For my last birthday, MG and I ditched L.A. and flew up to Seattle for our very first visit. We had three days to cram in a lot of sight-seeing, but we managed to hit everything on our lists, including the top of the Space Needle, the aquarium, a harbor cruise, and yes… a gay piano bar, an insect museum and a bad-ass Henry the VIII puppet show featuring bloody beheadings, puppet blowjobs, and talking vaginas… in case you were wondering.
And of course, we spent a large chunk of a day exploring the Pike Place Market. It’s probably the biggest tourist attraction in the city, but one that’s actually worth every bit of accidental elbowing you may encounter. It’s been in operation since 1907 and sits on the corner of a very steep hill facing out to the Elliot Bay waterfront. Built into the Market are several lower levels with antique dealers, toy shops and eateries, but the star attraction is the street level itself. Endless food! Beautiful, aromatic, enticing food! I could have easily wandered around there from sun up to sun down. Plus, the day brought us just enough drizzle and ominous cloud cover to enhance the vibe without washing it away completely.
Here are some of the highlights from the day. I encourage you to click on the images below for hi-res versions where you can really soak up the color.
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Francis Joseph “Lefty” O’Doul was a home-grown San Franciscan who played for the New York Yankees, Boston Red Sox, as well as the New York Giants and went on to manage the local San Francisco Seals from 1937 to 1951. He is credited as being instrumental in spreading baseball’s popularity in Japan, serving as the sport’s goodwill ambassador before and after World War II. The Tokyo Giants, sometimes considered “Japan’s Baseball Team,” were named by him in 1935 in honor of his affiliation with his New York team.
Lefty opened his hometown restaurant and pub on Geary Street in 1958. The place is dark and woody, crowded with baseball memorabilia, and throngs of patrons who clearly feel at home and no doubt crowd the place on a regular basis.
The term “watering hole” may not have been invented for this place, but it certainly applies. Ask the guy next us at the bar who was about 3003 sheets to the wind (“I’m forty-fooour… of course next year I’m gonna be forty-threeeee…. I look pretty good for forty-nine, don’t IIIIIIIII?” And of course, this was at about 11:30 in the morning. The lengthy bar and comfy stools stand directly across from a steam tray line where cooks serve up hand-carved roast beef, ham and pastrami, filling the stomachs of the business district at lunchtime.
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Perhaps you’re actually old enough to remember and relish the era of Joltin’ Joe Dimaggio and his 1941 record hitting streak (56 consecutive games). Or perhaps you’re just someone, like me, who every so often imagines hopping into a time machine, slipping into a dark gray flannel suit, cuff links and fedora for an evening of decadent wine and Italian food surrounded by dark mahogany walls, high-backed leather booths, crystal chandeliers and Marilyn Monroe peering at you from across the room. Either way, if you’re in San Francisco, you’re bound to end up at Joe Dimaggio’s Italian Chophouse.
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The hard-boiled glamour-grit of Dashiell Hammett and Raymond Chandler is alive and kicking at San Francisco’s John’s Grill. What the 2009 John’s may be lacking in dangerous dames and Sidney Greenstreets it more than makes up for in décor, historical presence and old-style steakhouse charm. Customers who wander in are greeted by lines of wooden honky-tonk styled piano chairs, white linen tablecloths, paneled oak walls, and – at least until 2007 – a replica of the famed Maltese Falcon itself. John’s Grill has been helping to keep alive the American underbelly represented so masterfully by noir culture since the joint opened up over one hundred years ago.
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