Twinkle - San Francisco

I'm having breakfast on the 46th floor of the San Francisco Hilton on O'Farrell St. It's 6:30 AM and it's still dark. The city is twinkling like the lights of a Christmas tree as a jazz rendition of "Santa Baby" plays. The Golden Gate bridge stands as a lonely sentinel against the inky bay and Marin Hills. Across the Bay a million lights combine to blanket the east bay hills. In between the hills and the city the bay slowly turns lighter shades of blue to match the brightening horizon but the crown of the sky remains a majestic navy blue with one shining star as the O Holy Night becomes the magical morning.

A Little Bit Country and A Little Bit Rock-n-Roll! - UK

I'm sitting on the train out of London heading up to Milton Keynes. Blue sky, sunny, a little cold but nice.

There's a dude across from me with the side of his head shaved and a pony tail.
He's wearing wild black and white loafers with black and red checkerboard socks. Rock-n-Roll! I love English rockers. It reminds me of the glory days of college and the bleeding edge of punk rock and new wave.

I took a walk to the Chelsea district of London the other morning to find the infamous Kings Road. I was at ground zero for the punk rock movement. I stood looking at the storefront that used to be Malcolm McLaren & Vivienne Westwood's shop called SEX. It soon spawned the Sex Pistols and the rest is history. It's now a vacuum cleaner store or something!

Back out the window, the country side is GREEN. The train beats out a repetitive rhythm matched by the visual repetition of green fields, village, pub, green fields, village, pub. The patterns are interrupted with cool little canals that carve up the countryside. Evenly peppered across the landscape are little canal boat communities of 10 or so boats. The canal boats are long skinny affairs and people actually live on the boats. European's live in smaller spaces than we do but wow, this would be a bit cramped.

I like how England is settled. There isn't the sprawl we have. There are beautiful little villages, closely settled with houses and townhouses check to jowl with a High Street (Business District) full of shops and the inevitable and inviting pub. The edge of town is literally the edge of town. The same is true for a big city like London. When you get to the edge of London (which is 40 square miles!) the city stops abruptly and there's a field with horses. That was an incredible view for my American eyes.

In between the villages are ancient farm houses and country pubs surrounded with a smattering of outbuildings and trees, dirt lanes and gates. Farmers walk the fields in their wellington boots, old men fish the canals and on the lonely country roads, framed by hedgerows, little European cars and tractors wait at crossings as we pass.

After the day's work is done I find myself at a canal side pub with a huge deck out the back. We sit under outdoor patio heaters as the canal recedes into the horizon before us. Just past the deck is a verdant green lawn that leads down to the canal. Trees line the left of the canal and to the right open fields glisten with dew and a hovering layer of mist.

I order Guinea Game Hen. Tastes like chicken...pretty good. I always try to eat the local indigenous species but truth be told I try not to order beef in the UK to avoid Mad Cow disease. (Hopefully my brain doesn't rot when I'm old)

After a couple pints of London Pride my brain rots anyway...but in a good way.

Ta ta for now.

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New York country

May 26th, 2005

Last time I was hanging in a New York Country Song my Uncle John was dead. We had always had great adventures with Uncle John and our cousins so there was no question about going to his funeral. Afterwards me and Unca Dan went to his house, a rambling broken down federal style farm house at the end of a Steven King road. There was a HUGE barn across from the house and a children of the corn field surrounding everything. Big as an ocean, with a star filled sky covering everything like a blanket. All told, very cool and comforting...very Uncle John-ish.

After hanging with the extended family for a while we found ourselves at a roadhouse, drinking drafts, listening to Molly Hatchet, Lynyrd Skynyrd and eating pickled eggs. I'll never forget those eggs for as long as I live! God they were bad! Sour and cardboard-ish.

Naturally, that was a great time! Hanging with my bro. Telling stories of Uncle John, Bernie & Timmy; spinning straw to gold, crushing coal into diamonds, molding Kodak moments into my mind.

Fog City - San Francisco

Fog City Diner on a decidedly non foggy night in San Francisco was the right choice tonight. I just walked 45 minutes along the Embarcadero from 3rd St in SOMA taking in the fading light reflecting off the bay and watching the Bay Bridge twinkling to life. I kept an eye out looking for the right place for a respite from the day's grind. Hot and hungry I was lured in by the gleaming polished chrome facade and shining neon sign of the Fog City Diner. Soon I had a perfectly cold glass of Anchor Steam beer and a menu.

Seated at the bar I struck up a great conversation with a law professor in town from Washington D.C. about photography. He was going to see a Hiroshi Sugimoto photography show at the DeYoung Museum. We talked about composition and abstraction, and the talent to see a picture and create art where others don't. I reflected about Ansel Adams and Annie Leibowitz and all the great photographs I try to create myself.

The Fog City Diner is not a diner in the traditional food sense. It's a beautifully detailed restaurant with a dark wood and arched beadboard ceiling. The bar is an underlit marble top with a polished chrome ceiling and a chrome and mirrored back wall. The walls are dark polished wood and the floor is a beautiful tile framed with a checkerboard pattern. It has the feel of a luxury club car from the twenties. The waiters and chefs all wear white chef's coats.

People don't come too look at the surroundings though. It's the food that's the magnet. I had chipotle crusted pork tenderloins with grilled asparagus and roasted corn coulis along with a salad of butter lettuces with spiced walnuts, pears and blue cheese. Not that I don't appreciate an open faced turkey sandwich or a burger and fries but yeah, this is not your "fathers" diner.

Maya, the San Francisco treat

It's 7:00 PM PST but 10:00PM my time as I just flew to San Francisco and I'm still operating on east coast time. I'm starving! I'm headed to Third and Mission in SOMA. I saw a write up for a restaurant named Maya. I took a great course on meso-american culture in college which left me fascinated with Olmec, Aztec and Mayan culture. I love their art and cuisine and when I look at Mexicans I find myself picking out the Mayans with their flat foreheads that smoothly arc into their prominent noses. But to be honest the write up about the celebrity chef and his flavor infused food is what really made the attraction.

Famished and shaky I order a Margarita Oro - Tequila , lime juice with a float of grand marnier. It's perfect. I try not to chug the drink while I place my order.

Horn accented mexican pop music fills the room as I look around from my bar side perch. The restaurant is decorated with milled woodwork, carved wooden mirrors and doors, mexican tile and adobe colored walls. All the furniture is carved wood too or floral iron and the place is accented with contemporary hip lighting. It's almost cool but there's something a little too antiseptic about it. Not that I cared. The salted rim on my glass and the sweet and sour tastes in my mouth satisfied all my current needs.

My order arrives. Napoleon de jitomate - Red and yellow vine ripe tomatoes in a garden leaf and black bean salad with cilantro vinaigrette and a ball of deep fried goat cheese on top! ...and the goat cheese is still warm. Wow, it's really good. I'm sooo happy. Soon my Tacos de puntas de filete arrives. They're chili verde corn tortillas with beer marinated beef, tomato salsa and a black bean mole with slice of avocado on top. I vacillate between the two. My eyes were probably rolling back in my head as I ate and grunted my approval with every bite. Finishing the food and margarita I wish I could have had a cigarette, said "it was good for me" and rolled over and went to sleep.

Mucho bueno Maya. Not bad for a quick bite to eat on a Monday night.

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Boulevard - San Francisco

San Francisco; 1 Mission St. -

I made my way to the waterfront thinking I was going to partake of the fruits of the Ferry Building but ended up at Boulevard instead. What a fantastic restaurant. It's a beautiful art nouveau designed restaurant in classic carved and bent dark woods and swirling tile mosaics. Barreled ceilings and floral lighting set the ambiance for perfect French food. I sat at the "food bar" which is a bar that overlooks the chefs kitchen and watched the choreographed dance of the line chefs as they grilled, saute'd, sauced, garnished, foamed, cupped and plated food. I luxuriated with my sour dough french bread and glass of Cotes du Rhone. Sated and settled my lamb entre' arrives cooked medium rare. A melt in your mouth masterpiece, with mini potatoes, peas and onions.

I talk to my fellow food bar neighbor, a German from Munich. "Of course you should come to Munich he says". Just book six months in advance for Oktoberfest to make sure you get a good room. We discuss restaurants, Russians, east west reunification, how hot it is in Phoenix versus San Francisco, Ludwig's castle, our dinners, Leipzig, BMW, and all things German. I stop short of getting him to write an official letter to Molly inviting to her to Deutschland and explaining that not everyone in Germany is a Nazi, ex-Nazi or genetically infected by Nazi-ism.

It's always when you least expect it that an experience leaves an impression. That was my second time at Boulevard so I didn't expect to record this dinner but Boulevard is an impressive place. In the true definition of the word it has impressed it's memory into my brain.

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Walk Interrupted - San Francisco

San Francisco - As I'm walking at the southern end of Powell St I'm lost in my own thoughts, coffee in hand, thinking how much it looks like Melbourne Australia with it's four and five story masonry buildings and rows of trees lining the sidewalk. All and all it's a mellow, cool, fog filled morning. I have my jacket zipped up and pull my ball cap on as I motor towards the office. But my tranquility is broken as I turn the corner on Market St. It's like someone flipped on the freak switch! A black homeless man with a knit cap and overcoat is bellowing a rant for the whole world to hear. It echoes off the canyon of buildings and jolts me from my morning quiet. I duck down a side street to break the cacophony and I'm knocked back by a welders spark, blinding, shocking. Whoa. I turn around and head back to Third St. BANG, an ambulance plows into a little red sports car. A 50-ish professional gets out of his little car and a pony tailed old hippie gets out of the ambulance to hash it out. I back into the recessed doorway of an establishment called Eddie Rickenbackers to watch the scene unfold. As they point and look and shake their heads I turn and peer into Eddie Rickenbackers and scan left to right. I see a bar/restaurant with classic and vintage motorcycles hanging from the ceiling....and "what the F" my heart jumps again at the sight of a fat old man splayed out in a wheelchair on an oxygen tank! That scared the hell out of me! A live human being hooked up to life support at 7:00 AM in a bar. Yikes! Who was this guy? What the hell is he doing there? Was he in trouble? Was he the owner. Was he the night maintenance man who overworked himself? ...and at the same time I'm wondering to myself why would anybody in their right mind sit under a 2000lb motorcycle for dinner in an earthquake zone! Then I think maybe I should send the hippy ambulance driver to Eddie Rickenbackers to help the guy on oxygen! All these thoughts come at once. In real time I recoil, quickly. Very quickly. What the hell was that about? I better get off the streets and into the office. I hope the workday doesn't repeat the street theater I'm involved with this morning...although my Lead Programmer just called and said he won't be in for a planned 10:00AM conference call. I wonder, is it a full moon or something?

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San Francisco vignettes

Morning cleaners spray down the empty sidewalks, the distant echo of seagulls and the close chatter of birds fill my ears. The azure sky brilliant over the fresh morning. A glint of steel flashes across the my face as an elder Japanese man in Yuerba Buena park practices Tai Chi routines with a 3' sword. Is that even legal?

Night time in Concord. The sun is setting and the sky is coloring through shades of orange, red and green showering a glow on the barren and pine spotted hills. It's a beauty lost on a man alone, no shared eyes or minds to celebrate and share the gift.

Sipping drinks at sidewalk seating, watching the world go by is one of life's pleasures. I've sat on Newbury Street in Boston, I've sat at pub tables in London, I've luxuriated in cafes in Paris and this morning I sit at Cafe Expresso at the corner of Powell and Sutter in San Francisco. It's a Italian style cafe with Parisian style seating on the sidewalk. I sit in shadow as the sun casts its angled light on the passing cable cars, passengers photographing me like a zoo animal. Tourists and businessmen make their angled way up Powell towards me by the red draped entrance to the Sir Francis Drake as if the curtain has opened for their daily show. It's five minutes to eight. Almost time to make my entrance too.
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San Francisco; Sans Kids

It's 5:00 AM Monday and I'm at the Logan Airport Jet Blue Starbucks. I was ready and waiting for my airport shuttle at 3:50 AM while my driver sat on Tufts St. I live on Taft St. I would rather have enjoyed that extra half hour in the prone position with my eyes closed. So goes the beginning of another business trip to San Francisco. The fun part about this trip is Molly's coming to meet me for for three days. A three day escape in SF. This'll be fun.

Monday evening, it's 8:00PM pacific time. My work day is over. I'm wiped out. I'm at Bacar, 448 Brannan St in South Beach San Francisco. I just had an excellent garlic and potato soup topped with bacon. Mmmmm. I had a Hocus Pocus California Syrah 2005 from Santa Barbara County.. Not good. Too austere to green. Not what I want in a Syrah. I knew I should have ordered the Aussie Syrah. Ce' la vie. Not to be a quitter I switch to a Bordeaux. Chateau Larruau, Margeaux 2002. Heavenly. Wow! It makes me close my eyes when I drink it. It's so silky smooth. I'm transported, my mind calms and clears. It makes me think of Molly. Mmmm, and she'll be arriving about midnight tonight. Did I mention there's been a jazz duo serenading my nightly meal. Stand up bass and tenor sax. Nice. I'm tired, chilled, mellowed, jet lagged, content.

Walking back to the hotel through SOMA is a kaleidoscope of San Francisco citizens. A women singing opera on the sidewalk outside the Hotel Utah. An assortment of geeks, goths and hippies eating a late night meal at Whole Foods and a skateboarder barreling down 4th St. barely stopping at a red light at Folsom. I get back to the hotel and crash hard. I'm awoken by the phone about 12:30 AM. It's the desk clerk. In a voice that sounds more like a question than a statement he says "Sir, your wife is here?" Hah! How does she look I ask? Just kidding. I say yeah that's right, send her up and I fall back into slumber.

6:00 AM Tuesday and I'm out on the streets again. The sky is just starting to lighten, the San Francisco Chronicle trucks are making their rounds, light foot traffic populates the sidewalk. It always surprises me to see so many homeless sleeping right on the sidewalk. A city with so much wealth and with so many homeless people living on the streets is a confounding juxtaposition. I always flash back to 1980's New York. You don't see that much more in NY. What's up SF?

Wednesday night. On a recommendation from someone at the bar in Bacar Molly and I are off to Cole Valley to a restaurant called EOS for dinner. The restaurant is at the corner of Cole and Carl. What a great little corner of San Francisco. We made it a goal not to go anywhere we've ever been before. We're deep in SF. Down in a handsome residential neighborhood of three story victorians and beautiful tree lined streets. What a comfortable place. We take a little stroll and then enter EOS for the meal of a lifetime. Every bite of food was a surprise and a total sensation. The food was Asian Fusion. The chef was asian magician.

Afterwards we walk down Cole three blocks to Haight Street to Amoeba music records. This is one of the greatest hippy dippy, punk rock, alt music, all-music stores on the planet. I love all the Fillmore West concert posters for sale. That's SF style art. You don't see that anywhere else. As the Ramones squawked Gabba Gabba Hey at us we lingered and browsed. We looked at old Cramps records, Beatles and Marley. Holding hands, we left.

Time for one night cap though. We take a quick cab ride to the St Regis. What a great bar. Great ambiance and sophistication. The bar area is defined by a five foot bank of flames set in a glass rock encrusted fireplace. The floor is dark woods. It's a stripped 6" parquet floor. The lounge is populated with asian influenced furniture and jazz electronica fills the empty spaces. As we sip our wine and nosh on our artisianal cheese plate with grilled breads I'm wishing this was our hotel. Definitely a nice way to end the day.

Thursday we breakfast at the Grand Cafe at the Monaco Hotel. What a great room! The ceiling rises two stories and the whole room is so well done. Every surface is designed and decorated. It's like modern French Rococo with a San Francisco twist. Not overdone or overwrought but perfectly understated with bold and whimsical sculptures. The room is a delight to be in.

After breakfast is a brisk walk up San Francisco's Knob Hill to get the blood pumping. We're headed to the Top of the Mark. Closed! But lucky for us we spy Grace Cathedral and spend time exploring it's cavernous spaces. Next we cab it down to the Union Street shops. The street is perched above the Marina District and below Pacific Heights. We spend a sun soaked afternoon milling about, poking in and out of shops, restaurants, coffee shops and bars. When the day is done we head back to The Monaco where we're greeted with a Wine Tasting in the lobby that includes a masseuse and a Tarot Card reader. We're definitely not in Kansas anymore.

Friday we tour through South Beach. We stroll by my haunts when I'm working in SF. My wine bar, Bacar, my lunch place, BrickHouse, my favorite place to sip coffee el fresco, Centro in South Park. What a feeling it is to sit and have breakfast, soaking the sun and savoring the green grass and trees while it's freezing in Boston.

Back to the adventure though, the next morning we hop on San Francisco's subway system called BART. We've planned to take the N-Judah line to Golden Gate Park and the de Young Museum. We chance upon a retrospective of Vivenne Westwood. I didn't know who she was and was thrilled to find out she was married to Malcom McClaren and was the fashion force behind the Sex Pistols and the punk rock scene. Ah, glory days. That was a fun exhibition. To see the clothes I used to wear in a museum. Does that mean I'm a dinosaur? We also went up the viewing tower at the DeYoung. What great views of the west side of San Francisco. You can look out across the rooftops of the Richmond District, the verdant greens of Golden Gate Park, the hills climbing up to Twin Peaks and more rooftops of the Sunset District as it's elevation drops to the winking Pacific.

Why take the Bart back? We hop on the bus and motor along the southern edge of the Richmond District. We cut southward across town and find ourselves in Hayes Valley. We hop off the bus and are soon seated in a French establishment called Absinthe. We pass on the Absinthe and order a couple of beers. Two tall pilsners of perfect color and temperature. We sit at the bar and soak up the ambiance. The decor is French brasserie, fresh loaves of bread are piled in a metal basket on the wall. The bar fills with after work and neighborhood clientele. The dyke bartender easily stays ahead of the orders. The bar sits on a corner and we watch the world pass as we idle in Hayes Valley. This was such a nice little interlude I know I'll be back to Absinthe again sometime. We leave to meet friends at the Petite Cafe in the Monaco Hotel. The Petite Cafe is a masterpiece in Nouveau design.

The design is all swirling and curvaceous from floor to ceiling. The bartender was a tile man by training and decided he had to work in the Petite when he saw the floor. It's an incredible curving mosaic. There's another whimsical sculpture here mirroring the one in the Grand Cafe. We enjoy the company of friends at the bar until our eyelids get heavy. Not wanting the day to end we reluctantly call it a night.

Saturday morning arrives. It's our last day together before I leave. We've been all over the city. What's left to explore? Lots! We get a late start and I think since it's past noon maybe we could hit a little Russian Hill wine bar called Bacchus we heard about on Hyde Street. No such luck. It's way to early to be open but we get incredible views as we stroll north. To our right is an incredible view of Coit Tower with the White City's roof tops marching towards us over the rolling valley below. We soon pass the crookedest street in the world, Lombard St and looking north take in an incredible view of the bay. We hoof it down the hill to the west and into the Marina District. We venture into Fort Mason and discover a "secret" ocean front walk from Fort Mason to Fishermans Wharf. It always drives me nuts that when I'm at Fishermans Wharf that I can't just drive over to the Marina and to the Golden Gate Bridge. Now I know there is a land route! Just not for cars.

After our walk we head back to the Marina and brunch at Grand Cafe (not the one at the Monaco) on Chestnut St. The sun is shining and families are out. The street is alive with Saturday morning activity. We poke around the shops and book stores. After making the loop on Chestnut we head up Fillmore Ave and stumble on Fillmore's Spring Festival. We find the best shops on our trip on Fillmore. There are high end design shops mixed with funky kitschy antique and "junk" shops. All the shops have wine tastings and hors d'oeuvres.

The bars and pubs are open to the streets and a live band fills the air with rock and the blues. The street is lined with shade trees and side streets present the grandest victorian's you've ever set your eyes on. When our feet tire we retreat to the Elite Cafe for a Chardonnay and a Tequila. I'm totally wiped out. We cab it back to the Monaco. After a rest I pack up for my red-eye flight. Molly's staying in SF for a conference.

But before I jump in a cab and head to the airport we head down to the Ferry Building Wine Merchants wine bar to sample a couple flights. The Ferry Building is a recently renovated waterfront masterpiece. It's huge cavernous interior has been turned into a food lover's nirvana with beautiful organic, gourmet and artisinal foods All over San Francisco wine bars offer flights which are wine tastings. We order a flight of red and a side of cheeses and bread. Typical of the whole trip electronica music is the background for our final soiree. The place is packed. The wine is good. We're sitting close, side by side, touching, keeping warm, savoring the moment. Ah l' amour.

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The LA Waiting Game

Well I ditched the Third St. Promenade and went to check out Marina Del Ray. Kind of a boring harbor. Nice but ....not spectacular. The Fisherman's Village area sucks!! Bogus. It's a run down faux facade New England fishing village. All vacant, run down and blahhh! Gack!

So I lugged my rolling super computer and overnight sack along the harbor until I heard the strains of dub reggae electronica. I looked up to see a place called jer-ne. Of course I entered. I was in an uber designed harbor front bar in the Marina Del Ray Ritz Carlton. A glass of Ray's Station Cabernet Sauvignon quickly made me forget I was wearing new shoes.

As the wine worked it's magic, the sun set and the lights began to twinkle over the harbor. I guess it's a fine harbor after all. :)

One from the road. Over and out.

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