Walking San Francisco

Grant Avenue has everything from secondhand-record stores to handmade-shoe shops.

PARKING: Underground lot beneath Portsmouth Square, at Washington and Kearny Sts., 1 block from the starting point

More village than neighborhood, this was once Barbary Coast oceanfront property, as the name implies. Having weathered waves of bawdy pirates, homesick Italians, authority-challenging bohemians, and onslaughts of tourists and tech workers, North Beach continues to both evolve and retain its character. North Beach no longer swarms with the goatee-and-beret crowd, and the Italian language is less commonly heard than it once was, yet the neighborhood continues to benefit from its heritage as an enclave of beatniks and Italian immigrants. The chief links to the past are cafés and historic bars, which retain a somewhat earthy, European charm that no doubt appealed to the poets and painters of the Eisenhower years. Italian American families still own most of the businesses, many of them after several generations.

The off-kilter, diagonal slice of Columbus Avenue, the main drag, and the closeness of Russian and Telegraph Hills, which rise above North Beach, make this quarter feel more intimate and self-contained than other parts of San Francisco. It’s somewhat touristy, especially on weekends. Drop in on a weekday afternoon, or in time for lunch, and you’ll get a more local sense of the area. Return at night to take the next walk, North Beach Bars.

Walk Description

Start at the foot of Columbus Avenue, where the Financial District abruptly ends and North Beach gradually cranks up. Columbus Avenue mainlines into the neighborhood. The first sign of North Beach character is

Caffè Macaroni, a cramped little Neapolitan trattoria at No. 59, where the waiters are notorious for joking in Italian and occasionally belting out an operatic lyric or two. It’s a bit early in the walk to stop and eat, but at least have a look at the menu and make a note to drop by for dinner sometime. This is a great local eatery.

On the next block, on the opposite side of the street, 124 Columbus Ave. is the former home to the renowned basement-level

Purple Onion. This place was the stuff of comedy and music legend: Phyllis Diller and the Kingston Trio got their starts here. Jim Nabors sang here in his pre–Gomer Pyle days, and the owner, Bud Steinhoff, was in the habit of smashing glass when Nabors reached for high notes. A young Maya Angelou sang folk songs here, and in the 1970s Robin Williams worked the stage for tips. In recent years, the space has rotated between stints as a bar, comedy club, and other ventures, but it hasn’t been able to yet find solid footing.

On the triangle formed by intersecting Columbus and Kearny stands the green-copper-clad Columbus Tower, formerly known as the Sentinel Building, and one of the city’s most photographed sites. Like most spots in North Beach, the Beaux Arts flatiron has a colorful history. It was originally built for corrupt political boss Abe Reuf, but his move-in date was delayed by his incarceration at San Quentin. The expansive basement once held the popular restaurant Caesar’s Grill, until it was shuttered for serving booze during Prohibition, although Neptune’s Grotto sprung up in its place shortly thereafter. The Kingston Trio later purchased the building and established a recording studio where they and other musicians, including the Grateful Dead, played. Today it’s the headquarters for the Coppola family’s filmmaking company, American Zoetrope. Francis Ford Coppola bought the building in 1972, the year The Godfather was released. Coppola was already a fixture in the neighborhood, frequenting local bars and cafés; he keeps an office on the top floor, beneath the building’s graceful cupola. (Incidentally, a coppola, in Italian, is a type of cap once popular among the common folk of Sicily.)

Cafe Zoetrope, on the ground floor, is a fine spot for sharing a pizza and a bottle of wine.

A block up, Jack Kerouac Alley is named for the author of On the Road and other tomes that captured the restlessness of the Beat Generation. It’s a perfect alley for Kerouac, who liked to drink at Vesuvio, the bar that overlooks the alley. He also associated with poet Lawrence Ferlinghetti, whose

City Lights bookstore is just across the alley. Ferlinghetti opened the shop in 1953. He made headlines in 1956 when he published a pocket edition of Allen Ginsberg’s Howl and the poem was banned for containing obscenities. Ferlinghetti won a high-profile court battle, and the book was put back on the shelves. City Lights is a fantastic bookstore, so step inside and head upstairs to the intimate Poetry Room, where volumes of verse—Beat and otherwise—fill the shelves. Ferlinghetti’s office is just off this little reading room, so you might even run into him. Outside the bookstore, look up and admire the “books” flying above your head and illuminated by solar power. Titled Language of the Birds, by artists Brian Goggin and Dorka Keehn, the image is especially magical at night. As the books take flight over a pedestrian alley that links Chinatown and North Beach, note that the words imprinted on both the books and the ground beneath are in English, Italian, and Chinese, taken from original texts.

At Broadway, on the northwest corner, take a look at the Jazz Mural, by Bill Weber and Tony Klaas. Clarinetist Benny Goodman (who was not a local figure) presides over a group of San Francisco characters, including Joshua Abraham “Emperor” Norton, Herb Caen, and some Italian fishermen.

Turn right on Broadway. A block down, on the north side, step into the

Beat Museum to look at Beat memorabilia and a collection of old editions by Kerouac, Ginsberg, Burroughs, and other Holy Goofs. There is a bathtub filled with banned books for your perusal. While there is no charge to enter the bookstore, admission to the museum is $8 and gains you entry into a quirky little museum that is clearly a labor of love. Within its two small floors, you can view films, admire first-edition books, and see period furniture and clothing worn by legendary beatniks.

Backtrack to head left, up narrow Romolo Place for a look at North Beach’s back-alley side and turn left on Vallejo Street. At Grant, make a caffeine stop at

Caffè Trieste, a historic coffeehouse that has been run by the Giotta family since 1956. Papa Gianni first opened the café and imported the espresso he loved from his native Italy, claiming to be the first to bring it to the United States. He also aspired to sing opera, and he and his family would sing cantos in the small café on Saturday afternoons (they still host concerts every Saturday). Trieste has a comfortable, timeworn feel to it, and literary types have always dropped in to kick-start their muses (Francis Ford Coppola worked on his Godfather screenplay at one of the tables). The walls are covered with old photos. It’s part family album, part celebrity schmoozefest—well worth studying over a cappuccino.

On the opposite corner of Grant and Vallejo, duck into

Al’s Attire for a peek at custom-made suits, shoes, and shirts that exude vintage flair and charm. Owner Al Ribaya has been making the magic happen for decades; wander around the hat blocks and fabric bolts and you may soon find yourself sporting a pair of bespoke shoes for your next walk. Tom Waits and Carlos Santana have both been clients.

Half a block up, at Vallejo and Columbus Streets, the

National Shrine of St. Francis of Assisi was built in 1860. It’s the second-oldest Catholic church in the city after Mission Dolores. Kitty-corner from the church, at 373 Columbus St.,

Molinari Delicatessen is a classic deli with hanging salamis, shelves of olives and table wines, and the tantalizing scent of dry cheese. Established in 1896, Molinari was beloved by neighborhood great Joe DiMaggio, who specifically requested in his will that Molinari cold cuts be served at his wake. Drop in for a whiff or to grab a sandwich, if you have visions of a picnic at the park later on. (This tour ends at a park.)

Across the street, take note of

Club Fugazi, the attractive theater at No. 678. It’s home to the zany Beach Blanket Babylon, the world’s longest-running musical revue, which has ruled the stage here since 1975. Featuring performers in outlandish hats and gaudy costumes, the show is a frequently updated satirical mashup of current politics and pop culture that The New York Times has called “No less a part of San Francisco than the Golden Gate Bridge and Coit Tower.” In the 1950s and ’60s, the Beats put on poetry readings in the club, and Thelonius Monk recorded an album here in 1959.

Turn right on Powell Street and right again on Union Street. Cross Columbus and turn right. This block is one of the street’s busiest (and most touristy), alive with cafés and restaurants. Turn left on Green Street and proceed to two blocks to

Caffè BaoNecci, a family-run establishment that typifies North Beach’s old-world feel. The original owners, Danilo and Danila DiPiramo, retired, and rather than close the shop they sold it to another couple, Walter and Stefania Gambaccini, in 2005. (The place is still known to neighborhood old-timers as Danilo Bakery despite the name change.) The Gambaccinis, from Altopascio, Italy, have broadened the menu to include panini, pizza, and pasta, which still relies heavily on the bakery’s century-old oven.

Turn left onto Grant Avenue, which locals will contest plays host to the “real” North Beach. Off the main drag, the narrow street is packed with shops selling clothing, rare maps, secondhand records, and antiques, along with grocers, restaurants, cafés, and bars. Study the window displays as you walk by, and duck in wherever your curiosity is piqued. At Filbert turn left and walk down toward Washington Square. On the corner of Stockton, poke your head into

Liguria, an admirably nondescript shop that sells just one thing: focaccia. Indeed, three generations of the Soracco family have been making focaccia in their century-old oven since 1911, so they clearly know what they’re doing. In the age of one-stop shopping, this place constitutes the ultimate anachronism, but it manages to get by on the strength of a single quality product. If you’ve been assembling the fixings for a picnic along this tour, be sure to add a warm half-sheet of focaccia to your sack of victuals. They close at 2 p.m., but don’t be surprised if they’ve already sold out before then. This is truly the gold standard of focaccia, and an authentic glimpse into the North Beach of yore.

Also overlooking the park is

Saints Peter and Paul Church. (A bit unsettlingly, the church’s address is 666 Filbert St.) Built in 1924, it’s very popular for weddings. Lawrence Ferlinghetti dubbed it the “marzipan church,” and indeed its facade has a cakelike aspect. In 1954 Joe DiMaggio and Marilyn Monroe, unable to wed in the church because they were both previously divorced, snapped their wedding photos on the front steps after getting officially hitched at City Hall. DiMaggio’s funeral was held here as well in 1999.

Washington Square itself is an odd-shaped square, as diagonal Columbus Avenue slices off a chunk of it, leaving a small triangular remainder on the west side of the street. Still, the square is a nice patch of green with some trees and statues, and you’ll invariably find dogs chasing Frisbees. Most interesting is the statue of Benjamin Franklin, erected in 1897 by a dentist named Henry D. Cogswell. Cogswell, an ardent prohibitionist, wasn’t so much intent on honoring Franklin as he was on luring the town’s heavy drinkers away from the bottle. Around the statue’s base are water taps with labels indicating the waters’ sources—one indicates the water is from Vichy, France. (The spouts have been out of order for decades now.) Also in the square is a firemen’s statue, put here by fire chaser Lillie Hitchcock Coit. (For more on her, see Walk 9, Telegraph Hill.) Pick a bench or a spot on the grass, and settle in for a while. Or join the groups that are often doing Tai Chi in front of the church.