The Uptown

200 Capp

Tel: 415-861-8231

Dive bars. Who doesn't love them?

Yes, pathetic posers and twelve-step junkies don't love dives, but they don't count as real people. Real people dive and they love it.

Actually, I think my feelings about dives would be better expressed through the following poem:

I like dives because the patrons are scary,the bartender is surly, and the air is stinky.

But mostly because pushy waitresses never offer test-tubed drinks with names like "purple hooter" and "squirrelly pinky."

The Uptown is a classic dive experience, which begins with an entrance that looks so much like a private speak easy-type club, one might be tempted to knock on the door and give out a secret password to a burly doorman. "Skin Cheese!" I would advise one against any such action, however, since the Uptown doesn't have a doorman and it would make one look pretty silly.

Inside the bar, divers can find everything their dingy hearts desire: a pool table, a well-stocked juke box (lots of Dylan, Morphine, Leonard Cohen, Otis, Prince, Roxy Music, Van Morrisson, Ella, Thelonius), a dark and seedy makeout corner, and ashtrays on the bar. (I'm not saying the Uptown allows smoking--wink wink-- I'm just saying they never got rid of the ashtrays). There are also plenty of dogs--I'm talking about the kind that beg for scraps and make you want to throw a frisbee for them, not the kind that beg for drinks and make you want to give them a fake number.

More importantly, the Uptown has an impressive selection of fifteen, count them, fifteen beers on tap, including the requisites: Seirra Nevada, Bass, Harp, and Guinness. My Guinness expert, Paddy O'Lushly, gave the Guinness 3 1/2 shamrocks out of five. Not bad.

By the way, all of the drought beer is three dollars a pint. Even better. But if you've got a taste for something stronger, the bartenders, who are more perky than surly, mix a mean drink and they ain't stingy with the booze, baby!

My favorite thing about the Uptown is that you can sit on a barstool with a big three dollar beer in front of you, a dog at your feet, and a 20 year regular named Chuck might sit next to you and tell you where to find the best beaches, nude or otherwise, and how to get a nitrous tank for your next party. Classic.

Melinda Whitehouse

Reproduction of material from posthoc is prohibited without written permission.

Copyright 2001, Posthoc, Inc.