My Favorite Corner of SF
I’ve always loved the opening scene in Beauty in the Beast where Belle wanders through her little hometown, past the friendly townsfolk saying “Bonjour!” to the baker with “the same old bread and rolls to sell,” and the quaint shops selling cheese, flowers, books, and… wigs? Of course, Belle’s a bit of a snob about the village, calling it “provincial” and longing for more, but to me, it always seemed perfect.
I was lucky enough to grow up in San Francisco, which is anything but provincial, but it’s true that some city’s neighborhoods have the feel of charming little towns in their own right. I’ll admit, though, that growing up here, I didn’t really fully explore any other sections of the city except Cow Hollow, the one I called home, unless it was one of the classic SF experiences: roller skating in Golden Gate Park, roaming the Exploratorium, hiding in the dunes at Baker Beach, or buying candy at the Five and Dime.
So when I returned to San Francisco as an “adult” in my late twenties after many years away (I left when I was 14 for boarding school), I was at a loss for where I wanted to live. By happy chance, the decision was made for me when I toured the first apartment I came across — a one-bedroom on the top floor of a building from the 1920s with curved doorways, hardwood floors, and views of the Marin Headlands near the Upper Haight and Cole Valley.
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I was familiar with the Haight as it was one neighborhood I had managed to explore a little during high school and college breaks (thanks to its proclivity toward easy access to weed), but this place called Cole Valley was completely foreign to me. When I discovered it was akin to a little French village — plucked right out of Beauty and the Beast — but tucked right in the heart of the city, well, let’s just say the only disappointment was that all of the people didn’t speak in song.
It wasn’t long before the corner of Carl and Cole streets — which sits at the heart of the neighborhood — replaced my previous favorite corner (Union and Steiner, home to Marina Submarine and one the best sandwiches around).
Almost everything I could ever want or need is right there. The block to the south is home to a Kezar Bar & Restaurant, a casual restaurant with great drinks and tasty food that the locals call “Posh Kezer” to differentiate it from the Kezar Pub sports bar a few blocks away, the Val De Cole wine shop, Cole Valley Pets, a hardware store, gourmet grocer Luke’s Local, a gym (only been in there once but still), a dry cleaner, sushi, a 40-year-plus Italian restaurant, the most popular brunch spot in town (Zazie), a bar with a ping pong table, a fancy all-natural drug store, Peet’s Coffee, and even a boulangerie with the same old (delicious) breads and rolls to sell.
One block to the north you’ll find: Say Cheese, a cheese shop (also home to amazing sandwiches), Reverie, a cozy cafe with a back garden, a creperie, Wooden, a fancy coffee house, and an even fancier soda fountain, The Ice Cream Bar, which everyone clamors to when anyone posts in the neighborhood Facebook group that the roasted pineapple ice cream is back on the menu.
A half a block to the west, there’s a fancy Mexican restaurant, a hair salon, a nail salon, and a tiny wine bar and bistro, perfect for people-watching during aperitivo hour. Walk a few steps to the east on Carl, and you’ll find Arabic comfort food, another salon (with a quirkier vibe), a little dog park, and an occult shop where you can pick up crystals and candles and even have your tarot cards read. Yup, my favorite corner has an occult shop. Amazing.
The only thing missing? Well, according to the aforementioned Facebook group, either a place to slurp noodles or a bait and tackle shop. I’m partial to a bookstore, but luckily, I only have to walk a few blocks to Booksmith on Haight Street to find tomes full of stories of “far-off places, daring sword fightings, magic spells, a prince in disguise.”
I could go on and on about how much I love living adjacent to Cole Valley (clearly). The five-minute walk to Golden Gate Park, a secret-ish forest in our backyard, a hidden hill with panoramic views — but while those things are certainly what keep me entertained day after day, the true gift of Cole Valley is the people who live there.
At first glance, we look just like any other San Franciscans — North Face puffies, athleisure wear, strollers, dogs, Giants hats, and all the rest of it — but the longer I’ve lived here, the more I realize we’re just a little bit different. We look out for each other. We smile when we see a familiar face. We wave to each other across the street. We learn all of the dogs’ names and gush over them when we cross paths. We support our local businesses and do our best to help them succeed. We celebrate each others’ successes. We trade eggs for beer and milk for dental floss and lend each other crutches and snowshoes and cookie cutters and wagons. We make endless jokes about living close to a street named Uranus. We bicker endlessly about if Uranus jokes are actually funny.
In fact, we bicker about a lot of things. If the bike-share station is worth the loss of parking. If our local representatives are doing enough to support us. If a car blocking a garage should be ticketed or towed. If the coyotes are good, bad, or even actually wily. Sometimes it’s helpful and sometimes it’s ridiculous, but it’s always true that we bicker because we care. And anyway, what family doesn’t quibble from time to time? Because even though I may not know all of their names or what they do for a living or their go-to Zazie brunch order, my Cole Valley neighbors are like a family of sorts that rallies around the one thing we all have in common: the gift of living in this amazing part of town.
The only bummer? I have yet to stumble upon a nearby castle inhabited by a handsome prince under a magical spell with only talking teapots and candlesticks to keep him company.
Of course, if you do know of any enchanted princes in the vicinity, please by all means let me know. I’m @daisy on Twitter. If you hang out in Cole Valley, you’ll know me better as the person attached to the leash of the never-not-slobbering Saint Bernard named Monkey. A beast, for sure. Just not the kind that’s gonna turn into a prince at the end of the story.
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