Sometimes you just need a bar.
...
Welcome to Southside Spirit House, a rowdy new fortress of absinthe punch, truffle popcorn and the occasional tabletop dance-off, opening Friday in SoMa.
This is where the old Eve lounge used to be. Things are different now. Good different. The kind of different that involves wood-paneled walls, 60-inch flat-screens, paintings of buffalos, a big wall of cassette tapes and a loose to completely nonexistent table-dancing policy.
Late night feels like the way to go. Bring some friends along. The kind of group that can appreciate a good punch bowl full of absinthe and some steak tartare at that long wood-slab bar. It’s a good start.
But eventually, your head will start doing that thing it does. The bobbing up and down thing. Blame it on the DJ. He just keeps spinning Motown over there. Kind of makes you wish you had a carafe of peach margaritas and a big faux-alligator banquette to spin somebody around on (hint: you do).
Or maybe the Giants are playing. Hey, look, a long communal table right in front of one of those flat-screens. And hey, look again, it’s a dozen beers on tap. Dogfish Head. Hitachino Nest. The gang’s all there.
It’s like they know you love that stuff.
...
Welcome to Southside Spirit House, a rowdy new fortress of absinthe punch, truffle popcorn and the occasional tabletop dance-off, opening Friday in SoMa.
This is where the old Eve lounge used to be. Things are different now. Good different. The kind of different that involves wood-paneled walls, 60-inch flat-screens, paintings of buffalos, a big wall of cassette tapes and a loose to completely nonexistent table-dancing policy.
Late night feels like the way to go. Bring some friends along. The kind of group that can appreciate a good punch bowl full of absinthe and some steak tartare at that long wood-slab bar. It’s a good start.
But eventually, your head will start doing that thing it does. The bobbing up and down thing. Blame it on the DJ. He just keeps spinning Motown over there. Kind of makes you wish you had a carafe of peach margaritas and a big faux-alligator banquette to spin somebody around on (hint: you do).
Or maybe the Giants are playing. Hey, look, a long communal table right in front of one of those flat-screens. And hey, look again, it’s a dozen beers on tap. Dogfish Head. Hitachino Nest. The gang’s all there.
It’s like they know you love that stuff.
