Red lanterns. A basement that feels like 1962. Their Chinese Mai Tai contains Three Penis Whiskey, imported from China. The bartender will challenge you to Liar's Dice. Bring cash and low expectations.

Oldest bar in San Francisco. Opened 1861. Survived the earthquake, prohibition, tech booms one and two. Live blues every single night. Smells appropriately historic. This place was old when your grandparents were young.

One reviewer suggested the city should demolish it and install a wi-fi hotspot instead. The heavy metal playlist was described as "absolutely horrifying." Most patrons called "major degenerates." Tacos next door. Proudly degenerate since forever.

Karaoke. Staff with documented attitude. Cash only. Stiff drinks. Eclectic doesn't begin to cover it. Reviewers warn not to come with your grandma or a bad attitude. Good advice on both counts.

Velvet paintings. Neon marquee you can see from the street at midnight. Photos of former bartenders on the wall like saints. Been walking the line between dive and hipster bar for decades without losing its soul. Food delivered from the deli next door.

Cash only. Pool table. A family runs it. Somehow survives in the most expensive, bougie neighborhood in San Francisco. An act of resistance disguised as a bar. Regulars only, but they'll let you in anyway.

Self-styled Bear Bar USA. Past the pool table, past the DJ booth, past the hallway lined with decades of memorabilia, is an outdoor patio where people are chomping cigars and sharing cigarettes like the city never changed. It didn't, here.

Bikini bar. Pool tables. Darts. A taco lady on the patio. Yes, all of that at once. One critic said it doesn't really have the feel of a local pub where regulars hang out. That reviewer has never been a regular anywhere. This is exactly where regulars hang out.

Six to eight pool tables. A jukebox that regulars treat like a religion. No food — bring your own. One TripAdvisor reviewer was scandalized that the doorman was gaming on his phone. The doorman was right to do so. Good pours, reasonable prices, all day long.

An Irish pub on Mariner's Mile, surrounded by yacht clubs and luxury car dealerships. Mouthy Irish bartenders since 1992. Live music on weekends with a city ordinance prohibiting dancing. Guinness on tap. Fish and chips. A total dive that makes no apologies for existing where it exists.

Right in the Balboa Fun Zone, steps from the ferry. Dollar bills stapled to the walls. Dark, wood-lined, nautical. Bartender Jeff knows half the room by name. The other bartender has a TripAdvisor review warning of "verbal abuse." Pickled eggs. Fishermen, boat captains, and beach wanderers all at the same bar. Has been here for generations and plans to stay.

Opened in 1953. The beach nearby is literally named after this bar. Surfers used it as a landmark from the water. Pool tables, pickled eggs, ice-cold draft beer. Sits right off the Newport pier. The entire neighborhood grew up around it and now wishes it would leave. It won't.