Cat-Boy Goes To Hollywood (by way of Russian Hill)

The Wedding Breakfast

I arrived in the City later than I had planned and determined that my first stop should be food related. I hopped on the 15 bus along with a Venezuelan tourist who was convinced he was going to get lost and headed towards North Beach. I got off at Columbus and walked across to O'Reilly's Pub for fuel.

There were a few regulars at the bar who seemed to think my order of a pot of tea and a shot of Bushmill's was a strange way to start breakfast. They were drinking beer, so I can see how it would seem odd. I really do like this place. It is a pub in the truest sense, with the regulars who come in for an eye-opener, the tourists wandering in from North Beach in search of something without garlic and neighboring business-owners popping in for a break.

The food is real pub food and yet it has that unmistakable California touch to it. I say that as a Californian and so, in my eyes, it's a good thing. They haven't crossed the line into California cliche, by adding Cilantro to the Irish stew or Avocados to a Mixed Grill; there's just a certain aesthetic that is decidedly Bay Area. I got bowl of oatmeal and a side of Irish bacon. Irish bacon--for those who don't know--is cut from a different part of the pig and has a higher ratio of meat to fat; in addition it is salt cured, but not smoked. The result is something closer to Pancetta or possibly Canadian-style bacon than American.

Irish (and Scottish) oatmeal is in a class all its own. Instead of oats that are rolled and cut into thin rounds, the whole oat is cut into pieces resembling broken rice. After it is cooked for a good forty minutes it becomes a creamy, nourishing and highly flavored oatmeal. Nothing at all like it on a chilly morning, particularly when eaten at a bar with whiskey-laced tea. I was just starting my oatmeal when I saw the bride.

I thought it was my imagination. Maybe it was just a really elaborate bathrobe; somehow a woman walking through the City in a pearl-trimmed bathrobe seemed less strange. But it wasn't a robe. A woman walked passed the open door of the pub at 11:30 AM on a Wednesday in a bridal gown. I fumbled with the snaps on my Timbuk 2 bag where moments before, I had imprisoned my camera. I kept looking out the door, expecting to see a group of bride's-maids in pursuit. By the time I had my camera out it was too late, she was gone. It sounds like a fish story. I know. If you don't believe me, call O'Reilly's and ask for Deirdre; she was at the bar that morning and she saw her too.

After my late breakfast, I started my mile walk up Telegraph Hill to Coit Tower. Walking a mile is nothing for me; I walk farther than that with my groceries a couple of times a week. Walking a mile up hill, is something else entirely. But I did it. And I only occasionally flipped off rich tourists flying passed me in their rented BMWs and Lexuses. I made it to the top of Telegraph Hill and stopped to take a few pictures of the views (and to let my heart-rate return to normal) before ascending the first of four stairways leading to Pioneer Park where Coit Tower is located. The stairs were like floating compared to that damn hike.

The first thing I saw when I walked through the trees of the natural landscape portion of Pioneer Park was one of those self-contained pay bathrooms. I was very excited, as I have never used one before. Imagine, getting to pay to pee. Now that's class. Not so much. It cost me a quarter and the bathroom smelled. How a bathroom that is supposed to wash itself can manage to smell like a litter box is a mystery, but it did.

The Gilded Lillie

In 1858, at the age of only 15, Lillie Hitchcock (Coit) became a San Francisco legend. On her way home from school, she saw the understaffed Knickerbocker Engine company No. Five's futile attempts to drag an engine up Telegraph Hill with ropes. She threw down her school books and grabbed the rope and started pulling along with them. She was a tiny thing, whose efforts were as futile as theirs, but it worked. Seeing a little girl helping, people on the street-who had up to that point, ignored the fire-fighters' dire situation-joined in and the engine made it up the hill to the fire.

Lillie was made an honorary member of the engine company. She became their mascot and a volunteer fire-fighter. She late married Howard Coit, a stockbroker and traveled the World, but always returned to her home in San Francisco. Clearly unconventional, she was known to walk around North Beach and Russian Hill wearing her fire helmet, smoking and hanging out in bars. She shocked local society when she disguised herself as a man and went camping (without her husband) with a group of men. When she died in 1929, she left one third of her wealth to the City, "to be expended in an appropriate manner for the purpose of adding to the beauty of the city which I have always loved."

In 1933 Coit Tower was dedicated to her and to the people of the San Francisco. The story goes that because of her affection for the fire-fighters, the tower was made to look like a fire hose nozzle. That's pure fiction. The site chosen for her monument was Pioneer Park, a rather small park at the top of Telegraph Hill. The only way to build was up, so a tower was the obvious choice. To refine the proportions and satisfy the Art Deco style of the day, the top of the tower was tapered, similar to the way a nozzle tapers, and so the legend began.

The base of the tower houses a rotunda that is covered in frescoed murals. The murals are scenes of California and Bay Area life and were painted in the Social Realism style. This naturally led to controversy. Despite the concern of a public building being decorated with "leftist" art, only one of the nineteen murals was changed; it had a banner at the top reading, "Workers of the world Unite."

The murals are really something to see. The only words I can think to use to describe them would be "saturated color." The colors are for the most part not bright and yet they are intense and bold. The style of the painting is true to frescoes, with brushstrokes and portions of the sketches underneath still visible. Of all the tourist type things to see in SFO, this is one that I would highly recommend to anyone who likes art.

A brief elevator ride, followed by two more flights of stairs, takes you the two hundred feet to the top of the tower and views of the Embarcadero, the Bay Bridge stretching towards the East Bay, The Golden Gate Bridge and downtown San Francisco.

An Uphill Battle

I exited Pioneer Park at the Lombard Street side and cheerfully walked down Telegraph Hill towards the so called "crookedest street in the world." The reason for the block between Hyde and Leavenworth being so twisted was practicality. The twists in the street reduce the 27 degree angle of the street making it easier to drive down. That's what the theory was in the 1920's, anyway.

I got a few blocks down and suddenly had a realization. The rest of the street is uphill. I knew that. But somehow I forgot. So I walked another mile at a 20 degree incline. After downing a bottle of water and a brief breather at the worst part, I made it to Leavenworth where the screwy block begins. What can I say? It's crooked. It's nicely landscaped. The houses are worth millions. I took a few pictures, including one of a cute tourist from Mexico (on her camera, thank you) and walked up the crooked block.

I'm Ready for my Close-up

Once at the top I turned on to Hyde, walked a few blocks and saw Swensen's ice cream. It's been around for ages and I have never eaten there so . . . I had their coffee ice cream which was quite nice. It wasn't extraordinary, but it was good home-made type ice cream. I walked a few more blocks, eating my ice cream and saw a couple hundred people standing around looking important while doing absolutely nothing. Of course! They were filming a movie.

A Farrelly Bros. film (working title- Seven Day Itch) starring Ben Stiller and Malin Akerman (Entourage, Harold and Kumar . . .). I walked passed a group of PAs and teamsters like I was supposed to be there and no one stopped me. But when I got to the craft services table, a security guard stopped me. Not for taking food; I still had my ice cream, what would I want with a muffin that Ben Stiller left teeth marks in?

I was stopped because the table was exactly opposite the area on the other side of the street where they were shooting. Outside a cafe called Luella, Stiller and Akerman were shouting at each other about a bike or something; she used the word "shit" repeatedly. I had to stand and wait for them to do it several times and then they broke because it was 30 seconds until the next Cable Car came down Hyde. One of the hazards of filming in the City apparently- you have to shoot around the ringing of the Cable Car bells.

When they stopped, I took out my camera and it was made clear to me that if I took any pictures, the security dude would take my ice cream. It wasn't worth it; I haven't seen anything Ben Stiller did in years anyway. I left and then had a nice chat with a member of security who was standing one block down; he told me I should have taken the pictures and ran. I continued on to until I got to Broadway.

The Kind of Thing You Think Only Happens to Other People

At the corner of Broadway and Polk is Nick's Crispy Tacos. It is one the most garish places I have ever seen in my life. Red shiny walls, red shag carpet on the ceiling (yes!), crystal chandeliers with pinatas hanging from them. And then it gets really tacky . . . Anyway, I ordered two tacos. One fish taco and one Carne Asada-Nick's way. Nick's way is a lightly fried tortilla wrapped around the filling with a warmed tortilla wrapped around that, it is also topped with Guacamole.

If you get them Nick's way, tell them to skip the Guacamole. It was either made the day before or it was out of a tub. This is Cali-friggin'-fornia! We have a nearly endless supply of glorious avocados and they ought not be screwed with. There is no excuse for bad Guacamole in California, end of story. Other than that, Nick's is a pretty decent enough American Mexican cheap taco joint.

After my avocado trauma, I bought some Altoids at a liquor store and started my mile and a half walk back to the downtown area where the BART stations are located. I made a few stops and detours along the way, the main one being to the Irish Castle shop. I used to go there somewhat regularly, but hadn't in years. I bought tea, marmalade and a baby outfit with little shamrocks all over it for a Baptism gift.

After that I hauled my tired ass to Bart and then home and made a great pot of tea and sat in my cozy new chair with John Morgan who has decided we can share. Isn't that nice of him? On the Twelfth of October, I go to Alcatraz, you can expect a report, the following week.

Have a good weekend.