
You wouldn’t think Club Waziema even serves food.
We rolled up to the ancient Divisadero Street watering hole at a little past nine o’clock on a Friday night, drawn by Waziema’s reputation as San Francisco’s best and only Ethiopian dive bar. Inside the crowded, dimly lit room, the jukebox blared the opening chords of Metallica’s “Enter Sandman” while a gaggle of half-tipsy twentysomethings ordered “whatever red wine” and three vodka cranberries at the long, curved bar. (“Perfect order,” the bartender quipped.)
The place has that homey, lived-in quality that all the best dive bars have, with its gorgeous, red-velvet damask wallpaper, rumored to date back to the 1940s. Framed photos of legends like Louis Armstrong and Marvin Gaye who played there during the bar’s heyday as a jazz club in the ’60s and ’70s, when it was called Club Morocco, line the walls.
These days, Club Waziema isn’t really a jazz club anymore (though it does host a lot of trendy underground DJ shows). A busy pool table occupies the elevated stage area where B.B. King once sang the blues. But like a proper neighborhood dive, the whole place buzzes with laughter and loud conversation, everyone throwing back Red Stripes and decently cheap cocktails.
Only when we looked carefully did we notice that a handful of customers were bent over heaping mounds of Ethiopian food, served, charmingly, on those red, swirly-patterned melamine plates you can find in every Chinese American household.


