Tosca Cafe

242 Columbus Ave, San Francisco, CA

A bar with ghosts in the wallpaper and Sinatra on the jukebox. Tosca doesn’t care if you’re comfortable — it cares if you’re paying attention. The meatballs whisper of Calabria, the roast chicken dares you to eat with your hands. Cocktails strut in like Hollywood extras, a little too polished but impossible to ignore. The crowd? Poets, posers, tech money slumming it — all basking in the glow of a room that refuses to die.

Tosca isn’t dinner. Tosca is theater. And the ghosts always drink first.