When Silent Book Club started in a little French bistro in San Francisco, Laura and Guinevere would belly up to the bar with our books and order wine and moules frites (or steak frites, or salad... with frites). But as more and more friends joined us, we outgrew our bar stools at the bistro. We tried a couple of neighborhood bars—too dark, too small, too crowded. We looked at private dining rooms in restaurants—too expensive. We met outdoors in the park—too cold (SF fog is legendary).
A love letter to lobby bars
A love letter to lobby bars
A love letter to lobby bars
When Silent Book Club started in a little French bistro in San Francisco, Laura and Guinevere would belly up to the bar with our books and order wine and moules frites (or steak frites, or salad... with frites). But as more and more friends joined us, we outgrew our bar stools at the bistro. We tried a couple of neighborhood bars—too dark, too small, too crowded. We looked at private dining rooms in restaurants—too expensive. We met outdoors in the park—too cold (SF fog is legendary).