The Brown Jug

No good the area is bad one thing

Dude this place is gross. Walked in here last night bc we were just trying to find a bar in the neighborhood and stumbled upon this place and walked in. it looked like and smelled like a homeless shelter. My friend was drunk and she liked the music and wanted to stay, they were playing some drake song really loudly and luckily we only had a credit card bc they only accepted cash and I was able to leave right away. She said bye to all the homeless alcoholics. I wish I took a picture lol

Hella chill spot with beer and stiff drinks. It’s the kind of place where you can BYOT (Bring Your Own Tacos), compliment the lady feeding the jukebox thingy on her good music taste, be one of the only two people dancing, and check yourself out in a promotional mirror.
Good times.
Cash only.

Oh, HELL yeah. Super-​cool and nice regulars who welcomed us strangers as if we were old friends. Impromptu dance party. Unofficial DJ who rocked the house with her exceptional jukebox selections. Heavy-​handed bartenders. They let us bring food in. No snotty people.
I.Love.This.Place.

Okay, one of the true giants in the dive bar industry. What a hell hole. My girlfriend and I, both from Seattle, spent the weekend in San Francisco and pulled up to the bar at Brown Jug by noon. The idea was to get some cheap drinks, watch the Preakness and experience a great San Francisco dive bar. Well mission complete and had a blast doing it. The beer was cheap, the bartender kept making up shot and beer specials on the fly, Thanks Steve, and we ended up getting pretty blasted. Talked horse racing with the other patrons and the owner, Shout out to Max who bought us a few shots during the afternoon. All in all a fun day and next time back I will certainly make a stop in The Brown Jug. Seedy joint, sketchy people who are mostly nice, a little bit slummy, cold beer, good shot selection and decent jukebox. Oh yeah and we left this place and went to Mr. Bings then to La Rocca, Seattleites tend to get serious about their dive bars.

Chill Wednesday night, offered free pool for a tapped Guinness keg. Bartender is amazingly friendly and hilarious!

Wow! I finally, after thirty plus
years of passing the Brown by, I went in and had a drink! I was surprised, first that it was a white bar. Just a scraggly little flock of older White Tenderloin retirees sipping their daily. I never went in because I assumed it was a black street hustler alcoholic bar. I am not racist but I know I don’t have the skill set to engage the level of street savy a group of those dudes would aim my way. It’s just out of my league. And YOU know what I mean! (: I can hardly say no to a street hustler on his own. I’d be picked over like a pot chicken feeding a family of ten! They say there’s a sucker born every minute. Well count me in. I have zero boundaries w hustlers. It’s like taking candy from a retarded baby! Enough said. The Jug was just your basic neighborhood dive bar with some older alcoholic white guys hanging out. There was one young red faced guy w his head on the bar apparently passed out. That wasn’t a problem at all. The bartender left him alone in a kind of «peaceable kingdom» sort of way. People were very at home. I went to the only restroom that has no lock and accidently opened the door upon a ruddy lad sitting on the lou with pants down to his ankles. He was so relaxed he took forever to come out. This had all of the hallmarks of a regular routine at this place. It’s obviously a home away from home. Everyone leaves you alone, which I appreciate especially. It’s nice for a change not to get hit on in a room full of men, which as we know only happens in the gay Castro. These guys are way past the usual priority of most straight guys of getting laid. They have laid that to rest, having likely sewn their seeds in Okinawa or something. These guys were beyond that and fully committed to their grog and the lair they inhabited in the rustic Tenderloin, where a bar is rated PG compared to what else goes on there… Check out the Jug anytime. They’re will always be someone their 24 7 This is a serious drinkers bar. It’s peaceful and quiet like a sanctuary…

Can not wait until next Thanksgiving… at the brown jug.
Went again last night and just want to re-​emphasize that Mike is the best bartender ive ever met. He’s out of the movies. Epic.

How quickly things change! You remove the great bartender and you end up in a dump. It’s hard to wash the filth off after you leave and in some cases, it never goes away.

Always wanted to come here for some reason. Totally local and they have a pool table. I feel good about having a bud light here and it’s ok. (Some people judge if you don’t get the Triple Belgian beers).

Great dive bar. Came in randomly and passed the time mad chill

Awful awful awful oh god why?!
Was trying to kill some time before a comedy show at 222 Hyde and this place looked promising from the outside. There weren’t that many bars in the area to choose from that didn’t look like I’d be stabbed at.
The bartender looked like he didn’t want us there and their happy hour specials were bottom of the barrel. Never again! I walk by this place all the time too and it is always empty. Take that as a fair warning!

A true dive. Cheap drinks, and a full view of the all the entertainment options the TL has to offer. That’s not saying much, except when it is. This is the kind of dive bar that’s nice when it’s empty.

Good drinks at great prices. I’ll be back.

The Brown Jug is a black hole into which your sobriety plummets and is crushed in the inexorable forces of alcoholic gravity. No matter how noble your intentions, you will not leave the Jug in any state other than «trashed beyond belief.»
Stumbling home late one night, a friend and I stopped in here. Because Tenderloin dive bar. It’s only a few blocks from my apartment, so it seemed like a reasonable spot for a night cap.
Hours later, and we’re shutting the place down, shitfaced like none other on $ 3 whiskey sours. We spent the night feeding coins into the jukebox and singing Johnny Cash loudly with the regulars (who are exactly what you would hope for in a TL dive), playing pool on the slightly unreliable table, and shooting the shit with the bartender.
The bartender is so great. He is hilarious and sweet, and he always welcomes me with open arms. After a shitty falling out with a boy, he sat with me at the bar, had drinks, talked, and played pool with my drunk-​ass self. Plus, his pours are always healthy and he has good taste in jukebox selections.
The bouncer is a likewise awesome guy who is always reading a fascinating book that he’s happy to talk about while I’m out on a smoke break.
It has been far, far too long since I’ve last been in the Jug, but it’s always a winning end to the evening… at least, the parts I can remember.

Who can’t and doesn’t love this place?
I haven’t been there in over a year, but I hope it’s the same seedy, diving place I go to to escape the drudging scene-​sters that plague all the rest of the decent bars in the area.
Mark is a great bartender. He’ll shoot the shit in a way where it makes you appreciate your surroundings. He keeps it real. Has fun facts about the city. Knows when you want to talk, knows when you don’t. Essential skills of a bartender, that’s for sure.
Hipsters are taking over these sorts of bars and I can only hope they’ve avoided this from their radar. Sorry kids, you can’t escape your privileged upbringing just cause you go to a bar full of the same people who are getting away from the ones they slave for to make a living (YOU). ‘Nuff said.

Just in for a quick drink, this place opened it’s arms to us like the wary shellshocked Vet: not sure who’s more afraid of who. I do think we were more afraid of it than it of us… but thank God we were so out of place that it simply stared at us and ignored us at the same time.
We felt the tension, and Denny was ready to use his new hands if it came to it, while my mother and I were wound up tight enough that we’d be a quarter mile down the road before we knew it.
Sorry Denny, but I don’t want to get stuck by some needle while you’re having fun rocking the «tussle» and taking guys down.

Something that lived here just crawled away and died… Lo, the walls herein once housed a noticeably blighted yet dubiously amusing cross-​section of inner city culture. There were steely-​eyed sailors, burned out ex-​hookers, and battle-​worn veterans. There were broken-​hearted romantics, failed Hollywood starlets, and wide-​eyed idealists who’d fill your ears with well-​intentioned yet flawed talk of how the world should be. There was a drag queen that danced with castanets, a scattered assortment of dismal pool sharks, and a Dianna Ross look-​alike that would flip off anyone that so much as looked at her. It was a collection of damaged yet friendly souls, the likes of which have teetered on the brink of extinction during last decade. The petals of their being formed an asymmetric blossom of dubious beauty… sometimes contracting, sometimes expanding, but always at it’s peak sometime around the 1^st and 15^th of the month. The place had an ever present soul that was welcoming to some, destructive to a few, but benevolent to nobody. Sometimes it shot you a cold but inviting smile the moment you walked in. Other other times it sat in a corner, peering about nervously from beneath a tattered fedora while surrounding itself in a loose-​fitting trench-​coat.
Here it dwelt… but no longer. There was no specific time when you could look about it’s walls and proclaim the-​day-​the-​music-​died. Rather, you sensed it after a number visits when urban dysfunction clearly announced it’s presence yet it’s brethren of inner-​city charm was perpetually MIA. Gone is the interesting chit-​chat, the colorful denizens, and the ever-​present notion that shit might hit the fan at any given moment. What’s left is a dreadfully predictable cast of characters, the most noticeable of which is an owner/​shot-​caller who dutifully nurses an almost violent, pre-​carcinogenic cough with a steady stream of cigarettes.
I pop in from time to time grab a cheap pint, and to look about for the spirit of the departed… but alas, I look in vain. The soul that dwelt here has long since left and gone elsewhere. Furthermore, those who came after it lack the ability and the will to atone for shifting demographics that seem to have driven it away…

the brown jug isn’t as busy as one may think. but then it was on sunday before the giants game, certainly a dry period, so to speak. not much décor. only 2 draughts, (racer & pbr) with a token number of the usual bottled beers. bartender seems to be the owner. older crowd here.
pricing: racer (6) captain and coke (6) seem kind of pricey,
on draught:
–stick to bar, rest of bar is a dive and a dump.
–thought the bath room smells.
–didn’t ask where the stairscase trending downward led to…
–street walkers like to pop in here. not sure why.

I’m not a prude. Really, I’m not. I enjoy bars off the beaten path. I enjoy bars with characters. Bukowski bars.
This place is in a category all its own. Horrible beer «selection.» Crackheads popping their heads in the door every two minutes. Smelly.
I give it three stars because it’s a great experience. Is it a great bar? No. But next time you’re in the ‘loin drop in for a Miller High Life and enjoy a day a the human zoo.