Today is not the day for abstract thinking.
It’s not the day for thinking at all.
You’re probably still wearing a robe. Knocking sand out of your ears. Trying to get Kenny Chesney songs out of your head.
No. Today is simply the day you learn of the humble new bar that’ll be waiting for you at the end of it…
It’s called Brass Tacks, and it’s a come-as-you-damn-well-please watering hole with just enough bourbon-spiced almonds and cold beer to make it all okay again, now open in Hayes Valley.
You don’t need a reason to come here. It’s just a bar. It’s just a really smart-looking bar with leather banquettes, charcoal-colored walls and wood floors made from an old tobacco barn.
So, tonight. It’s as good a night as any to carve out a spot in the lounge area toward the back. It’s got a jukebox. It’s just past the long walnut bar and the chandelier that looks like a bunch of dangling icicles. Can’t miss it.
They’ve got eight beers on tap. Bunch of Belgian bottles. But opt for the On Her Majesty’s Secret Service instead. It’s got scotch, Bénédictine and amontillado in it.
And it’s a lot more fun to say than “beer.”