re: FBD: 7/18/13

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Back in the late 1980s when the United States was largely content drinking beer endorsed by surfboard-riding dogs (I’m looking at you Spuds McKenzie), “Big Daddy” Dave Keene decided to turn Toronado into a mecca for people who actually loved beer. I know it’s hard to imagine now, in a San Francisco where even shitty dive bars carry Lagunitas, but Toronado is almost singlehandedly responsible for turning our citizenry into lovers of good brews. It was the first real beer bar in SF and helped inspire many of the people who are currently creating craft beer on the West Coast.

That said, Toronado doesn’t suffer fools. While so many beer-centric places these days have modeled themselves after stuffy wine bars, Toronado keeps to its roots by offering cold beers chased with a warm glass of “shut the frick up.” I love that one of the best beer bars in the world plays loud metal and punk and has random dogs running around sniffing each other’s asses. I love that you can go next door to Rosamunde and buy a badass sausage, then head back over to Toronado to finish the beer you left sitting on the bar covered by a coaster. And I love that if you’re acting like a tool, the staff will let you know. Bars aren’t supposed to be places of refinement and dignity, they’re supposed to be refuges where you can sit, have a good beer, and not give a frick.

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