By Anisse Gross
When I first moved to San Francisco, I had the great fortune of landing in North Beach, where my sisters were living. They rented me the sun-room of their apartment, in a building that had survived the 1906 earthquake. I remember walking through Washington Square park across the street from my apartment, my eyes welling up with tears at this slice of heaven I’d found. I’ve been in love ever since. My sisters are long gone, but I’ve been here 10 years now. That sun-room is where I work each day – I look out onto the bay and watch the cargo ships come in, and at night the light from Alcatraz spins around my bedroom walls. While some people have a misconception of North Beach as the home of frat-centric bar crawls, there’s a much quieter, persistent, romantic version of the neighborhood that’s closer to the everyday truth. During the days it’s like living in a small European village. A late-morning cappuccino, some biscotti, and a stroll past the shops of Grant Avenue as the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill fly overhead all add up to a pretty postcard of a life.
Sure, parking is hard, no one wants to visit you, tour buses jam the streets, and on Saturday night you can hear bros belting out “We Are the Champions” as you try to sleep. But living in North Beach guarantees you a perfect little enclave, where you can appreciate San Francisco history while daydreaming that you actually live in Europe. I don’t have a clock; instead I keep time by listening to the church bells ring. I don’t have a nightlight; Coit Tower’s illuminated lights shine like a beacon. I don’t have pets; the wild parrots are all I need.
With its mix of old-timers and tourists, it’s a place where I can feel part of a real neighborhood steeped in history and also revel in the glory of anonymity.
Here’s a stroll through some of my favorite North Beach gems, the places that are the fixtures of my life and the places where I take loved ones.
In the mornings this is my go-to café. It’s rich in history – Coppola wrote The Godfather screenplay here. The mostly charming, sometimes-gruff baristas know my order, and it’s a great mix of tourists and older men. You can play opera music from the jukebox, and occasionally Jack Hirschman will be selling the People’s Tribune with milk dripping from his moustache. Here people still read actual printed newspapers; it’s the best place for spotting the last of the beatniks swapping tales.
Once my friends chipped in to buy a friend a custom-made suit from Al’s. I can tell you that it wasn’t cheap, but it was worth it. Al’s has the best coats, and I have a coat fetish. They also have an adorable dog with a retinal eye problem that makes him permanently look like he’s been out all night drinking. This is the place to get a custom anything. Also, Al is the best-dressed person in San Francisco.
I don’t go to church, but I do frequent this holy trinity of bars: Specs’, Vesuvio, and Tosca. Each of these bars is a stumbling distance from the other on Columbus Avenue. Vesuvio is a great place to catch up with friends or have a romantic date in my favorite corner, which is adorned with a sign that reads “Booth for Lady Psychiatrists.” Despite a handful of old-timers grumbling that it’s changed, Tosca is still a supremely elegant place for a cocktail and now has boss food. And Specs’ is for real drinkers, a great place to end a night you might regret, but never do.
In the morning this park is dominated by dog walkers and Chinese women doing aerobics. I’m a bench lingerer and a people watcher, and this is a great place for both. In the middle of the park is a time capsule buried at the base of a statue of Benjamin Franklin. It’s the same statue that’s featured on the cover of Richard Brautigan’s seminal book Trout Fishing in America. On sunny days you can see people picnicking and reading on blankets. It’s like a smaller, quieter, less edgy, clothing-required version of Dolores Park.
City Lights is not just a bookstore, but an institution. I come here to browse the staff picks, read in the poetry room upstairs, and go to great events. City Lights also publishes so many great books, and I’ve seen legends read here. Hand-painted signs encourage you to hang out and read; and most importantly, they’re open until midnight. City Lights celebrated its 60th anniversary this year, and I can’t wait to be there when it rings in its 100th.
Near my house are two side-by-side establishments that are smaller than a San Francisco studio. The first is Petite Deli, owned and operated by Mrs. Young, the most adorable Korean lady of all time. Twice as nice as your own grandma, she will delight you with her sandwiches and her angelic personality. Next door is XOX Truffles. For my money these are the best truffles I’ve ever had. To boot, the owner, Jean-Marc, is très French. And when you purchase a coffee, you get a free truffle, which is a problem for me, because now I have a chocolate-for-breakfast habit that has supremely spoiled me.
There’s so much more I love in the neighborhood: Coit Tower, the alleyways, the ghosts of beatniks past, the views of the ocean and the hills, sipping beer outside at Mario’s Bohemian Cigar Store, eating greasy slices from Golden Boy…I could go on, but it’s best to try North Beach out for yourself. I suggest a weekday afternoon or a Sunday. Come see what the quiet life is like. Maybe you’ll see me scribbling away in the corner of some café, slowly inching toward my dream of being an old-timer in the neighborhood I’ve come to call home.