Specs' Twelve Adler Museum Cafe
San Francisco
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I have been coming here for over thirty years. And . . . it . . . hasn’t . . . changed. Well, they take cards these days. Otherwise, not much. The floor still flexes when you go back to the Hostel-style bathrooms (where privacy is a foolish notion and sanitation is an open question). I continue to find some nook or cranny that holds yet another fascinating item I never saw before (or, perhaps, forgot about). Come for the reasonably-poured drinks, friendly conversation, great people watching, and stay for the Saltines and cheese?!?! Yep. It just works. I get the connection to Vesuvio. But I find that place to often be overly packed and often annoying (not the place, but the tourists who flock in after doing the requisite alley pictures and bookstore noodling). When you can go there and it is not packed? The slightly more affected kissing cousin to Specs’. But, if forced, I will always choose Specs’, even if it, too, can become a humid mess of humanity at peak hours on warmer days. Thing is, it seems to save itself by being tucked away in that little half-alley. Almost like a force-field. I still have a matchbook that says “Takes No Guff.” I still miss the regulars, now passed, who used to occupy the same seat every time I would infrequently visit, and who would regale you with tales of the old days. But the building feels like it still retains those things in trace form. So, while every visit is a new experience, there is still something that reminds me why I came here the first time, years ago. That’s reason enough for me to already be planning to come back again the next time I am in town. A rare instance where an ‘institution’ deserves the moniker, likely in multiple senses.
We just ducked in here to get away from the cold. I had a great old fashioned here that was quick but perfectly done jack daniels mix. It was just a quick drink but the atmosphere was so good and friendly. The patrons were all ages and did not make old me feel out of place. It was fun.
A true Beat dive bar, they used to call it “crossing the river” from Vesuvio to the this place. Don’t come here if you’re looking to be coddled. That’s part of the charm.
