No Santas allowed: SF bars and restaurants explain why they're such Grinches

Santacon may be a beloved San Francisco tradition, but some bars like Comstock Saloon choose not to participate. Santacon may be a beloved San Francisco tradition, but some bars like Comstock Saloon choose not to participate. Photo: Dan Gentile Photo: Dan Gentile Image 1 of / 70 Caption Close No Santas allowed: SF bars and restaurants explain why they're such Grinches 1 / 70 Back to Gallery

At 3 p.m. on a busy North Beach corner, I huddled under a soaked awning with a jolly group of strangers who’d already enjoyed a sleigh’s worth of Christmas spirits. As we wait out a flash downpour, I wish them a Merry Christmas. They respond with enthusiastic ho-ho-hos.

My new friends, decked out in full Kris Kringle attire, are celebrating SantaCon.

The unofficial revelrous holiday draws hundreds if not thousands of drunken Saint Nicks into the streets every December. North Beach is one of the epicenters. Now that my Santa friends had spent a few hours “delivering presents,” they’d worked up a hearty appetite and point their reindeer toward Tony’s Pizza Napoletana. Unfortunately, a plate of milk and cookies won't be waiting for them.

At many San Francisco bars and restaurants, Santa is on the naughty list.

Once we arrive at Tony’s, a security guard greets the group of Santas and politely points them away from the restaurant toward the to-go slice counter a few doors down. The Santas respond with good cheer, calmly redirecting their sleighs, but not all SantaCon revelers have such grace.

“People get offended sometimes, but it is what it is," says Epi Novak, a Tony’s Pizza server who’s watched a Santa drop a slice on the sidewalk, then pick it up and eat it. "Once a Santa threw up on a 5-year-old, we said we’d had enough of the Santas.” That was five years ago. Even since, they implemented a No Santa ... clause.

As if I needed any more explanation, just then a scantily clad, questionably 21-year-old girl strolls up on the sidewalk holding an open Corona. The bouncer patiently gives her a lesson on open-container laws, then shakes his head at me in disbelief.

Across the street at Original Joe’s, a white table cloth Italian restaurant dating to 1937, the staff holds a similar sentiment. Given the more formal nature of the restaurant, the hosts diplomatically dodge my questions about Santa as if I were a skeptical kid whose living room didn’t have a chimney. But when pressed, they admit to a similar policy.

“One time, one of the Santas got really drunk and started a bar fight. So after that happened, we started having security here,” says hostess Angelica Martinez, who had turned away about five groups of Santas by midafternoon, one of which had reservations.

Take a rainy 10-minute walk south, and odds are a distracted Santa will nearly crash into you on the sidewalk as he stumbles to one of a dozen rowdy bars filled with a sea of red and white. But if you can dodge the hordes and reach Comstock Saloon, you'll find a safe haven.

By comparison, Comstock feels like a Grinch’s hideout. There’s not a fake beard in sight, thanks to a black-and-white sign on the door with the word SantaCon crossed out.

“You see it on the street, people stumbling over. It’s an atmosphere that we don’t really want to foster here,” says bartender Ashley Kotowske. “And I think it’s just kind of an unsafe thing in general. It’s a weird party environment, the city’s not always ready for that.”

I ask the bartender about whether it hurts to turn away paying customers, especially on a relatively slow rainy Saturday, but she doesn’t sound concerned.

“From what I’ve heard, people are more excited to come here to have a comfortable time, rather than having drunk people all around them elbowing and being obnoxious. We want to make our guests as comfortable as possible.”

Just then a gang of Santas loudly saunter into the bar and a server darts toward the door, ready to politely ask them to take their Christmas cheer elsewhere.

Dan Gentile is a digital editor at SFGATE. Email: Dan.Gentile@sfgate.com | Twitter: @Dannosphere