For reasons not entirely clear, San Francisco has an obsession with the inky liqueur. Ask for Fernet at most bars in New York, Chicago, or Boston, and be prepared for blank stares. But in the 49 square miles of San Francisco, where over 50 percent of the country’s Fernet consumption occurs, ordering the drink gives one automatic insider status.
From its roots as a medicinal tonic in 19th-century Italy, Fernet has held onto - and in San Francisco, has exaggerated - its mythology. Proponents say it eases the symptoms of PMS, is good for treating an upset stomach, and can cure all sorts of ills. The writer Hunter S. Thompson famously said that as long as he was drinking Fernet, he wouldn’t get a hangover (bartenders will tell you the same). The drink’s medical claims even kept it on the shelf during Prohibition, despite its being 40 percent alcohol.
My first shot was an overpowering blast to the palate, throat, and stomach, hinting at: sugarless jägermeister, menthol cough drop, and Middle Eastern and South Asian spices. Like most novices, I was totally unprepared, and not entirely thrilled, by the sensation. But a while later something funny happened: I wanted more.
In my quest to sample the beverage at some of San Francisco’s quintessential watering holes, I found Fernet to be one of those universal concepts that ties the city’s disparate neighborhoods together. After briefly stopping by the Barback Olympics at the chichi club Ruby Skye near Union Square Park, I hopped on the N-Judah train out to the Inner Sunset neighborhood, a quiet stretch of less-visited San Francisco just south of the Strybring Arboretum in Golden Gate Park.
