When I was looking for a new apartment in San Francisco five years ago, I knew a few things — first, I did not want to trek up giant hills anymore. I was contemplating having my first child, and the idea of slogging up Telegraph Hill (where I lived for seven years prior) while pregnant or pushing a stroller made me ill. Second, I needed it to be affordable (as much as possible in this city.)
Enter Ingleside. Despite living in San Francisco for years, I had never heard of it.
Located in the south-central part of the city, Ingleside is sandwiched between UCSF and CCSF, so it boasts multiple pho shops and Boba tea stores, but it’s far enough away from both campuses that it isn’t overrun by students. It is flat, full of families, and connected by what appears to be the least crowded Muni line (the K) and our very own BART stop (Balboa Station). The weather here is pretty average, sunnier than the Sunset, foggier than the Mission. Most days the clouds clear before noon, and you can walk around in a light hoodie.
Where exactly is Ingleside? Everyone knows the most important part of discussing a neighborhood is clearly defining its boundaries and then arguing with everyone about said boundaries. In my humble opinion, Ingleside starts where Ocean Avenue meets Junipero Serra Boulevard to the west, ends at Balboa Station to the east, and is bounded by Monterey and Lakeview on each side. Within these streets are a multitude of micro-neighborhoods — Ingleside Terraces, Westwood Park, and Mount Davidson Manor — which, lacking their own local businesses, rightfully belong to Ingleside major.
Go ahead, fight me.
What everyone can agree on is that Ocean Avenue is the heart of our neighborhood. At the west end, you’ll find the towering, currently empty El Rey Theatre. It operated as a movie theater from 1931 to 1977, with retail space on the bottom that included the first Gap store in 1969. A half-mile down the road at the east end is Beep’s Burgers, a drive-up spot boasting deliciously simple burgers and Straus soft-serve ice cream (my salvation during the year when my son would only nap in the car). Across the street from Beep’s, Pakwan (quick and casual Pakistani food) and Philz, both newish, overlook the newly redone Unity Plaza, where there’s a climbing structure for kids, seating to chill out on, and the occasional tiny neighborhood craft market.
Although Philz is a welcome addition to our growing collection of hip spots, my favorite coffee shop is still Fog Lifter, where the owner knows my name and my son’s name and still has the kind of eclectic mix of mismatched tables and local art for sale on the walls that I miss in the stripped-down style of most new coffee shops. The only real change to the menu since I’ve moved here is the addition of cold brew coffee and beer—both on tap.
Ocean Ale House is easily the best place to get craft beer, the only place to hear live music, and has an excellent, if small, food menu. Miles, one of the owners, still remembers the first time I came in (I was notably eight and a half months pregnant and it was the first week they were open). This place alone is worth a trek out here. You can also drink at The Ave if you like dive bars or at Randy’s Place if you love dive bars.
Champa Garden was the crown jewel of food when I first arrived. It is the best Laotian restaurant in the city (and, well, one of the only). The interior is simple, the delivery fast, and the food delicious. Get the Champa sampler for a variety of Laotian delicacies.
Sakesan, however, may be the best new restaurant. High-caliber sushi, noodle dishes, karaoke rooms, and tatami tables where you have to take your shoes off so it feels fancy — it has it all and is always packed. Make reservations.
Ingleside has a large Chinese population and it shows in our businesses — you can try fabulous under-the-radar dim sum at Golden Coast, buy groceries at Power Trading Co, and end with acupuncture at Menhong Clinic. Ming Kee has the traditional type of cooked chickens hanging in the window that I associate with Chinatown, and when I go in, I have to mime the fact that I want my pork cheeks sliced. Chase Luck Bakery has the kind of westernized Chinese food that I crave exactly three times a year. One day they ran out of sesame balls before closing and my son had an epic 30-minute cry fest out front in response. Now whenever we go in, the ladies behind the counter laugh and immediately reach for one before we even order.
All these local shops and I’d be remiss not to mention we have a Target on Ocean Avenue, which opened just after I moved here. As a person who has lived in large cities with no car her entire adult life, I danced with joy. When my son was born a year later, I nearly wept with happiness (yes, we’re still talking about Target).
Dead center on Ocean Avenue is Ingleside Presbyterian Church. It looks like a bank on the outside, but inside is an incredible, still-evolving collage/mural called “The Great Cloud of Witnesses,” and according to their website is “believed to be the largest most extensive work of its kind anywhere.” Think of it as a collage of African American history that covers more wall space than your apartment and stretches to the top of the church’s high ceilings. It is an eye-popping space, worth some effort to get in and see.
Ingleside is the first place I’ve lived that I never want to leave and the first place I’ve ever known so many of my neighbors and local business owners by name. I met more neighbors in my first year here than in seven years in Telegraph Hill. Because Ocean Avenue is so accessible, people seem to walk everywhere — so I see my neighbor walking her son from his daycare around the corner back to their apartment almost every day. We see my son’s classmates at Little Oceanauts, one of those bonkers places full of slides and ball pits.
My family often sits on our stoop (like we’re part of an old-fashioned city sitcom) and subsequently got to know many neighbors with kids or dogs who stop to say hi. When I forget to move my car for street cleaning, the kind grandpa across the street has been known to bang on our window to alert us. He’s saved us from at least two tickets.
We’re so far south you can practically see Daly City from our front door, but this gives us easy access to the entire peninsula. You can escape to McLaren Park or San Bruno Mountain County Park in under 20 minutes when you need some nature. People drive down Ocean like they’re still on 280, while pedestrians act like we live in a sleepy suburb, which is a dangerous mix, and if the K fails you, you’re basically stuck calling a Lyft or trudging down to BART. But as far as city life goes, these things are minor.
Recently, the live-in manager of the apartment building next door to me threw a Christmas party and, despite our own holiday over-scheduled chaos, convinced us to come. She filled her little apartment with a random assortment of neighbors, all of whom I had known by sight for a while but not necessarily by name. We ate, we drank, the kids got toys to fight over, we traded stories about our local characters, and by the end of the night, we all exchanged numbers and promised to meet up at Ocean Ale House soon.
And that sense of community, more than the best restaurants in the world or latest bar opening, is what makes a neighborhood great.
