Stopped off at Tosca after work yesterday for an early evening whistle wetting and was reminded once again how lovely a spot it is. Something about the red patent booths and the long wooden bar give it that air of timelessness I crave in watering holes. The white-jacketed bartenders don’t give a damn about talking to you and have yet to interrupt my reading for any reason, not even to ask if I want another drink. All in all, its one of those spots that makes you glad you live in San Francisco.
Breathless? Next time you’re in North Beach wondering where to cool your heels away from the throngs crowding Columbus, duck into Tosca. Its well worth the slightly inflated price of a drink (or two) and the jukebox carries only opera, jazz and sweet big band standards (and still takes quarters). There’s a phone booth in the corner which actually contains a telephone, though it only takes incoming calls. Plus, the bar sits a mere footfall away from my most favored Specs, just in case you feel like pulling double duty.