Food, Part 4: Speakeasies need to follow through on theme
The problem with behind-closed-door bars that don't commit to the bit
My belief is that every speakeasy should be distinct.
If it’s not wholeheartedly unique or operating with a slightly annoying shtick, why not just make it a restaurant? Otherwise, you’re just co-opting the speakeasy title as a trendy moniker to give some juice to your mediocre tapas place.
That’s fine. It’s your prerogative as an owner, and I’m sure it’s a fairly successful strategy.
My issue is that it’s hollow. It turns an experience sold as explicitly distinct into something superficial.
If you’re going to go to the trouble of building out a speakeasy, make it fun. Commit to the theme! Go all in. People want weird, maximalist nonsense. Embrace that.
Bar Nonnina, Inner Sunset
For SF Restaurant Week, my girlfriend and I went to Bar Nonnina, an alcove hidden above Fiorella’s Sunset location.
It’s chaotic getting in. One host has to handle a swarm of regular customers along with, as he affably referred to us, “my Nonni-ners.” Everyone is huddled next to the door — with waiters frequently hustling food outside — and the corner of the bar.
They’re aware it’s a mess, so they give you a cocktail the moment you check in to keep you at bay.
The chaos makes a bit more sense when you get upstairs. You wind your way up the stairs to the covered, semi-outdoor patio section, then enter through a purple-backlit door to Bar Nonnina.
The space is cute, but maybe a little too cozy.
The bar itself is gorgeous. It’s a massive granite countertop with alcoves for glasses, dining utensils, and all the good stuff for the bartender to work with. The rust-colored tiles, soft, low lighting, and dark ceiling and walls give it a very intimate feel.
There are two tables with five seats so that groups of two or three can fit. Because the space is so small, it’s a little odd to try and have a private conversation. You and whoever you’re there with are sitting closer to the person next to you than each other. A small assortment of flowers separates groups.
You know you’re investing in an off-kilter dining experience when you sign up to dine at a speakeasy, but it might work better with four small, high top tables than two long ones. Either way, they have limited space to work with; it’s mildly uncomfortable, but not damning.
What you’re there for is the unique ambience and the cocktails. It has both, with the latter more impressive than the former.
As is custom, I got a purple cocktail (called the Sofia Loren) while my girlfriend got the far more erudite Galileo’s Gaze.
Mine — with tequila, grapefruit, elderflower, lime, prosecco — leaned far more on elderflower and the sweetness of the prosecco than I was hoping for. The citrus fell into the background. It was not poor, but not their best.
The other cocktail, however, was perhaps best I have ever tried. It uses uses strawberry-infused gin, gentian aperitif and bianco vermouth.
It is an adult cocktail. If you’re getting drinks with a client, a partner’s parent, or anyone else you want to impress by seeming like you have refined taste, order this.
There are countless aperitifs and vermouths that can be overbearing. This has the perfect balance of both. The flavor of the gin (which is more strawberry-tinged than strawberry-flavored) comes through clearly, but so, too does the refined, floral bitterness of the aperitif and vermouth.
It also came with one of those giant, singular ice cubes. Something about a cocktail with one of those cubes makes you seem like a person who has their life together.
My main gripe with Bar Nonnina is the food. The food menu is expectedly small, with a couple items offered at Fiorella, but more that are distinct.
Part of that is a space issue. There’s not room to leave a full pizza at your table. The size of the menu is not problematic.
The issue is that in a refined setting, you expect that there would be some experimentation: something light, fresh, unique.
That’s not the case. It’s a nine-item menu where most of the offerings were fried. Their house-made focaccia, unfortunately, was sold out. You can add burrata, prosciutto, or speck to the foccacia.
Maybe that would have made the difference.
But as it stood, there were two snacks — nuts and/or olives — and three fried options: pea arancini, potato croquettes, or mozzarella en carroza. The arancini, with fresh pea and a green, herbaceous core, is the only one worth ordering.
The mozzarella en carroza is described as pressed milk bread, fior de latte, and anchovy brown butter. It’s a mess. It’s an attempt at an upscale alternative to mozzarella sticks, but is far too heavy. It comes with drizzles of balsamic glaze and after arancini and croquettes, it’s hard to eat. The croquettes were mushy and were lacking on him.
The other options that we did not try were the veal meatballs and smoked trout rilletes.
At the end of the menu, and the lone meal option which we both had, was the Zuckerman asparagus risotto. The asparagus was in diced bits, cooked to be crisp, but not tough. It was stellar, as any well-cooked risotto with an abundance of cheese will be.
But when you look at the menu, there is no option for something light. There is no salad, no caprese, no light fish, nothing that is not fried or with bread or meat. The risotto leaves you satisfied, but the rest of the menu is a disappointment.
The Pawn Shop, Tenderloin
I’m not sure how to feel about the Pawn Shop.
On one hand, I love the rigamarole they put you through when you enter. The entryway is the front of what looks like a legitimate pawn shop. There are old records, posters, a pastiche of kitschy nonsense.
There’s not enough space in the entryway, and people are trying to be polite while letting the hostess know they have reservations that they’re already late for.
It’s chaotic. But that’s the sort of absurdity I’m looking for in a speakeasy.
To gain entry, you have to offer the hostess something and describe with a tad bit of conviction why they should accept it — assuming its value is not immediately clear.
The hostess proceeds to open the door — a bookcase stashed with a slinky, a bicycle horn and other well-curated nonsense — by touching a number of things on the shelf until it eventually opens.
That part is outstanding.
Once you’re inside, though, it’s just a tapas bar. The food is fine. The drinks are at a San Francisco level.
But it is completely unconnected in ethos to the pawn shop. If the food or cocktails were of jaw-dropping quality, I could maybe forgive that. They are above average, but there are other places in the city with better tapas and cocktails.
I get the fact that actual speakeasies were about getting alcohol in a time of prohibition, so the front for the store was merely a disguise for what was behind the wall.
But, as you may know, alcohol is legal. There should be some novelty in the experience aside from the entry.
If you could hear the people you came with when you sat down, maybe I’d view this place more favorably. It’s astoundingly loud. For me to forgive that, I need something that stands out. Aside from the entrance, I didn’t find that here.
Wunderbar, San Mateo
Now we’re talking.
Located beneath J. Kenji López-Alt’s Wursthall restaurant in San Mateo, this follows through on theme.
Let me also take this moment to share Kenji’s YouTube channel, which is excellent if you’re a beginner or semi-experienced cook, just bored, and/or looking for something to combat the munchies. He’s got a quirky, earnest disposition, and his ability to make cooking accessible always impresses me.
Back to Wunderbar.
You usually have to make reservations here, though we were able to snag an extra pair of seats when we went. Just check in with the Wursthall host.
If they give you the OK, you’ll head down a staircase and “follow the white rabbit” like Neo.
You’ll track that to a black curtain, which opens up to a bookcase with a plastic, glowing white rabbit. Trigger that, and you’re in.
The bookcase opens up to a dark, cozy-but-not-cramped bar that channels the Brothers Grimm fairly tales, tying in with the German theme upstairs.
When I talk about theme, this is what I mean.
There are different-sized options for larger groups, with small tables flanked by what appear to be antique leather sofas and chairs. Smaller, cozy tables sit against the wall, with a space between them and a long, standard bar, where we sat.
It’s a pure cocktail bar, though they do have a popcorn machine if you need a snack.
And the cocktails? They’re nonpareil. The cocktail menu is presented on a ring of tarot cards with clever designs playing into the mysticism of the space.
The bartenders are extremely attentive without being overbearing. They make adjustments to the standard cocktails based on your preferences and will work with you if you’re unsure about what you want.
Every part of the experience feels well cultivated without being pretentious. There’s a fairytale/mystic theme that is committed to with the design of the space and menu, and in the execution of the cocktails.
Maybe it’s unfair to the other places I reviewed given that Wunderbar does not serve food at all despite having Wursthall above it. But that’s preferable, in my opinion, to offering a worse version of your connecting restaurant, like at Bar Nonnina. Offer a distinct dining experience, or nothing at all.
All three of these places offer exquisite cocktails, but Nonnina and Wunderbar are a step above The Pawn Shop in cultivating a distinct atmosphere.
Wunderbar, though it doesn’t have food, follows through with its theme in a way that I want to find at speakeasies. I don’t regret going to any of these places, but Wunderbar is the only one of I would go back to.
If you are going to start a speakeasy, get funky with it and commit to the theme. That is my only ask.