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Libation Liberation: Amber
Eyes always peeled, nose always to the grindstone, corpus madidus Nico has noticed a disturbing trend in our fair city recently: a resurgence of the mustache. Odious as it may be, its staunch defenders will say a little mustache can't hurt you (make you question their prevailing wisdom perhaps, but no actual bloodshed). Anyway, they will argue there's nothing wrong with a little hair on the lip. Not only are they de rigueur in Hollywood, they’ll say, but it helps keep wayward hairs, flies, dust bunnies, off your tongue. This humble reporter believes however there are some trends better left buried.
Do we smell a 70s revival? Recently a wave of things aesthetically awkward has been washing up on the left coast shore. A once dead now renewed adoration of the Dukes of Hazzard, faux-wood rec room paneling and yes, the big frumpy mustache is gaining steam. Who knew? Say what you will about style, there is a select group of fashionistas that are going to sardine themselves into a tight pair of jeans just to relive those fanciful days. Thanks to Amber at 718 14th St, off Church, there’s a place those folks can go to get their chic on.
SFist Nico, contributing
Image from Amber's CitySearch entry
Rather crowded on weekends, Amber likely generates the bulk of its popularity from the ability to smoke and drink at the same time indoors, which is an outright blessing for some . Amber is no less than a destination bar. And rightly so. Beckoning are the Carter-era couches, replete with cigarette burns and suspicious discolorations, the quick-wristed bartenders and the round backed Pleather barstools. Also in the mix is a generous blending of gay and straight, stylish and dorkish, drunk and drunker. Which is just the way we like it.
While we’re quick to admit our ill will toward an undying 70s, there is something comforting, even welcomed, about celebrating our lust for drink in a setting identical to where we spent our formative years. In a city where lushes are given loud accolades, enabled at every street corner and treated to a king's spread of open-door establishments, this Barrespondent has no problem with getting misty at the idea of having giant console TV circa 1975 in a bar unashamedly broadcasting the nudie scene from Porky's Two: The Next Day. Speaking of no shame, our lilting eyes didn't leave that poor-color screen, as it showed the exploits of Pee-Wee, Meat and the rest of the lascivious crew from Angel Beach High.
Sprawling on the low slung couch and knocking back a well-shaken martini or three, we ruminated that the age of the smoky bar, now moving into relic-dom, may just be something we miss. And with our attention fixed waveringly on the smoke-concealed faces, we reminisced about an age when outrageous facial hair and uncomfortable fabric was the inclination. Yes, it's refreshing to think that such a decade can hold a heartwarming ambiance, and that a San Francisco bar can embrace it so comfortably.