The ritual begins slowly at 111 Minna Street Gallery. At 10:15 p.m., as a DJ eases into the first set of the night, the crowd numbers 50 -- or make that 100, and growing. People are young and often pretty and certainly looking fine in go-go boots or sneakers or T-shirts and jeans or halter tops or sunglasses and a brown leather trench coat. You see hoodies and exposed midriffs, chokers and glitter, piercings and bindi dots, and a man in cargo pants so huge you could stage a revolution inside them -- and the occasional strange fellow who thinks an oxford shirt and khakis make for appropriate clubwear in San Francisco. On the wall in bright white light, you see the words "Loöq Hard," which means it's the first Saturday of the month and the good people from the city's own Loöq Records are about to take everyone higher via the 100 percent natural intoxication of progressive house music.
As anyone here can tell you, "Loöq Hard" (and its Wednesday happy-hour counterpart, "Qoöl," also at Minna) is all about working it with wild and utter abandon. The dance floor grows, body by body, until the floorboards begin to sway under shimmy hops and electric pogos run through with belly dancing, mambo, kung fu, tai chi, and the occasional hokey-pokey. Throw in a few Chimay ales or a big Newcastle from the beer-and-wine bar, and it may be impossible not to feel the love. But as the saying goes, you never buy beer, you just rent it -- and when the line for Minna's two bathrooms reaches a dozen, taking it to the next level isn't so easy. Of course, the great thing about 111 Minna is that Eddie Rickenbacker's is right across the street.
The change of venue is stunning -- a one-minute walk from absolute frenzy to absolute tranquility. Antique motorcycles hang from the ceiling, and six-figures'-worth of Tiffany lampshades accrue value to no acclaim whatsoever from a crowd of eight. Since Rickenbacker's is more of a lunch and happy-hour establishment, at night the bathrooms are empty, the liquor quicker, and manager James Hobday doesn't mind too much when Minna-philes stop by for a pee. Inevitably, a few stay, such as Eming Jung, who opened 111 Minna straight out of college seven years ago.
"We call this "the office,'" Jung says, sipping a vodka cranberry with a friend as twinkling piano music fills the air. After detailing plans to expand Minna (bathrooms included) this year, he reveals the coolest thing about owning the city's best beer-and-wine disco/ gallery: "Anytime you look around, everyone's smiling, no one's throwing attitude. ... Assholes don't go to 111 Minna. It's just not on their list of things to do."
But then, no one's throwing attitude in Rickenbacker's, either, if only because, at 1 a.m., Jung is the only person left. There's a certain beauty to having the place to oneself, although it is Saturday night, so it's hard not to feel that a bit of ass-shaking is in order. Of course, the great thing about Rickenbacker's is that 111 Minna is right across the street -- going critical as "Loöq" co-founder and resident DJ Spesh mans the turntables. People jump and raise their hands as the dance floor reaches the bar, seeming poised to overtake the entire city by dawn. Then, one by one, the lights flick on; the music continues for one last minute, and when it stops, like the man said, everyone's smiling, and nothing could "Loöq" cooler than that.
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