Réveille In The Early San Francisco Morning

Here in this place, in the City By the Bay, on a street corner on Columbus Avenue, everything seemed to slow down. Time seemed to stop. Just for me. Just for this moment.

I stepped out of my cozy hotel lobby and on to the cold wet pavement stretching out in every direction in front of me. The streets of North Beach in San Francisco were quiet except for the occasional sound of a bus lumbering by, the twang of the power cables reverberating off the surrounding buildings, echoing across the stark empty slick sidewalks. I pulled my jacket tighter around me trying to fend off the chill of the early morning fog that was floating gently overhead. It was one of those days in San Francisco where the sky was a dull monotonous gray and the buildings seemed to blend into it seamlessly swallowed by the low hanging mist, teasing a glimpse of blue sky every so often before closing the portal and selfishly locking you in.

I turned left making my way up Columbus Avenue, walking past rows of quaint storefronts that were still closed at this early hour, their windows darkened, “Closed” signs twisted haphazardly to one side of another. The smell of freshly-baked cornetti wafted out of the Italian bakeries as I passed by, the hint of powdered sugar hanging in the damp air, luring me, yanking my tastebuds and tempting me to stop and partake in a bite, or two, or even three. As I turned onto Union Street, the sounds of the city started to fill my ears, giving life to the lifeless and color to a rather pallid grey vista. The chime of a bell rang out in the distance giving away the position of an early morning patron on his way into a local store for his donut fix. A delivery truck beeped as it backed up slowly into a side alley bring in its daily deliveries, cautiously navigating the steep incline but not paying attention to any early morning joggers who were battling the urban morning obstacle course. A group of seagulls screeched as they fought over a discarded piece of bread partially moistened by the wet mist, pieces torn in all directions, the sticky crust a prize to be won by only the greatest shows of force and dominance. It was all part of the urban symphony around me and I reveled in every harmonious beat, every jarring blare and every conversation being belted around me in a sea of languages from around the world.

San Francisco winter mornings were particularly cold, but despite the frigid air I found myself drawn to Jackson Square in North Beach. I walked down this neighborhood’s historic streets feeling a deep sense of nostalgia sitting in the base of my chest. This was a neighborhood that had seen it all, all of history, everything that we read about it and dreamed about. From the raucous days of the Beat Generation, to the tech boom of the 21st century. From the season of love, to the marches and packed streets of progress. And yet despite all of those world impacting changes, the neighborhood still managed to retain a sense of timeless charm. It was as if someone pushed the “Pause” button on the view. The day players changed; some moved in, some got older, and some departed for other places. But the scene, it was the constant backdrop. The never-aging view. The consistency in a flurry of change and progress.

I walked through Jackson Square slowing my pace to really take in the moment, the vibe, the feeling and the sentiment. I was struck by the beauty of the area. The square was surrounded by elegant brick buildings, their facades weathered by time, history and changing owners. There was a sense of vitality. Despite the cold, the morning traffic was stirring in the city as people hurried about their day, sipping coffee at sidewalk cafes or darting in and out of trendy boutiques just opening their doors for early morning patrons. It was a place where the old and the new collided and somehow managed to coexist in perfect harmony in this truly unique corner of the city.

I spotted the mute grey corner building creating a wedge between Columbus and Kearny, the small black and white sign of Réveille Coffee hanging sharply overhead pointing towards the direction of the Transamerica building. I joined the queue and stepped inside, my nostrils inhaling deeply taking in the aroma of freshly roasted and ground coffee beans, the baristas working in a perfect quartet behind the round middle island, steam bellowing out around rapidly moving hands. The air was warm inside and the hum of conversation from the other customers reverberated around the glass room. Croissants, kouign-amanns, eggs and avocado on toast, a plethora and pleasure of basic yet creative choices filled their menu and created a sea of aromas all combined with the nutty scent of freshly pulled espresso. I neared the central bar as the queue slowly shuffled forward, placing my order for a cappuccino and a croissant. It was a cliche, an almost universal expectation at many coffeehouses. Somewhere in the universe — perhaps on the other side of the world — I could almost hear a French waiter or Italian barista judging me softly. But, it was just the right amount of sugar, butter and caffeine to wake me properly bringing me back to my senses.

I sidestepped the coffee bar, waiting for my order, taking a moment to pan around room and enjoy the ingenious decor of a space that was essentially built into a wedge. The interior was sleek and modern with a long counter and stools lining the sides of the open space. The large wall of windows on either side of the coffee shop brought in a plethora of light, the overall effect was one of understated sophistication. Early morning locals sat around the outer walls reading newspapers, typing on their laptops and phones, while others engaged in deep conversations over their morning ritual; an Americano, a cappuccino, a pour over with a chase of espresso. Each person had their own and unique favorite morning preference.

When my order was ready I gently carried my coffee over to the side of the room and took a seat by the window savoring the first sip of my coffee. The flavor was bold and complex with notes of chocolate and caramel. Revelle’s coffee had a sweet bitterness to it that was both nutty and creamy. The flavor seemed to linger with every sip and was the perfect antidote to the chilly weather outside. I wrapped the fingers of my hands around my cup letting the ceramic warm my palms as the aroma of the creamy milk mixed with thick espresso wafted up to my nose stirring me back to my senses and drawing me out of my early morning groggy haze.

I took a small bite of my croissant feeling the crispy, flaky layers shatter in my mouth revealing a soft buttery center that was almost too good to be true. It was truly a magical experience, like taking a bite out of a cloud if clouds were made of pastry and filled with the promise of a new day. Every bite was a reminder of the simple pleasures in life, of taking the time to savor each moment and appreciate the little things and the subtle experiences around you. Whether enjoyed alone or with a cappuccino it was a humble delight that never failed to bring a smile to my face.

I sipped my coffee and my eyes wandered around the room watching life just happen around me. North Beach was a vibrant neighborhood full of characters and stories. A group of middle-aged Italian men sat at a nearby table speaking in rapid-fire Italian and gesturing wildly making wide-eyed expressions and laughing together between sips of their espresso. A couple with matching yoga mats slung over their shoulders walked by, deep in conversation about their morning class. A man with a battered backpack and an unkempt beard shuffled in and ordered a black coffee to go in a rush to where ever he was off to. It was a slice of San Francisco life and I savored every amazing moment of it.

I finished the last of my croissant and pulled the final globs of milky foamy espresso into my mouth feeling almost if not nearly human. I ordered a second cappuccino to-go and decided to take a walk around the neighborhood instead. North Beach is known for its historic architecture and I always enjoyed simply walking through its amazing streets and alleyways taking in the ornate details of the buildings, hearing this side of the city stir awake from its slumber and feeling the traffic vibrate beneath my feet as the city revved its pace to a late morning rush. I slowly walked up Grant Avenue, my cappuccino warming my fingers with every step. This amazing little street was lined with Italian restaurants, each one boasting a menu more intriguing than the last. I strolled slowly from block to block enjoying my coffee and the sights that surrounded me. It was hard not to absorb the energy of this bustling neighborhood. This old Italian village, covertly nestled in the heart of the city. San Francisco’s beating heart keeping the rhythm of the town alive and vibrant.

The Italian colors of the running lights strung up and down the street added to the charm of the narrow one way streets. At night the green, white and red lights illuminated the cobblestone pavement below capturing the essence of North Beach — vibrant, eclectic and unapologetically Italian. I watched as locals and tourists alike rushed about each with their own purpose and schedule. The morning rush was in full swing as the city fully came to life with locals and tourists alike flooding this historic neighborhood’s streets and it was a joy to witness the colorful chaos of it all erupting before my very eyes.

I turned back onto Columbus Avenue pausing for just a moment to take in the view and slowly savored a sip of my coffee. Since my very first visit, and throughout most of my life, every time I return here I remain struck by the sheer beauty of this magical city. The crisp cool air danced on my skin as I gazed down the street towards the iconic TransAmerica Building. A needle pointing up piercing the misty vail, towering high above the rest of the skyline. The morning traffic continued to build, cluttering the streets and I could feel the rush of the city escalating as people scurried about their daily routines. But here in this place, on a street corner on Columbus Avenue, everything seemed to slow down. Time seemed to stop. Just for me. Just for this moment. I brought my cup closer to my pursed lips, taking a deep breath and inhaling the aroma of my coffee. I listened to the sounds of the cable cars in the distance, adding to the symphony of the city, creating a harmony that was both unique and memoizing. The sights. The smells. The feeling. The wonder. The pure alchemy. It was a moment of pure bliss wrapped in an enigma of utter appreciation and longing for the soul and the spirit of the famous City By The Bay.