There are myriad reasons why a person goes to a bar. Sometimes, it’s because the bar is trendy and people want to be seen in the “right” place. Other times, individuals are lonely and need some friendly conversation. And let’s never forget, very often people are horny and simply looking to get laid. As for me, I go to bars to drink and lose my worries in a fog of inebriation.
If you’re like me, you’ll love the Silver Peso.
Nestled in the now trendy hamlet of Larkspur, California, the Peso in an anachronism from a better time. It is said that the Peso was literally purchased by a returning World War II GI with silver Pesos he recovered from the bottom of Manila Bay. In its heyday, it was a rough and ready biker bar, filled with the toughest sons of bitches around, and scene to more than a few all out brawls. Over the years, however, most of the bikers moved on, though there are still a few grizzled survivors who continue to frequent the place.
In a county that has been deprived of its authenticity and aboriginal denizens by an endless stream of nouveau riche transplants, the Peso stands alone as a symbol of the once great Marin traditions of true liberal freedom and joie de vivre. A dive in the proper and most complimentary sense of the word, it relies on the fact that it is a one of a kind joint in Marin County, a real drinker’s palace, a place where getting appropriately loaded is accepted and even encouraged, assuming, of course, that you are not driving home.
The Silver Peso is undoubtedly a little rough around the edges. She is beat up and worn down. The bar itself – which has undergone some level of repair lately – is broken in places and slants awkwardly in others. The staff – which includes, but is not limited to, Pete, Scotty, Gordon, Tom, “Rebel” and the gold chain bedecked Arturo (with the occasional cameo appearances by Bryce and all purpose utility bar-back “Chuckeye”) – can be gruff and downright slow in their service. Usually, this simply means they are too busy to get to you. Sometimes, it might mean that you’ve had too much to drink and are about to be cut off. And every once in a while a rare but not unseen event occurs: they just don’t feel like serving you at that moment. Now, this isn't to say that these bartenders aren't the best at what they do, because they are. You try controlling a room full of drunks while pouring a hundred drinks an hour. Nevertheless, it's important to know that these guys aren't going to kiss your ass just because you expect them to.
But this is the whole point. If you want polished, overly professional, well kept and sociable bartenders, go to a downtown San Francisco hotel bar, preferably one that is staffed by Local 2 employees. Or go to the Left Bank restaurant right down the street. But if you want a stiff drink, or a shot and a beer, to listen to some decent music, maybe a game of pool or shuffleboard, go the Silver Peso. You’ll get your buzz on. I always do.
If you’re like me, you’ll love the Silver Peso.
Nestled in the now trendy hamlet of Larkspur, California, the Peso in an anachronism from a better time. It is said that the Peso was literally purchased by a returning World War II GI with silver Pesos he recovered from the bottom of Manila Bay. In its heyday, it was a rough and ready biker bar, filled with the toughest sons of bitches around, and scene to more than a few all out brawls. Over the years, however, most of the bikers moved on, though there are still a few grizzled survivors who continue to frequent the place.
In a county that has been deprived of its authenticity and aboriginal denizens by an endless stream of nouveau riche transplants, the Peso stands alone as a symbol of the once great Marin traditions of true liberal freedom and joie de vivre. A dive in the proper and most complimentary sense of the word, it relies on the fact that it is a one of a kind joint in Marin County, a real drinker’s palace, a place where getting appropriately loaded is accepted and even encouraged, assuming, of course, that you are not driving home.
The Silver Peso is undoubtedly a little rough around the edges. She is beat up and worn down. The bar itself – which has undergone some level of repair lately – is broken in places and slants awkwardly in others. The staff – which includes, but is not limited to, Pete, Scotty, Gordon, Tom, “Rebel” and the gold chain bedecked Arturo (with the occasional cameo appearances by Bryce and all purpose utility bar-back “Chuckeye”) – can be gruff and downright slow in their service. Usually, this simply means they are too busy to get to you. Sometimes, it might mean that you’ve had too much to drink and are about to be cut off. And every once in a while a rare but not unseen event occurs: they just don’t feel like serving you at that moment. Now, this isn't to say that these bartenders aren't the best at what they do, because they are. You try controlling a room full of drunks while pouring a hundred drinks an hour. Nevertheless, it's important to know that these guys aren't going to kiss your ass just because you expect them to.
But this is the whole point. If you want polished, overly professional, well kept and sociable bartenders, go to a downtown San Francisco hotel bar, preferably one that is staffed by Local 2 employees. Or go to the Left Bank restaurant right down the street. But if you want a stiff drink, or a shot and a beer, to listen to some decent music, maybe a game of pool or shuffleboard, go the Silver Peso. You’ll get your buzz on. I always do.
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