whither rondalla?

La Rondalla, San Francisco's best Margarita Bar/Restaurantyoushouldonlydrinkat has been eerily dark for maybe nine months now, its leather bar door tagged with silver markers. A sign says they're closed for renovations, but there does not seem to be any sort of activity of a renovating kind.

Rumors are flying and indeed last summer the restuarant seemed to have some general sanitational challenges, further reinforcing the "only drink there" conventional wisdom. Sounds like quite a bit of work has to be done to whip the place back into edible shape. I do remember witnessing with my own eyes a small roachy critter scamper across the bar.

But I hope they come back. La Rondalla was one of the few bars in the Mission that actually was host to the full array of people who live in the Mission; latino and non, gay and straight, young and old, hookers and nonhookers. It was incredibly friendly, low on hipster posturing, and the chips were really quite good too. It had history, legend, great bartenders, strange holiday decorations, and often a thirteen piece Mariachi band in a 200 square foot bar (I may be exaggerating.) It was the first bar I ever drank at in San Francisco when my brother George and I ventured out from my Uncle's house on 20th street, sat at the bar and even got a couple free shots thanks to the bartender's affinity for tall men.

Best of all, it was across the street, allowing for painless heading home after a post pitcher of extra-lethal Margaritas that were really quite delicious, and really quite strong.

Vuelve, Rondalla, por favor.