Leilani Marie Labong
You've probably experienced this strange phenomenon: The second you’ve left the Bay Area’s boundaries, delectable eating becomes harder to come by, and exponentially so the farther away you venture.
When you grow up in a modernist Pac Heights loft that was once a Toyota garage, raised by parents who are bona fide creative forces—dad David Walker is an award-winning landscape architect; mom Sandra Enterline is an acclaimed jewelry designer—at some point you’re bound to reflect upon your life less ordinary.
As much as I dream about eating McDonald’s french fries or Taco Bell bean burritos, I am just as often waylaid with guilt for doing so. My metabolism ain’t what it used to be, after all. Not one to prescribe to fad diets (everyone I know on Atkins has really bad breath), I’ve taken a more wholesome approach to eating, one that’s quintessentially of-the-region.
In the summer of ’69, while the average red-blooded American male not soldiering in Vietnam was, as popular music tells us, playing a five-and-dime six-string and wooing a girl standing on her mama’s porch, Lee Brooks was experiencing his first LSD flashes.
For a teetotaler such as myself, traversing the winery circuit in Sonoma leaves much to be desired. Luckily, other equally tantalizing delights await discovery. For a beautiful 36 hours, test drive this anti-tasting room itinerary.
Granite peaks streaked with hiking trails. Swimming holes big and small. Crisp mountain air. Sunshine in spades. A short summer sojourn to Lake Tahoe is practically a ritual for Bay Area residents.
It's hard enough, wouldn't you agree, for a restaurant to make dinner in a fully equipped kitchen, never mind one that's been stripped of its range and hood due to pesky city zoning ordinances.
I had planned to dedicate my recent Wine Country weekend to a restoration of body and soul, which in my case means eating sensibly, reviving my dusty meditation practice, and partaking of semi-punishing fitness pursuits. I consider all three components the apex of virtue, and, for a mere mortal such as myself, the height of torture.
If there's one thing I know for sure, it's that living the good life is the best way to keep up with the Joneses. The best possible one-upmanship. The best revenge. Or at least that's what I told myself when I headed to Mexico on a whim a few weeks ago to teach a certain someone a little lesson in how not to treat a girl, or else said girl will fly to Mexico without said certain someone and live in the lap of luxury, if only for 48 hours, at the beachfront Four Seasons Resort Punta Mita, located at the southwest point of the Riviera Nayarit.
To appreciate Thad Vogler’s commitment to craft spirits, heritage cocktails, and the art of thoughtful bartending, you must witness him eat an apple. Measuring 6 feet 8 inches, the renowned liquor authority has the strong carriage of, he says, a horse, and thus tackles his fruit accordingly. “The first time I ever saw Thad eat an apple, it was a revelation,” says Jon Santer, owner of the Prizefighter bar in Emeryville.
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