Pretending to Drink Illegally

Bourbon and Branch
501 Jones St, San Francisco, CA

So speaking of poor property retention skills, I've gone and lost my driver's license. Shocking.

Last night we were out on the town with the Anderson/Shea clan and I had to pull some fast ones not to slow up the show. You know, bat the eyelashes, talk real fast and swish through the bar door before the bouncer knows what hit him. Bonus points if I mention I'm from Oregon!

In light of my situation's illegalities, I suppose it was only right that we wound up at a speakeasy. Back in the 1920's, Prohibition San Francisco was a den of inequity, and one of the old haunts where the Bay came to play has been converted back to it's roots, into a swish downtown night spot on the corner of Jones and O'Farrell named Bourbon & Branch. "Speak-easy," for those of you keeping track, was bartenders' admonition to indiscreet boozers. Keep it under your hat bro, on the down low.

Us being new to town, we thought we were slick for finding out about the place. There was a odd swarm of police at the Jones Street entrance when we rocked up, but we were quietly informed that "the Library" was at the back.

We dropped the secret password (shhhh, it's "books") and stepped out into the coolest room ever. Bourbon and Branch looks like how I envision my life to be when I'm buying vintage clothes. There's red velvet patterned wallpaper, the ceilings are shiny stamped metal, all the bartenders (men) are wearing bowler hats and shaking drinks into highball glasses. The Library (which is just one of the bar's rooms, the most "selective" I guess) walls are lined with bookshelves that every once in awhile will swing open and become doors to other rooms, which have secret doors to other rooms themselves, each lovingly attended by an appropriately retro employee.

Cocktails were of the old-fashioned persuasion, gimlets and ginger beer. Looking lovely but at $11, you know I didn't try a single one, current financial situations being a bitch to launch a food and drink writing career on. But it's all good, because I had my first Anchor Steams since coming back to the Bay ($5). Also joining us was Delirium Tremens, a Belgium beer which is my all time favorite based purely on it's name and label ($10):

Pink elephants! Strutting crocs! Only in Ghent...

B & B rocks, in a totally hidden, underground way. Kind of. It's hard to suspend your belief in the conceit after viewing the bar's website, where the "secret" password is prominently displayed alongside hokey 'House Rules.' Aw, applesauce!

But gimmick though it may be, it's a gimmick done well. The Library was packed, but a cute redheaded bar runner took pity on our boothless state and escorted us through some secret passages to another, nearly empty room where we chilled on red velvet love seats and spied on Jones Street degenerates and millionaires and millionaire degenerates through peepholes in the thick wooden doors. The music is Billie Holiday, Ella Fitzgerald style jams of the highest order and at a certain point when we were sitting there, Andrew pulled up suddenly on the latch of a hidden trap door that had probably been there since the heydays of our grandparents.

I'll be back. Next time I'm wearing a dress. And bringing my date a fedora. And maybe eleven dollars.

No Jive,

Caitlin