Franciscans love to rep the city's coffee culture, but we don't even register on other people's radar.

[photo by Nick Kallen]

Previously on Uptown Almanac: 

Monday Night Fun

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

Kelly Kate hips us to a wholesome way to spend your Mondays:

Guess what bitch? It’s Monday. Time to roll down Mission Street blasting Diplo x Lil Jon Dubstep mixes while firing two tasers out the window as you pass the haters you almost got in a fight with milling around outside Beauty Bar post Krazy Mondays.

Welcome to San Francisco, bitch.

Damn, that looks way better than my usual Monday night activities of washing dishes and watching Glee reruns.

Clooney's is Certainly Getting A Lot of Press Lately

— By Kevin Montgomery (@kevinmonty) |

Between Isaac Fitzgerald's glowing writeup in The Bold Italic and this awful video from Thrillist (PRO VIDEO EDITING TIP FROM SOMEONE WITH ZERO VIDEO EDITING EXPERIENCE: if you're going to make a video as a way to sell a glorified coupon for comfort food, don't use shitty GarageBand track. Rather, put a 15-second title screen that reads “Grab Your Fucking Bong” and then play Soul Island by The Meters. It's sorta like Dark Side of the Moon and The Wizard of Oz, but with New Orleans funk and an a short made by an unpaid college intern), it appears that Clooney's and Clooney's-based restaurant The Galley are getting a fair bit of press.  Ordinarily this would be a good thing for a business, especially one like Clooney's and The Galley that don't seem to attract many customers after 4pm, but I just don't see Thrillist and Bold Italic readers embracing the place.

See, Clooney's is one of the few bars left in the Mission that you can go to on a weekend night and not leave the place wanting to move to a secluded cabin on the outskirts of Lincoln, Montana.  And for good reason. The bar's yellowing interior resembles the Hollywood set of a ghastly, Nebraska backwater dive which five road tripping youths enter before being dismembered with a dull butter knife. Quentin Tarantino's wet dream is to film a witty tête-à-tête between Steve Buscemi and a bewildered yokel in the back of the joint. It's just not the type of place that people who concern themselves with cutting-edge graphic design and saving a buck fifty at The Jelly Donut with the assistance of their $100-a-month iPhone get behind.

Then again, self-ascribed “foodies” in this town have surprised me in the past.  Bender's initial popularity could easily be traced back to its incredible Weird Fish Satellite (R.I.P.) and Mission Chinese Food always seems to have a wait despite Chronicle food critic/false prophet Michael Bauer saying it has “the best food served in the worst surroundings.”  Maybe The Galley will make it more than six months after all?

I went to Clooney's a few months back to see if The Galley could recapture the glory that was Bender's circa 2009.  When I got there, it quickly became apparently that the only thing on the menu I could eat was a PB&J for six bucks.  Six-fucking-bucks.  The only way you could get me to order a PB&J from a restaurant is if the sandwich possessed the ability to make me orgasm.  The cook told me it wouldn't make me orgasm, which I'm guessing is for sanitary reasons, so I didn't order any food.

I sat at the bar with my friends, looking at the taps trying to figure out what to order.  An old man from across the bar drunkenly yelled at me to order a “Working Man's Martini.”

In my five years of semi-professional alcohol consumption, I had never heard of such a beverage.  I pressed the geezer for more information.

“It's a pint of Busch with two olives dropped in it.”

It sounded like a con, but I ordered it anyway. Turned out to be delicious!

So I sat at the bar, drinking my “Working Man's Martini” and proceeded to listen to the old men harass the cooks at The Galley.

“What's the special today?,” asked a man no younger than 60.

The cook muttered something back with four or five adjectives that neither impressed the old men nor myself.

“Can I give you money right now to go to the Safeway, buy me a steak and potatoes, and cook that up?”

The cook muttered something back that was essentially “no.”

“Then what the fuck good are you for?,” and all the drunk old men laughed.

Local Sexual Predator Repurposes Molestation Van For Photography Business

— By Ed Stevenson |

I have been told to never judge a book by its cover, but this van strikes me as less of a utility to haul around photography equipment and more of the reason you legally have to introduce yourself to your neighbors. And just look at some of the haircuts Scary Larry has documented over the years:


Ahhh… the 80s, when the men looked like women and vaginas looked like they'd floss your teeth then kill you.

Any single ladies out there want to get married so we hire this 8-years-at-San Quentin-on-wheels to photograph the joyous occasion?

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