Five years post-fire, a famed Castro bar is back — and really, really fun

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You don’t often see a dance floor fill up as fast as it did Saturday at Q Bar, the boisterous Castro club that has finally reopened after a five-year, flood-and-fire-borne hiatus. But by 10 p.m., one hour after opening, people were streaming in, looking to burn off some post-Thanksgiving energy. Owner Cip Cipriano, performing as his alter-ego DJ Cip, blasted danceable disco tracks, while women in short skirts and men in sparkly cowboy hats rushed to the bar for vodka-heavy drinks. Lil Nas X mugged for the camera on the muted TVs.

Though comparable in size to other patio-less Castro spots like the Edge, Q Bar is hardly some cavernous warehouse megaclub. Just weeks after reopening, it already pulsates with the hedonistic energy the Castro urgently needs right now — desperately, even.

The most famous gayborhood in the world has been wobbling since the pandemic. Yes, Twin Peaks, Lookout, and Last Call are thriving, but vacancies abound. The short-lived drag diner Hamburger Mary’s is gone, as is cruisy brunch spot Harvey’s. Re-enter Q Bar, a boozy, bouncy neighborhood staple from 2008 until it closed after a 2019 fire in an apartment upstairs. Now it’s back, five nights a week starting at 9 p.m., with an $8 cover on weekends. 

Hold up — 9 p.m.? No happy hour? How very dare you!

It’s not an oversight. Cipriano says Q Bar never made money during happy hour even before the pandemic, and he doesn’t think it would now. “Our vision is very much this East Village, New York, late-’70s, early-’80s, dark nightclub,” he added. So, 16 years after it first opened, the bar welcomes patrons at an hour that almost dares early-to-bed San Francisco to be a little irresponsible for a change.

For good or for ill, San Francisco queer bars are famed for their hefty pours, and Q Bar is no exception. One drink here equals roughly two drinks in the rest of America. But unlike many LGBTQ+ spaces, where ordering anything more complicated (or caloric) than a vodka-tonic is practically forbidden, Q Bar’s cocktails feel like cocktails. Vodka still reigns, but it’s more of a constitutional monarch.

Electronic screens advertise “DRAANKS!” like the Dutch mule ($12) — a spin on the classic Moscow mule with upscale Ketel One, Bundaberg ginger beer, and lime — and the Between the Sheets ($15), a kind of inverse martini made with D’Usse cognac, Bacardi rum, Grand Marnier, honey, and lemon. Those ingredients make it sound like a cheeky homemade cold remedy, but it’s as smooth as smooth gets. While the Hot & Sticky ($12), a gin-and-grapefruit highball, would benefit from less ice, the pepper-infused simple syrup keeps it lively. 

The decor, too, is a cut above. An entire wall is given over to “Black Excellence in Modern Music,” featuring 125 album covers like Ike & Tina Turner’s “What You Hear Is What You Get” and Dr. Dre’s “The Chronic,” while an art installation of blown-up vintage Muni transfer stubs commemorates the birth years of Bay Area icons like artist Richard Diebenkorn and erotic dancer Carol Doda. Do the kids even know who these people are? Well, if they didn’t before, now they will. 

The one thing that’s largely absent is seating. This, too, is by design. “We didn’t want people sitting down,” Cipriano said. They’re definitely not: Even on a Monday, patrons danced with heedless abandon. Maybe it was the $2 well drinks and no cover. Maybe it was the volume of Robyn’s “Dancing on My Own,” a reliable catalyst for getting wild. 

This is what going out was like before smartphones. It’s like Q Bar never left. It’s, like, really, really fun.