Chloe Harris Frankeny
It is safe to say that a slang word becomes a thing when you throw it out there and everybody gets it—see “staycation.” Like “fashionista” and “upcycling” before it, “glamping” has arrived, as they say in Hollywood, darlings.
Launched in April, Shelter Co. is the silver-spoon baby of Kelsey and Mike Sheofosky, a husband-wife team who have a very urbane take on a dirty pastime. We believe you call it “camping.”
I have heard it said that San Francisco is “the land of fruits, nuts, and veggies.” And we like it that way, thank you very much. In a city that supports a live-and-let-live ethos, San Franciscans don’t just tolerate—we celebrate—diversity and forward thinking. Here, we are pioneers in sustainable living, technology, and culinary innovation. Women have prominent spots in politics and in business. We support medical marijuana and provide safe escort for naked cyclists. Many of our charities are even bolstered by fierce drag queen nuns.
Four of the city's best-kept secrets emerge from the shadows and into the spotlight.
If you’ve never witnessed a man make love to a tart of the pastry variety, then you have never met Yigit Pura or seen the ecstatic flutter of his chestnut eyelashes and the pursing of his full Turkish lips as he takes a deep bite from a Chantilly-filled St. Honoré cake to the sidelong glance of a scandalized Frenchwoman down the row on the Paris metro.
There’s only one possible reaction upon first seeing Jon Darsky’s pizza truck: Whoa. Hitched to a mighty rig that weighs 14 tons, Del Popolo begins serving Neapolitan pies this spring from its 5,000-pound oven. This much muscle comes at a cost—over $180,000 in all. The good news: Del Popolo is inimitable. “You’d have to be a fool to try and copy it,” says Darsky. “This thing was f*cking expensive.” Here, a few of the highlights.
Rock candy takes a cue from nature with a mix of metals, textures, and rough-hewn gems.
It’s Friday evening, and you desperately want a table at Frances.Unless you’re a VIP who keeps the general manager on speed dial, you scour OpenTable where, if you’re lucky, you may find a seat at 5 or 10 p.m.—score one for little old ladies and European tourists. But here’s what you don’t know: The lack of seats doesn’t necessarily mean the house is packed. Turns out, some of the city’s hottest restaurants hide peak-hour tables from the only major reservations system online.
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