A perfect day trip to Crockett includes a 122-year-old dive bar

The grassy hills along Highway 80 toward Crockett are dry and beige. Every few miles, refinery stacks pop up between high ground — some billowing smoke, others dormant. A seemingly abandoned, or at least well-graffitied, train track crosses over a dip in the road of Highway 4 as you approach the small, unincorporated Bay Area town, which is probably most known for its sugar refinery. But when the winding Crockett Boulevard dumps you into the center of this quiet place, you can’t help but notice an enviable charm.

“Downtown” Crockett is two blocks long. It has an old-school vibe with retro neon signs above the storefronts. The Cat Vintage and Antiques shows off old Singer sewing machines, turn-of-the-century postcards and a traditional goldsmith’s weight scale in the window, which only adds to the historic aura of this town dating back to 1881.

Hidden in this Carquinez Strait-hugging enclave, and definitely part of its charm, are a few incredible places to eat and drink, which might surprise some people.

Toward the end of Second Avenue, the main strip, is an unassuming sandwich joint. A handmade wooden sign above the entrance reads Lucia’s Craft Sandwich, and has an imprint of the Carquinez Bridge. The shop, which Randy Valdez and his wife Faith Harrison opened in August 2020, has become quite popular in Contra Costa County for its big, affordable and satisfying sandwiches. As I approach, I see road cyclists with their bikes parked out front, locals, and even a few tourists. Valdez and Harrison built the business from a journal of sandwich recipes Valdez had been keeping for 20 years. They named the shop after their daughter and did so well that they were able to open a second location, in nearby Martinez, in 2021.

Inside, a chalk-printed menu sits on the wall to the left with a variety of creative sandos, like spicy coppa with pickled peppers, balsamic onions, ricotta and mozzarella cheeses, or meats paired with fruits — ham and apricot, pear and cheese, prosciutto and fig. Although it’s hot outside, I am immediately drawn to the grilled cheese section of the menu; the ‘nduja with broccolini specifically piques my interest.

After buying the sandwich, I walk the two blocks to the “town square,” of sorts, near the lone downtown stoplight, as well as the only pay phone I’ve seen in some years. I park myself on a bench in the shade as the temperature nears 90 degrees. On first bite, I can immediately tell why this deli was named one of the best in the bay (the Chronicle and SFGATE are both owned by Hearst but have separate newsrooms). As I pull apart the stretchy Muenster cheese, I notice it looks like the Italian flag. Green oil soaks the bottom slice of thick cut Acme bread, but doesn’t succumb to the weight of the chopped broccolini and tear apart. Melted into the crevices of the green vegetable is that salty cheese — the middle section of the flag. The ‘nduja, a spreadable pork sausage from southern Italy, adds a tomato-forward, spicy kick while also seeping into the top layer of bread. To be quite honest, it tastes like a pizza, but the crunch of the broccolini adds a different texture to the mix.

After chowing down and sweating from simply sitting in the shade, I decide there is only one thing that can cool me down — a nice, cold beer. Back up Second Avenue, on the corner of Ceres Street, sits the 122-year-old dive bar called Toot’s Tavern. A vertical neon sign with a lady sitting in a coupe glass juts out from the building above the entrance. Inside the dark, main room, I spot stuffed deer heads and a zebra pelt on the walls, framed historical Crockett artifacts, like the original design of the Carquinez Bridge, an intricately chiseled wooden mantelpiece above the liquor bottles and some locals sitting on the bar stools.

One of two bars in Crockett, Toot’s was originally opened as Pezzuto’s Bar in 1901 by Alexander Pezzuto, according to a placard on the wall. In 1906, his son Donato, nicknamed Toot’s, was born. In 1937, Donato took over the bar from his father and renamed it Toot’s Tavern. During Prohibition, it operated as a speakeasy and even had a basement tunnel that ran liquor from the nearby ships to the bar, according to the plaque. Because it operated during Prohibition, Toot’s Tavern claims to be the longest continuously operating liquor joint in Contra Costa County.

I sit toward the end of the bar and order a Del Cielo lager, which is a Latino-owned brewery in Martinez. It’s deliciously refreshing and tastes hoppy like an IPA, but Jeremy, the bartender, reassures me it is a lager. A Crockett resident named Spike sits down next to me — her poison of choice on this Sunday afternoon, and apparently every time she walks into Toot’s, is a Budweiser and a whiskey.

“You ever had a Snuggler?” she asked me. I had not even heard of such a thing. This was apparently the only other drink she enjoyed.

“It’s peppermint schnapps and hot chocolate,” she continued. “I like it with bread. On a cold morning, dunk a piece of toast in there and boy, let me tell you — breakfast of champions.”

Spike is a former veterinary technician of 20 or so years but hasn’t been working recently as she deals with cancer. She moved to Crockett about six years ago and said it was a great decision. She found the town to be welcoming and loving, especially after her cancer diagnosis made the rounds.

“Let me tell you, Crocketteers, they have your back,” she said. “When I got this,” she points to a tumor above her nose, “the people set up one of those GoFundMe’s and helped me out tremendously. I can’t thank them enough.”

She affectionately called Jeremy her nephew, even though they are not related. That’s just the way it goes in Toot’s Tavern. I could have spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in that bar. 

As I shake Spike’s hand before I leave, Jeremy thanks me for coming in. I make eye contact with nearly everyone sitting at the bar and they all wish me a good day. It’s that kind of hospitality that enchants me to come back one day.

From Toot’s, I make the 10-minute walk under the Carquinez Bridge to the Dead Fish, a large, 250-seat eatery known for crab, steak and fresh seafood. Chef and co-owner Andrea Foncillo opened the restaurant in 1999. As a kid, Foncillo would ask his grandmother, “What kind of fish is that, Nonna?” “A dead fish. It’s good for you, eat,” she would reply. The Dead Fish is part of the restaurant group that owns many famous Bay Area restaurants, such as the Stinking Rose in San Francisco.

The vibe at the Dead Fish is a stark contrast to the down-home atmosphere at Toot’s, but not necessarily in a bad way. I could immediately tell this was a destination restaurant for people living near the San Pablo Bay. As I enter, people leave with balloons in their hands, presumably celebrating a birthday. Nearly everyone seems to be dressed in slacks with polo shirts or dresses. The restaurant has a cliff-edge view of the San Pablo Bay and Carquinez Strait, which was once compared to the coast of Naples in Italy.

The move, of course, was to order seafood. While I don’t have room in my stomach for “Nonna’s world famous killer crab,” which is roasted in a secret garlic sauce, my eyes venture down the menu to the “recently demised fish of the day” section.

As I wait for my basa, a soft, white fish, cooked in a garlic, parsley and paprika butter sauce, I notice the ceiling is adorned with toy boats, cars, motorcycles, cable cars and airplanes hanging from thin metal rods. Though I am sitting at the bar area, I can clearly see the water from my perch. It’s calm and blue.

I switch my attention to the demised catfish, which arrives in a piping hot pan with a side of roasted yams, asparagus, peppers and buttery Jerusalem couscous. The meal was definitely tasty. Walking in, I didn’t think I’d have enough room in my stomach to eat this entire plate, but my body somehow found a way.

With the heat still sweltering at 5:30 p.m., I walk back through Crockett to get one last look. I venture up the steepest street and get a sweeping view of the entire town and Carquinez Strait. A Victorian house sits at the top of that hill which looks like it could be transported to San Francisco and not miss a beat. There’s a constant hum of traffic from the nearby bridge. And the windows in the town are shimmering in the fading sunlight.

I take in the sights and sounds of Crockett one last time from the hilltop, ready to tell my friends and family all about it.