The Epic Quest For Chinese Whiskey

"The whole object of travel is not to set foot on foreign land; it is at last to set foot on one's own country as a foreign land." -G.K. Chesterton

Chinatown

Happy Holidays! As the year comes to an end, it is difficult not to get sentimental. 2013 was a big year, full of adventures and struggles, but mainly a year of gaining trust. I've always been somewhat of a solitary person, and though I think that has helped me grow as an artist and fostered my independence, I realized that friends and family are really important elements for healthy living. And who better to celebrate a beautiful city, great food and even better wine with, than with those I love? 

In celebration of this year's holiday season, Isabelle and I hit the streets in search of presents. This week's adventure: The Epic Quest for Chinese Whiskey.

To begin the day, we met under the bright sun at the end of the cable car line, Powell and Market. It was Isabelle's first time on the historic cable car, and we risked limbs and phones for great photos. 

Isabelle on her first cable car ride.

The View.

Having begun their first run in 1873, and being named a historic monument in 1964, I doubt much has changed with these dinosaurs of transportation. They still lumber through the streets, stopping in the center of intersections, honking at each other in solidarity. And though most San Franciscans wouldn't be caught dead riding the cars, I find them to be exceptional emblems; the quickest and easiest reminder of this city's history.

We took the Hyde line up to Bay Street where we slowly began our journey through North Beach and on down to Chinatown. 

Despite it being December, it was a cool 67˚F, and we were irritated at the jackets and scarves we were cursed to carry: the non-curse of living in the most beautiful city in the world.

Sts. Peter and Paul

We took a quick break in Washington Park, careful not to linger too long- the allure of drinking champagne on the park bench was almost too great for us. Still, a quick note about the church Saints Peter and Paul, 666 Filbert Street, ca 1924. Back in the day, this church was built as an intended replica of the Duomo in Orvieto, Italy. Having seen the Duomo on a very rainy day, it's difficult to find the similarities. Though the church was planned to have its facade mosaicked, it's been (for better or worse) left blank.

What travel books won't tell you is that my kitchen manager once worked in an office in Chinatown. One day this man broke in, waving a weapon. Having chased him out of the building, security kept in hot pursuit until the police would arrive. The man ran directly for the church. At the time, they were doing work on the bell towers, and had scaffolding surrounding the exterior. The man started climbing. He made it all the way to the bell tower before the police were able to apprehend him.

Orvieto

Walking down Columbus street, we ducked into various shops, including Buyer's Best Friend Mercato, a new artisanal food shop. Their motto: eat everything. Our guide pulled out compost-able tasting spoons and we tried everything from salted caramel to an unusual combination of Meyer lemon curd and white balsamic vinegar. Delicious!

Feeling thirsty from all of our sampling, we decided to step into Vesuvio, across the Jack Kerouac Alley from City Lights Books. 

When I first was moving to the city from Portland, Oregon, I had a lunch date. Having scoured the neighborhood for restaurants, we finally settled on this little French bistro across the street. The facade of Vesuvio immediately caught my eye as having a rather eclectic exterior. I noticed that there were words scribbled above the door: "We are itching to get away from Portland Oregon."  I took that as a great sign.

(A note about that quote: according to old postcards from Henry Lenoir, there had been a major flea infestation in Portland near the end of the 19th century. Get it? Itching... )

Original Painting by Shawn O'Shaughnessy, overlooking Jack Kerouac Alley.

A little about the history of Vesuvio: An old haunt of the beats, Henry Lenoir (the owner) decided to market on the craze. He sold beatnik kits, which included berets, sandals, black turtlenecks, black-rimmed glasses and fake beards. Sadly, they are no longer available. But I'm pretty sure you can find a fake mustache anywhere.

It's an exquisite building and a required stopping point for anyone in the neighborhood. When that door closes behind you, time seems to stop. 

Built on the ground floor of the Cavalli Building in 1913, it conveys the beautiful Italian Renaissance Revival style, and is covered with murals by Shawn O'Shaughnessy. 

Vesuvio, interior.

(A note about Shawn O'Shaughnessy: you can see another major work of his along the shore of Ocean Beach. There is a long cement curving wall that separates the sand from the pedestrian path. He created this back in 1929 and he built it so deep beneath the sand, that to replace it now would cost roughly $5000 per linear foot. Today, it's covered in lovely graffiti, a beautiful personal counterpart to the never-ending, impersonal ocean.)

Though the bar tends to cater to the history-buffs, with it's cement 86-ed list (where the names of all those black-listed is carved) to the impressive list of vagabonds, hooligans and famous beatnik patrons, Isabelle and I felt quite at home, ordering a few pints and grabbing a table upstairs. 

Replenished, we decided it was time to begin the quest for the whiskey.  A few weeks back, when the four of us had gone to Li Po Lounge for their famous Mai Tais, Spencer became fixated on finding a small bottle of the Chinese Whiskey. Thinking this was going to be a very easy Christmas present, we started looking for liquor stores. Whatever your suspicions may be, there are absolutely little-to-no liquor stores in all of Chinatown! We zigged, we zagged, we walked backwards, we went into stores that had stores inside them. Finally, after a good hour or so, we did find a little smoke shop. Behind the counter were those tiny airplane size bottles of booze. I pointed to the only one not in English. "$32 for you." $32 for 2 ounces of alcohol??? You've got to be kidding me! 

Resuming the search, we wandered down Waverly Place, through alleys, back out to North Beach, and then to downtown. Finally, we found a bar. I asked the bartender and she pointed us ten blocks away, in the same direction we had come. Ironically enough, four doors down from Vesuvio was a liquor store, and sure enough, they had an entire wall of Chinese Whiskey. 

Exhausted, we decided we needed another pick-me-up. This time, it was a glass of Prosecco and a Panini at Francis Ford Coppola's Zoetrope Cafe. 

The Sentinel/Zoetrope Building

Purchased in the 1970s by Coppala, the building undertook massive renovation and now houses the American Zoetrope movie studio, famous for it's production of Apocalypse Now, Bram Stoker's Dracula, George Lucas' American Graffiti, and films by Jean Luc Godard, Akira Kurosawa, and Godfrey Reggio.

Wasting Booze.

Rumor has it that Francis himself wrote the Godfather inside the Zoetrope building. Another legend has it that the caesar salad was created here, when one of the earlier restaurants was owned by the Caesar family, a profitable restaurant shut down by Prohibition. 

Loving Booze.

I could take a moment to regale you with the infamous stories of various tenants here, but why bother when all the text books have already done it? I will say that personally, I find something so breathtaking in the aged bronze, that cool and austere green, the giant revolving door that could easily usher in three people at a time, not to mention the sheer charm of sampling good snacks and great wine in a triangular cafe. I have been here many times, and never for more than a quick snack, and every time, it's been worth it. 

The building itself, a Beaux-Arts flatiron, was begun before the 1906 earthquake, and it straddles North Beach, the Financial District and Chinatown. It is San Francisco's designated landmark number 33.

The Sentinel surviving the 1906 Earthquake.

(more on this artistic movement, later)

North Beach is one of my favorite neighborhoods in San Francisco. Though it can be a bit overwhelming navigating through the never-ending crowds of tourists, it's absolutely worth it, especially on a Monday afternoon. And in the spirit of the Italian immigrants who helped make it what it is today, and a nod to the Beats who helped keep the Bohemian spirit alive, I raise my glass: a happy holiday Cheer to you. May each day be a great adventure with great company.

Your Adventurers.