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1886 Burritos

As promised, a story I promised some time ago…

I stumbled upon Rosie’s within months of arriving in San Francisco in 1986. I was in the Castro on a Saturday morning, looking for a place to grab lunch and as I walked down 18th Street I came across Rosie’s and it looked intriguing. I remember I ordered the California burrito, and from that first bite I knew I was in love.

San Francisco burritos (no matter where you get them) are a very distinct and unique breed. Some say they’re the best burritos to be had anywhere. Not having lived that many places over the course of my life, I can say unequivocally however that they are the best burritos I’ve ever had. I’ve found a few that come close, but fail to meet the San Francisco standard.

Over the course of the sixteen years I lived in The City, I must’ve conservatively eaten at Rosie’s 1886 times, based on 1-2 times a week for those entire sixteen years. I used to joke I would want a Rosie’s burrito to be my last meal.

Rosie’s in long closed (now longer than the entire time it was originally open), so I’ll never have another opportunity to enjoy a meal there, but it doesn’t matter. All I have to do is close my eyes and I can taste those delicious burritos. (To be honest, everything on the menu was excellent, but I gravitated toward the burritos more often than not.)

The owners of Rosie’s also had a burrito shop on Haight Street (the name escapes me at the moment)—which, for some reason I never knew of until I started going to Amoeba Records. I often ate there when I was in the neighborhood, but it wasn’t quite the same.

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Get Away While You Can!

    • Pack of Beakers
    • Goth Beaker
    • The Beaker snitching and pointing out the photographer
    • The Beaker that’s about to unload on the photographer
    • The terminator strut before the ass whooping and you know he’s moving at speed because of the blur
    • The ominous feeling that you know this is 3 in the morning

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Probably doesn’t help that Ben and I binge watch (mostly just for background noise) all the capital letter shows (NCIS, FBI, CSI and variations thereof).

I never knew Las Vegas was the crime capital of the world. ?

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Dear Baby Gay…

Golden Eras are a myth. Don’t believe the party was better 15 minutes before you arrived. Your dance floors can survive the apocalypse but your spaces are always in danger. Love your bars and backup your pictures often. You
come from poets but lack the vocabulary for shame and addiction. Don’t drink on an angry stomach. If an older man offers you meth knowing it’s your first time, he is not your friend. You may be what a loved one loses on their way to
rock bottom. Queerness is not an immunity to white and not be told enough how beautiful your femininity is. You don’t need to slave at a gym to be loved. If your body is all you have to offer, you’ll always come up short. Everyone thinks everyone is having more sex. Hookup apps are just one tool in an arsenal, so learn the art of the cruise. Sex work is work. You can love it, but if you hate it, it can steal your soul. Covid-19 is your second pandemic. The AIDS crisis was not a punishment, it was neglect. Homophobia is rooted in jealousy. Yes, it gets better, but also impossible in ways you cannot imagine, because this world lacks the imagination for people like you. Entire religions have called you their end and drained you of deities, but there will always be enough Sundays for your Queer divinity.

(Found on the internet)

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