So, yeah.
We were in San Francisco/Sonoma from Friday until yesterday, and it was eleventy hundred kinds of fun. Laid back, no real itinerary, eat like a queen with a tapeworm, drink wine like your life depended on it sort of fun. Sell all your possessions, buy a van, move there and get a job selling homemade vodka at a roadside stand sort of fun.
We rolled into Sebastopol to meet up with my sister & her husband, as they both work in town and she took half the day off to entertain us. After lunch at a
local place that had the best hummus I've ever had the pleasure to shovel into my mouth, we headed off to
Lynmar Winery since it was on the way to their house and even though all I heard was "Blah, blah, blah, WINERY", I guess that they also boast a great patio with lovely views:
(Yeah, I know we look alike- trust me, people tell us that ALL THE TIME.)
We drank wine, we discussed the commune we're starting when we win the lottery, we took in the views, and I bought a lovely bottle of Chardonnay. It was 70-something degrees, we were surrounded by some of the best scenery on the planet, and we were with people we
actually like to be around- not a bad way to spend a Friday afternoon at all.
When we got back to her place, she bestowed upon me an article of clothing she had found and "had my name written all over it":
A kelly green terrycloth jumpsuit.
Yeah, I guess she "gets" me after 38 years of having to put up with me. I kept mentioning all evening how much I loved the ease of one-piece dressing, and threatened to work more jumpsuits into the regular rotation.
As the night progressed and the costume box was raided, this is what I desintegrated into:
Mavis the 74 year-old gambling addict.
Dinner was made: Scallop pasta with lots o'garlic & red pepper flakes, chickpea salad with bitter greens, balsamic & sundried tomatoes, good bread and lots and lots of good wine to wash it all down with. After dinner, we played Uno until our 5:00 AM wakeup that day finally caught up with us.
Did I mention how in love I am with Sis & Mr. Sis's pets?
Deep, deep, get-arrested-for-stealing-them love.
This is Jasper the border collie, who I dubbed "crazy face." He's not real smart, but he sure is cute & cuddly.
This is Bubs' new girlfriend, assuming that I can smuggle him to CA in my carry-on next time. Siouxie likes sweaters, wiggling her butt, rubbing her hiney on the carpet, and long walks on the beach. Turn ons: kibble and running after stuff. Turn offs: Cranky old lady cats and cold feet.
Speaking of cranky old lady cats, here's her butt that I drunkenly insisted on taking a picture of. I'm pretty sure that I justified it by saying I was going to e-mail it to
Gwen. Sort of "kitty grandma porn" for her furry boys.
She's much cuter from this angle, dont'cha think? Well, at least this angle smells better...
When we were driving around Sebastopol the next day, we were near a street that my sister said we would probably like. I guess this dude makes all sorts of crazy sculptures out of junk, and a ton of people in the town have them in their front yards. This particular street had one in nearly every single yard, so we parked the car and meandered (as opposed to sauntered) about:
I love this one- the harried waitress. I'm guessing her name is Vera:
Rawwwwrrrrrrrr!
Which is real, and which is made of junk?
(Nope, I can't tell the difference either.)
That night, we went to dinner at a local place,
Barley n'Hops. I had the sausage plate (insert any of 1,000 jokes here), and about 43 glasses of wine.
Here I am on the patio, basking in my blurry, drunky drunkyness:
The next day, we said goodbye and drove into San Francisco. We stayed in North Beach (sort of "little Italy") at the Hotel Boheme. This is
Gwennie's hotel of choice when in SF as well, and I can see why, though Allen Ginsberg didn't haunt me while we were there like he did her, so I feel a wee bit cheated. Small (15 rooms), but right on Columbus Avenue in the heart of things with a fabulous little bakery next door, tons of great food within blocks, and cozy & chock full o'charm rooms:
This area of town was big with the Beat writers/poets in the 50's, and there are photographs all over the hotel documenting the history. This one was in our bathroom:
Holy balls, did we eat some food. Fabulous food. Piles of food. Mostly Italian, all delicious.
I didn't take pictures of our best meals, unfortunately, as I am shy about whipping out the camera and photographing my plate when strangers are sitting about 12 inches from me.
One of the stunners was lunch at a little cafe called
Cafe Divine- the food was simple, but we both ordered pizzas that were fan-fucking tastic. Mine was piled high with caramelized onions, about 100 cloves of roasted garlic (yes, I still managed to get laid this trip, despite the odor), shaved grana padano and fried sage on a ultra-thin crust.
So.
Good.
The best meal by far, however, was dinner that night at a place called
Ristorante Ideale on a little side street near our hotel. It was warm, inviting, run by actual Italian people, and bustling on a Sunday night- which speaks volumes to me. We shared a half bottle of prosecco and two apps: Fresh mozzarella with tomatoes and arugula, and prosciutto-wrapped pears with fresh mascarpone. Sweet Jebus, I'm still thinking about that mozzarella app, though. Semi-firm on the outside, but creamy in a way that I've never experienced before on the inside. I think we both had our own little "come into the light" moments when we took the first bite. The pears w/prosciutto weren't exactly crap either: perfectly ripe bosc pears smeared with fresh, homemade mascarpone, and wrapped with some of the best prosciutto I've ever had in my life.
For entrees, the Mr. had seafood risotto, and I had the pappardelle with lamb ragu. A glass of verdicchio for him, a wine called cometa (a lot like a full-bodied chardonnay) for me. Dining really doesn't get any better than this: simple but amazingly high quality ingredients, great service, great dining room, and lingering over the meal with no one rushing you out the door.
I think our waiter took a shining to me, as when I said I was too full for dessert, he brought us out some fantastic hazelnut/chocolate gelato anyways, on the house. And when I ordered some Sambuca as an apertif, he gave me what he called a "double shot" (which was actually more like a triple), again- on the house.
I do that to men sometimes.
Here is one of the less-exciting but still delicious meals, eaten at sidewalk cafe on Columbus Avenue while we just watched this amazing city move all around us. I had a margherita pizza (again with a terrific crust- why are so many places in MN unable to do crusts this good? Why??) with some vino, the Mr. had a linguisa (spicy) sausage sandwich and a bowl of roasted eggplant soup with berry lemonade:
For dinner that night, we decided to stray from Italian, and since it was a two-hour wait for the fancypants Asian-fusion place, we decided on the quiet Thai restaurant a half-block away.
I look cranky here, but I think I was just thinking how grumpy I was that I've never had Thai this good at home. I've had
good, but not like this. Tofu spring rolls, curried fish cakes, Rad Na noodles that were as fluffy as I've ever had with the perfect sweet/spicy balance. The Mr's pumpkin curry was spectacular. It's hard to describe how it was just...better, but try this: Compare how you feel when you get to go pee after riding an hour in a bumpy car, holding it. THEN think of how you feel when you finally get to pee after a four-hour plane trip, three bloody marys, one bottle of water, and turbulence, holding it because both air pottys were clogged.
Yup, kind of like that.
The mutilated remains of our meal, after I stopped mushing my face into my plate of noodles mumbling something about "making sweet sweet face love" to it:
Our after-dinner
bar of choice both nights was Vesuvio, just a block or two away.
I loved this bar- I felt right at home among the clutter, weird arty types, eclectic art on the walls, no-nonsence service and no-bullshit attitude.
Here I am in a blurry pic, trying to kiss the bum on the neon sign in the window, such was my adoration for this place:
My last pic, which pretty much sums up all that I love about San Francisco: a light installation comprised of book-shaped lights that flickered randomly like birds fluttering about, against a building-sized mural depicting some of the history of North Beach:
I love you, San Francisco. I miss you already.
XO
Lest you think that I'm an ungrateful brat who only gives her thanks when tips and/or pardons from the State are involved, here are a few things a gal like myself can be thankful for this year:
