San Francisco’s Financial District is home to some of the best St. Patrick’s Day parties in the city. The Irish Bank, located just of Post and Kearny hosts a yearly block party in which the bar and restaurant shuts down their alley and invites bar-goers to join them in live Irish music, and a lot of drinking.
Just around the corner from the Irish Bank is Murphy’s pub, which hosts a similar party, though on a smaller scale, and without a $10 cover charge.
While St. Patrick’s Day fell on a Sunday this year, San Francisco still held its parade on Saturday, and Financial District bars kept the parties going from Friday through Sunday night.
Martin at The Bashful Bull before a long day of drinking.
My old roommate, Martin Paul and I, started off our day at the Bashful Bull Too, a diner in the Outer Sunset, on Taraval. We prepared our stomachs with double bacon cheeseburgers, fries and enough grease to coat the inner linings of our intestines to protect ourselves from the violent drinking and likely vomiting, that was soon to ensue.
Pints of Guinness Make You Stronger
We took MUNI to Montgomery station around 1:00 p.m., to ensure that we could get an early start. On the train, we made it a point to learn the Irish Drinking song from Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, and after a bit of practice, we went and grabbed a seat in the back of Murphy’s, grabbed some Guinness, opened a tab and made some friends.
A busboy, who was less than enthusiastic about the drunken crowd.
Soon after making friends with the groups around us, a middle-aged man named Rick grabbed a seat with us and hung out for a bit. He told us all about his 1973 journey of hitchhiking from Ohio to Seattle, and then down the 101 freeway into Ensenata, Mexico. During the journey he spent some time with all kinds of interesting folk, including doing a small amount of time in jail for Marijuana charges in Pecos, Texas.
He had a bit to drink, but he stressed to Martin and I the importance of adventure and the thrill of sometimes just “going along for the ride, whatever way the wind takes you,” and never looking back.
In turn, we taught him the Green Dragon drinking song, and after a few more beers he was on his way.
The bar at Murphy’s
Meanwhile, as our tab was furiously racking up, the inside of Murphy’s pub was packed and as the night progressed, the crowd was becoming increasingly entertaining- for some.
Sonya, a bartender at Murphy’s was not in the best mood, because as she said, they “weren’t making any tips” because “the same people” had been drinking all day and “they were running out of money.”
I promised her a gracious tip, and in return she gave me two free shots of Jameson Irish Whiskey, which to those who don’t indulge in the sport of drinking, is the equivalent of drinking acetone that has been aged a hundred years in an oak cask, and then filtered through the engine of a 1964 Mustang. It burns going down and as most come to find out, it burns coming up as well.
So Martin and I went back out to the patio, took our shots of Jameson, and chased them with new pints of Guinness and a few cigarettes.
Jake, ready to join in on our drinking binge.
We randomly ran into Jake Wobig, a friend from my work, who grabbed a seat with us and joined in on the drinking. He was meeting his boyfriend at the Irish Bank a few hours later, but had some time to kill before his boyfriend got off work. To our surprise though, he did not immediately go into Murphy’s to buy a drink, but instead pulled out a flask of Whiskey from his coat pocket. He gave us each another shot and too keep with the theme, we taught him the Green Dragon as well.
This time, the groups around us cheered on as we sang and others haphazardly attempted to learn the song as well. Since by this time everyone was nice and buttered up with alcohol, we convinced about 10 others to sing the song with us, and afterwards link arms with a partner and finish their drinks. As we did, the rest of the patio fell silent before cheering on our drinking at the end of the song.
Sunday is hardly the day for drinking, since Monday is the day for responsibilities, so around 8:00 p.m. Martin and I decided to hang up our helmets and pay the $100 tab. I left the girls a nice tip, as I’m a man of my word and we walked to the liquor store across the street to re-stock on cigarettes before returning home.
On the MUNI, headed towards home, Martin and I shared a pair of headphones, and sang a duet of Queen’s “Bohemian Rhapsody,” in its entirety. Some of the other MUNI riders found it utterly hilarious, but in retrospect they were likely laughing at us, not with us.
I don’t think this guy likes Queen.
We finally made it home and sat on the couch to watch the newest episode of AMC’s The Walking Dead. Needless to say, neither of us finished the episode and instead wound up sleeping on the tile in my kitchen. I eventually made it to bed, but when I woke up in the morning Martin was asleep in my roommate’s bathroom, with one hand in the toilet, like the boss that he is.
San Francisco in 15 weeks 