Washington Square Bar & Grill

Gazing at the building now occupied by Lillie Coit’s, I can almost hear the clinking glasses and lively chatter that once echoed within the walls of the Washington Square Bar & Grill. The Washington Square Bar & Grill, affectionately nicknamed the “Washbag” by Herb Caen, was more than just a restaurant. It was a stage where San Francisco’s vibrant cultural scene unfolded. Established in 1973 by Ed Moose, his wife Mary Etta, and partner Sam Dietsch, the Washington Square Bar & Grill quickly became a magnet for writers, politicians, musicians, and the social elite. The Washbag wasn’t just about the food and drinks. It was about the atmosphere, the connections, the shared stories, and the feeling of belonging. Ed Moose, a former reporter, had a knack for bringing people together. He even formed a softball team, Les Lapins Sauvages, composed of the restaurant’s regulars, including influential figures and Caen himself. Caen’s columns often chronicled the team’s adventures, further cementing the Washbag’s place in the city’s lore. Imagine Pulitzer Prize winner Stanton Delaplane, a regular at the Washbag, crafting his columns by the piano, sending them off by messenger to the San Francisco Chronicle. The restaurant’s legacy extends beyond newspaper columns and softball games. In 1989, Ron Fimrite, a member of Les Lapins Sauvages, captured the essence of the Washbag in his book, “The Square: The Story of a Saloon.” He painted a vivid picture of the restaurant’s role in San Francisco’s cocktail culture. The Washington Square Bar & Grill saw several changes in ownership, closures, and even a brief revival. It closed for good in 2010, the same day Ed Moose passed away. The building that once housed this legendary establishment now stands as a testament to a bygone era. While Lillie Coit’s now occupies the space, the spirit of the Washington Square Bar & Grill lives on in the memories of those who frequented its lively halls. The stories and laughter may have faded, but the legacy of the Washbag remains, a reminder of a time when San Francisco’s heart beat a little stronger within those walls.