The Laundromat has no business being this cool. It’s a bagel shop on weekday mornings and a pizza place with natural wine at night. It’s out in the Avenues in what should be a sleepy part of the Richmond.
And yet.
The most in-the-know people I know call it their go-to spot. The bartender dripping in vintage pieces, the impeccably dressed New York transplant who runs a sustainable clothing company, my hot friend in haute couture who makes frames for MoMA — these are the people who make the Laundromat such a scene. Wait times for dinner can stretch to two hours.
I needed to know what all the fuss was about, so Sunday I gathered a group and set out for the Laundromat’s second-anniversary party, which I’d heard about via, naturally, an Instagram post.
Illuminated by the neon glow of the Balboa Theatre’s marquee, gaggles of hipsters and beautiful young families flooded Balboa Street outside the restaurant. The entire block was activated — an unexpected hot spot in an otherwise residential enclave.
Inside, a bunch of my favorite people had gotten the memo, too. There was the long-haired barista from whom I buy coffee in the Mission; a tattoo artist I’d met years ago, fireside at Woods; a bunch of photographers and artists, including the MoMA framer, who had some of her pieces on the walls.
Also in attendance: dogs, annoyingly well-dressed babies, mustached skater boys, people who look good in baggy jeans, and drag queens, whose performances brought true delight to the faces of all of the above.
The accessories were suitably eclectic and homespun. Muni and SF Library totes wildly outnumbered anything fast-fashion. When I donned a Laundromat-branded camo cap, someone in the crowd exclaimed, “That’s the hottest hat in town!” I counted more than one flash of a film camera. An airbrush artist created custom pieces in one corner; a group of friends played a not-so-serious game of cards in another. Outside, cigarette and vape smoke mingled with the smell of grilled choripan hot dogs.
It seemed like almost everyone at the party had a connection to the city’s drinking and dining scene. The camo hat said not just that I was in-the-know but that I was a supporter. People had come out to celebrate the hard work of food industry professionals and a trendy place that brings life and energy to the Outerlands.
As the dance floor emptied out, my photos got blurrier. Holding half-drunk bottles of natural wine by the necks, friends new and old waved goodbye as my partner and I grabbed an Uber home. We promised ourselves we would come back. Maybe on a normal night. Maybe in the morning for bagels.
