Welcome to Drinking Companion, a column about our favorite bars in San Francisco. Each month, we’ll be toasting the places that inspire us to get dressed, go out, and get a drink or two. Next up: The Irish Bank.
Beginning at 5 p.m., large buildings on Market begin to leak collared and backpacked professionals. Some board their preferred form of electric transport home, while others leg it along Bush to a humble alley packed with green plastic tables to banter and scuttlebutt about the day.
The Irish Bank is known for its bangers and mash, as well as its banging St. Paddy’s day bash, but for many nine-to-fivers (including us at Gazetteer) it’s the perfect after-hours pitstop. We’ll trudge right past the Corgi Cafe, where hackers and engineers sweat out their lattes, and into this surprisingly lively alcove on the edge of Union Square. The hum of chatter grows as you approach the alley; it’s cinematic.
When Irish immigrants Christopher Martin and Rory Connolly opened the Irish Bank in 1996, the Irish Bank joined a well-established scene of pubs across San Francisco, though none else can call an entire alley their home. This alley, officially called Mark Lane, is what sets the Bank apart. Not only does it double their capacity, but it is the perfect space for their St. Patrick’s party, during which Mark Lane transforms into a concert venue.
The other 364 days of the year, it feels like a cafeteria. Typically, one large group will take over the longest table, which seats over a dozen, while others push and rearrange the smaller tables as they see fit. Some sit, some stand, some lean and loiter. As the night progresses, more and more people fill in, of all ages, vibes, and degrees of familiarity. Stacks of coasters attempt to offset the threat of the hilariously patchy asphalt, but the best way to keep your Guinness safe is by drinking it.
The Bank’s whitewashed alley-facing wall evokes the facade of a coastal cottage if the thatched roof was replaced with a five-story apartment building. The wall is covered in antique metal signs, mostly of beer and cigarettes, stretching the length of the alley and in through the doorway. Inside, the walls are similarly doused in Irish artifacts: Old ledgers from the 19th century, black-and-white photographs framed in warm wood, and Guinness plaques decorate every corner of the small dark interior. Former wearers of FlynnO’Hara beware: An old wooden confessional booth sits beside the far end of the bar. (I certainly inherited my Catholic guilt and palate for beer from my Irish side.)
Luckily, the folks behind the bar are prescribing a dozen different draft beers, not a decade of the rosary, to wash the day away. Beer is the obvious medium here, but there are some other popular options, such as the Roe & Co. Irish whiskey or the Dingle Gin cucumber gimlet.
This bar has amazingly managed to fly under the radar of many San Franciscans, though in its first year of business, it caught some attention — and a lawsuit — from the Bank of Ireland itself. When the bar first opened it was called the Bank of Ireland, but within a year, they were forced to change the name to the Irish Bank. According to reports, the real bank said the bar “taints” the bank's reputation. Our Irish Bank backed down quickly to save on legal fees. Don’t worry, the finance bros that you’ll see at Irish Bank have a better sense of humor than those guys across the pond.
A couple winters ago, a writer acquaintance took himself to Ireland to finish a couple short stories; I was tickled by the concept of leaving Northern California to go somewhere so… Northern California. Moody weather, rolling green hills, rugged coastlines, and many, many cows make these two faraway slices of the world oddly akin. Perhaps that’s why we have so much cross-pollination. After all, San Francisco’s Buena Vista Cafe invented the Irish coffee that I drank all over the Emerald Isle. It’s no Dingle Peninsula, but on Mark Lane, you’re bound to find that Irish friendliness, humility, and hoopla.
The Irish Bank calls itself romantic, and I agree, though not in the modern, red-roses sense. A sneaky alley full of antiques and people having fun keeps San Francisco romantic. So hurry on over to the Irish Bank, you fecking eejits!
Go if you like: The Pogues, building meaningful relationships with your coworkers, European soccer, brumous weather
Ask for: A Smithwick’s
Leave: Plenty of time to enjoy yourself
Avoid if you want: A teeny tiny ‘tini and a plate of haute beans
The Irish Bank is open 11:30 a.m. to midnight Sunday through Thursday, and until 2 a.m. Friday and Saturday.
