by Rebecca M. on Let me start by saying that we live in the neighborhood and that this was our favorite go-to bar for years. We would come here with friends from out-of-town, after a really late night at work for dinner, and sometimes on a random afternoon for a cold drink on a hot and sweaty day when we were too gross to go anywhere else. We had made this place part of our lives. My father-in-law had been here back in the 80's and was thrilled to see new ownership. My best friend (raised by a bar-owning family) had given it approval way before the Philly Weekly did. Reasons we loved it back then: blackened green beans, fries like at Monk's when you don't want to deal with the wait there, great beer selection, unpretentious, perfect amount of dive and grime. But we had a inconceivable experience about a year and a half ago and have never been back. And I think that other people should skip it as well. January 1, 2009. I know it was a holiday and bad manners can sometimes be excused by the stress that comes with it, but bear with me. My cousins and brother are in-town and we are headed to the Poconos the next day for our annual, under-40, family ski-day. We drop by Grace's for a low-key dinner and some beers. It's not that crowded and we get the big round table without much wait. My cousin, who has learning disabilities and is also a bartender, goes to order a beer he had never heard of before and has trouble pronouncing it (I know you have all had this problem with imports somewhere). He tries to order the beer and the bartender snaps at him because he can't understand what he said. My cousin becomes flustered and apologizes and says he didn't know how to pronounce it. The bartender snarls, "If your mouth wasn't full when you were trying to talk, I could hear what you were saying." My cousin wasn't eating. My cousin then proceeds to says that he is sorry, he has dyslexia, points to the menu, and asks how to pronounce it. The bartender essentially calls him a liar. At this point in time, I talk my slightly inebriated kid brother out of starting a honor fight on his cousin's behalf and we (now unhappily) finish our dinner and our round and go to leave. I've had conversations with this bartender before. He's given me samples, offered beer education, mentioned his favorite books. I figure he is having an off-night. On the way out, I approach the bartender and tell him about how we are regulars, about how my cousin does have disabilities, and that I am upset by how he treated my family. He essentially tells me to go fuck myself. Again, I have to talk my kid brother out of a brawl. And that is why I have given up blackened green beans.
by Matthew D. on It would be a drastic understatement to say that last Friday was my worst experience ever at a club in San Francisco. Holy crap, this place has their priorities upside down. Profit over customer service? Yeah, that will sustain a business! If you're looking for a place with bad music, bartenders that would rather stare at you than serve you a drink, managers that split hairs just to make a point about the size/gender of your party, ownership that reneges on promises, and vastly overpriced low-grade vodka, then Harlot is your place! A little taste of LA in the heart of SOMA. If it were possible to give this place zero stars, I would give it -1 stars.
by Lawerence Saniger on Finally checked out The Box on a Wednesday night. I have to say that I was extremely disappointed with the show! I had heard so much about it...it just didn't live up to its hype! I still think the place is great- love the layout and decoration and there's always a show going on either onstage or off, but I wanted to see something unique and I got standard burlesque!
