First, take a gander at the lovely sign on the Market Street backside. It tells all you need be aware of. The champagne popped -- so to speak -- now make your way into the cozy confines. Do you need a pint of milk? A rice crispy treat? Some chapstick? The options are endless, plus, there's liquor. They sell nips of Jim Beam Black for a buck. Beat that.
Truly, the cat's pajamas of small-style liquor marts. Not cheap, but not too pricey. Things are packed in there tightly. No space is wasted. These are things to be respected. Buy something you can fit into your pocket and be on your way.
Yes, this liquor store appears nice, both inside and out, and for that I suppose there should be some credit given. But I must confess that I never have felt quite comfortable venturing in to the R & P, for some reason. Perhaps it's merely me projecting my own difficulty in dealing with alcohol-as-substance, but perhaps, just perhaps, it's something more.
I annoyingly went in to buy a whole boatload of nips for a little poetry reading I was attending (the nips were NOT all for me, silly!). I was not only treated with respect, but the gentlemen at the cash wrap seemed to genuinely FEEL my plight. This is what we need more of: empathy WITHIN the liquor store.
For providing me with the low prices and aggregate of decent options with which I have endeavored, these long, lean years, to destroy myself. I'm kidding, sort of. This place is kinda great. I can't think of a single complaint, besides the putrid smell of spilled beer that often lingers in the carpeting, reminding one of exactly where one is in oh so many ways.
READ IT IF YOU CAN. Taqueria la Cumbre, when I was feeling oh so lonesome, wandering around the city of San Francisco by myself on a weekday afternoon, despairing, starving, and unable to conceive of my true home on the East Coast, you provided me with a pillow of meat and cheese wrapped in a delicious flour tortilla, and for that, well, I know not how to thank ye.
The Smithsonian combines a certain amount of simple charm with an elegance of though that is hard to explain in words. I will say this: Never have I ever eaten a tastier burger. It's got the sorta greasy flavor of a small, diner-ish affair, but is large-and-in-charge, for real.
and coming out looking spiffy! I imagined, and I looked so good I practically died. They were conscientious and caring, and as I recall even stayed open a bit late for me (though I would assume this is not something of which the fine people at Kevin's would like to make a habit.
You can't even conceive of a better BURRITO. Also, make sure you nibble on some fried yucca. This is actually my favorite place ever. They are so kind.