@ Leo’s Oyster Bar on Sacramento Street
Going to a Cuban themed restaurant after spending real, damp, spicy, stone pathed time in and around Havana makes this $17/cocktail hot spot, with its faux thatched roof and “vintage” travel posters of a place haunted and halted deliberately (by us) feel…. very San Francisco indeed.
→ “why the fuck would you put celery in a cocktail” she wonders as she calls the racially ambiguous, tropical tie cladded, hair hard as the plastic merlin hanging on the wall waiter over to order the “Barbarita, please.”// there’s always time to kneel at the church of camp, pray to the gods of appropriation (or, God, rather) and order the Leo’s Mai Tai — even though that’s definitely not Cuban — come to think of it, there’s not a single Mojito in sight! Tsk Tsk know your cliches, people! Or is it like, super trendy, that they prioritize Japanese whisk(e)y on their spirits list instead of rum?
Regardless — I’m starving and in the mood to have a conversation beyond branding and my plans for the fucking weekend. Small talk is the zombie apocalypse science fiction warned us about….
→ “why the fuck would someone pick up and go to the toilet the second their chips arrive at the table?” (in a hollow coconut … ugh) she ponders “leaving those poor bastards positively defenseless against her…
