Happy weekend, kittens! Are you dry or are you wet? Are you in or are you out? We are in, but last night we were out - at the brand new Wilson bar, to be exact. I found out about this hushed, intimate place to enjoy cocktails in the same manner as one would a fully coursed meal a few weeks ago, and booked an appointment that very day. I then kept it a big, fact secret so that I could surprise M!
What the hell is this bar and why is it so fancy? Ah, yes.
Well, it's tucked away in a dark back room somewhere in the moody maze at Bourbon & Branch. (Remember the last time I was there? Oh, but how long my hair was! So long ago!) You know the drill. At the big, unmarked door on the corner of Jones at the edge of the gritty, repugnant Tenderloin district, you press a buzzer and wait for a woman to open the door. After a moment she opens it and stares at you expressionlessly until you mumble your password. If it is the correct password she lets you in and, clutching a fistful of jangling keys, leads you and your date through the dimly lit, beautifully appointed main bar into total darkness, where she walks up to a wall that is a door and somehow knows exactly where to put in a key.
Once in, you are locked in. I have friends who, for this reason alone, will never step foot into the Wilson room. (Their loss, really.)
I'll let the wankers at Urban Daddy tell you the rest:
The Wilson (named after a missing woman whose bloodstained purse was found in the walls during construction) still has the same 1920s Prohibition vibe as B&B. So you’ll feel right at home amidst the damask and exposed brick walls.
At your seat, you’ll find a personalized, date-stamped menu printed with your name—no two visits are alike. It’s arranged like a three-course prix fixe of cocktails, with an aperitif, a main and a digestif or punch. Of course, you can mix and match your drinks—or stick with the tobacco/bourbon/coffee Pinkerton.
It is as heartbreakingly wonderful as it sounds. Everything is beautiful, refined, and at the same time, so simple. It is easy to make beauty out of brick and metal and vast stretches of dark, oiled wood. All one needs for light is the soft amber twinkling off the hundreds of caramel-colored bottles lining the bar, plain tea lights on the bar top. The complexity is reserved for the cocktails, which are outstanding. I reveled in the butterscotch wafting off the Sarsparilla-infused bitters-tinged foam of a variant on a traditional sour; M expressed a deep appreciation for the house-made tobacco bourbon tincture and how gracefully it softened the other elements in her digestif - coffee, cranberry and orange bitters.
Alas, the night had to end, and let me tell you how meanly despondence swipes at a person when they step outside of a gloriously indulgent-yet-restrained slice of heaven, into the cold, raw cruelty of a San Francisco Friday night! We pledged to build a secret room in our first house that is as close to The Wilson as we can possibly get. It was a wonderful night.
Today was tax time, with all its usual joys and surprises. Disasters were averted and though we both have to file by mail (weaksauce), and federally as though we were single (WEAKSAUCE), it could be much worse.
Here I am with another braided bun! I saw a tutorial on another blog and thought, "That looks fun, let's try it!" While my hair isn't quite as long as I'd like, it's such an effortless, elegant way to style it quickly. I'll have to remember to keep it in rotation but not to fall back on it too often. Anyway, I just love this outfit. It's so sweet and girly, but the severe black pleats, shoes and red lips make a wicked little wink that keeps it from veering into the precious territory.
Coat: Tulle Blouse, Belt: Vintage Skirt: The Gap Tights, Earrings: Banana Republic Peep-toes: Linea Paolo Painted wooden cuff: Pier One Cocktail Ring: H&M Lipstick bullet: Besame Cosmetics Cosmetics bag: Dollywood