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Bernie's
Serenader
504 Lake Park Ave., Oakland
Cocktails, Patio Bar, Live Band, Pool Table, Private Patio Parties
"Drink to me only with thine eyes"
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A particular friend of mine whose neat, assured, Harvey-Milk style of
carefree living was blown West from the chilly climes of a Michigan
farmyard about seven years ago, has been known to berate the condition
of San Francisco: a city besieged by more dot coms than The Tenderloin
has basketcases. Whereas once you could travel the city's municipal
highways and byways observing such eclectic delights as pet iguanas
nestling upon crusty Marin water-rat shoulders, nowadays it is the incessant
bleeping of mobile phone networks that keep you from your Chronicle
crossword.
Now I have traveled east towards the powerhouse of righteousness, the
mighty Oakland, I am beginning to understand from a distance exactly
what my friend means. And so I invited her over for a holiday weekend
to the city with a lake bluer than Switzerland chocolate wrappers, and
I'd advise any caffeine-jerked workaholic from the Castro to Potrero
Hill to do the same.
More precisely, from the dense, city-manhole smog to a picnic around
Lake Merritt, from the amply stocked Albertsons' wine menu to my Ivy
Drive front room. And from there, my friends, to The Serenader. Now
politics notwithstanding, this Monday-Karaoke, Saturday-band and thigh-slapping
tomfoolery kind of jaunt isn't the kind of place you'd drive by in a
pick-up and just "have to" investigate, but if you do it'll be one hell
of an entertainment.
Make it a Saturday, why don't you? Arrive about eleven when the place
is packed with black men, who’ve started their night of drinking long
before you arrived, and the six-man outfit is jazzing away at so many
heart-wrenching 60s soul numbers you think the effervescence in your
cherry coke and whiskey is going to pop out of the planet.
Then move into the back garden. And what a garden - Eden in March, a
lemon tree in fairy lights, couples sitting around oak benches whistling,
talking in dulcet voices like this was Kingston Town goddamn it. There's
me and my Jewish mate in the thick of it all – like it was some package
holiday to Nairobi...
Bernie's Serenader is not up there on the cool stakes if you're talking
Bauhaus back numbers, Industrial Wench clubs and pointy tight winkle-pickers
but if SF is getting too much grit up the bum--'pass me the smelling
salts Mildred'-y-- then give yourself a break. The drinks are cheap,
the crowd is black and homey and there's plenty of astrological chit-chat
to be had over several sea breezes. Go knock yourself out-- and drop
by Ivy Drive
afterwards. Us Oaklanders are always up for a party.
Jessica Yorke
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