I clutch at all remnants of normalcy these days. Events as formerly pedestrian as drinking a weeknight pint of beer at my favorite neighborhood bar have become exceedingly rare, and all the more special for it. When they do happen, those moments help punctuate the fluidity of time, and briefly stall its muddy flow.
I don’t need to tell you that. You already know it. This is a shared purgatory we’ve been living in, you and I.
Friend, I recently found deliverance. Or rather, it found me: A post in a Facebook group announced a wooden double patio was being constructed at Toronado, the legendary San Francisco beer bar. A carpenter changed the course of my day, week, month. The famed Dutch door was open again, at least proverbially. I dropped everything, ran to Haight Street, ordered an IPA, and sat at a table six feet from a lilac pit bull named McCovey. She grinned at me. I returned the sentiment.
Businesses are closing across the country. Two local breweries are among them, and more will inevitably follow. An exodus of fair-weather, fortune-seeking Millennials is underway across the city, too. The scenery, the players, the milieu are all changing. I don’t know what San Francisco will look like when this ends.
But I do know this: for now, at least, Toronado endures. And even outside its threshold, looking at its Marian blue wall, some things are familiar. The beer is still good. Coasters abound. And just like before, the old rules still apply: pay in cash only, and don’t be a dick.
