My Favorite Corner of SF
I’ve written about my love for San Francisco’s hills before, but the intersection at Hyde and Union, atop what I lovingly refer to as Ice Cream Mountain, may take the cake.
It’s a daunting trek up Union Street, but reaching the top will reward you with riches beyond your wildest imagination… or just some really tasty treats. Stationed on the southwestern corner, occupying the same location for over 70 years, is Swensen’s Ice Cream.
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Though now a global franchise that has seen runaway success across Southeast Asia, with over 300 storefronts dotting the globe, the original location has remained in San Francisco and, like many of the natives that still patronize it, refuses to leave. But even with the brand’s success, Swensen’s is still unforgivingly old school. They specialize in the most classic flavors like lemon custard, Swiss orange chip, and sticky chewy chocolate. They make their own waffle cones. They churn their own ice cream on site because that’s what you’re supposed to do at an ice cream parlor.
I’d argue that a great intersection should have something worth seeing in every direction. Russian Hill has somewhat of an unfair advantage in this respect, especially when it comes to views — a short walk up the hill from this corner will present you with a trifecta of SF landmarks: Alcatraz, Coit Tower, and Lombard’s twisted descent are all on full display.
Swensen’s also marks the beginning of Hyde Street’s commercial district. Venture deeper through the cozy canopy of ficus trees and you’ll probably end up with a new favorite place to eat (shoutout to Hot Sauce and Panko). And of course — of course — a cable car line runs directly through the corridor. The idyllic scene wouldn’t be complete without the hum of the tracks, and the city’s signature bell ringers passing by every 15 minutes.
But really, what’s the point of going anywhere else when this corner is so magical? Once the sun sets and the street lights begin their nightly illumination routine, this corner transforms into something from another era. Some 107 bulbs adorn the edge of Swensen’s classic marquee, coaxing eager treat seekers like a moth to a flame into its lattice-walled interior that has seen very few changes in the last half-century of operation.
The warm radiance of Swensen’s classic bulbs assists in freezing the place in time, almost akin to one of their traditional half-gallon tubs of rocky road. They have this natural ability to invoke a feeling of coziness and comfort and turn a fairly dark, avoidable intersection into a brilliantly charming place with its own gravitational pull. Swensen’s is the center of this solar system, the smell of sugar working in place of physics, with people’s celestial bodies orbiting on a collision course with the nearest hot fudge sundae.
Growing up, ice cream shops always felt like a bridge to bedtime. Typically open later than a restaurant, but not quite as late as a bar, they exist in the eerily calm chasm that separates our evenings and nights. They also offer something that all kids desire but few realize they want until it’s swiftly suppressed (and no I’m not talking about dessert): resistance.
Warm autumn Friday nights were typically spent in front of Swensen’s single — often sticky — terracotta step, sculpting my single scoop of marble fudge into a perfectly shaped dome and counting the precious few hours of consciousness I had left in the day.
The inescapable threat of sleep never really sat well with me, but dessert provided a moment of comfort my preadolescent self needed. Not because of the sugar rush, but because it allowed me to participate in what felt like a controlled rebellion. A delicious, creamy, cherry-topped rebellion. One where you could be out into the wee hours of the night (or at least until closing), delaying the inevitable nightly rollover, and reaching one last fleeting feeling of freedom before you’re reeled into bed by your parents.
And there was no place I’d rather do that than underneath those lights. I can’t stop talking about those damn lights.
Whether you grew up with it or not, this is a corner that demands your nostalgia. It’s a corner that reaches deep into our collective, youthful desire for more freedom and for the chance to stay up just a little bit longer. You don’t even need rose-tinted glasses. The anachronistic glow and intoxicating aroma of waffle batter are enough to make anyone appreciate it.
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