Michael Pollan is all smiles and ready for his big dinner at Fort Mason.

I’d make a horrible revolutionary. I don’t have the myopic focus of an Alice Waters or the drive of a Michael Pollan. Last night, I set down the latest Gourmet magazine, which focuses on the “farm-to-fork” movement, with a sigh. Instead of being moved, as I was a few years back, I felt tired. Even worse, I felt compelled to do something bad—like eat a pineapple.

If I won a million dollars in the lottery, I’d buy a first-class, around-the-world airplane ticket, then I’d invest the rest (yeah, right). Traveling ranks as one of my favorite pastimes, even after 9/11 when airports have become such a pain in the ass. I do appreciate how businesses are working to make the long layovers more bearable. Once I even got a mani-pedi at the Xpress spa in SFO’s international section, but usually I try to minimize the time I spend there to getting a burrito at Andale.

Actually, from Down Under in New Zealand, a couple of things worth mentioning:

First, a spectacular bottle of Pinot from Palliser Estate. When it’s on, I think Martinborough is currently the most consistent and best pinot region in New Zealand, and Palliser is one of the producers there that I really love. Richard Riddiford, the pugnacious and often obstreperous owner, is a real wine visionary, an amazing character and a gracious host who entertains guests with cannon firings and meditative wine drinking at the grave of his late, lamented dog.

I can’t believe how many new root beers you can find on the market these days. As my ultimate hangover cure, root beer was a sight to be seen in my fridge the other morning.