Work: Anywhere there's cheap hooch and an empty stool.
BREAKFAST: An avid nightlife enthusiast, I’ve stared at North Park’s Old Mill Café
during the off hours like Sarah Palin would stare at a dictionary—wide eyed and
from a distance, but recently succumbed to its lumberjack décor and brown
Naugahyde booth charm. The crab cakes Benedict plate is killer and at just two
bucks a pop for a large, it’s about the only place in town that a tall glass of
freshly-squeezed OJ won’t cost you an arm and a leg. A plaque outside the men’s
room proudly proclaims it the “official” restaurant and clubhouse of the San
Diego Leathermen, and each bill is handed out with a chance to win a bimonthly
prize of $500, finally giving an answer to the age-old question: where can I
take my bingo loving grandma and my
leather daddy boyfriend for some flapjacks?
LUNCH: Only the most adventurous dare to venture south out from the
latest Gastro pubby they’re so cool ‘cuz they serve meat in Popsicles buzz, but
Chula Vista is a foodies dream. From authentic lamb barbecue to succulent goat
meat burritos, it’s about the only place you can have a culinary petting zoo at
your table. Mexican food for me is hit or a miss because I know what it’s
supposed to taste and look like, and Mexicano Taco
Shop never disappoints. What they lack in name creativity they make up for
with SoCal’s best carne asada fries. Trust me. My editor at CityBeat is going to kill me because up
until now I’ve kept it on the DL and never included it in our “Best of San
Diego” roundups, but one taste and you’ll see why I tried to keep it all to
myself.
DINNER: Going for the comfort food trifecta, I’ll conclude at the SD Chicken Pie
Shop. From the outside “Bitchin’ Chicken” painted light box by my buddy Kelly
Hutchison, to the blue-haired stable of regulars, to more poultry memorabilia
that you can shake Scrooge McDuck’s gold-tipped cane at, this place always
manages to make me smile. All the home-style standards can be found here: baked
ham, chicken fried steak and delectable mac ‘n cheese. But the house chicken potpie
doused in DayGlo gravy still reigns supreme as this hen house.
BAR: Being somewhat of an expert on dives, I can honestly say the
SRO Lounge in
Bankers Hill meets every single sketchy guideline. Adorned with more gold leaf
and mirrors than Liberace’s dildo collection and catering to a sui generis clientele of usually
middle-aged crossdresers, you can leave all your RuPaul’s Drage Race
expectations at the door. These ladies have day jobs, and five-o-clock shadow
and sometimes even full beards peering through their foundation. Always the
perfect setting to hold a classy conversation in, the last time I was there a
sauced-up lady on the wrong side of fifty turned to me and said: “You know, it’s
been proven men can lactate too.” Check please.