The Sluice Box

The Last Sunset of 2011, Palm Springs

2012-01-06T15:08:00.000-08:00

When I glanced toward the San Jacinto Mountains I realized I was watching the last sunset of 2011. I'm reminded of the question, "What's the best camera?" The usual response is "The one you have with you." In this case, I'm happy I had a phone with a camera.

Between Storms

2011-11-27T10:29:00.000-08:00

The combination of setting sun and dark background clouds gave the city an other-wordly look.

Late Fall in Sonoma County

2011-11-20T19:02:00.001-08:00

Came across this scene while wine tasting at the Stuhlmuller winery in Sonoma's beautiful Alexander Valley. Oak barrels are temporarily outside to dry after workers finished cleaning them.

Arizona Biltmore

2011-10-22T17:57:00.000-07:00

For a recent trip to Phoenix I thought the Arizona Biltmore would provide a pleasant place to stay, primarily for its good architecture and striking natural setting.

Although the hotel bears a strong resemblance to the works of Frank Lloyd Wright, it's not one of his buildings. The architect was Albert McArthur, who worked at one time as a draftsman for Wright.

The original portion of the hotel opened in 1929, with many consecutive additions over the years. I stayed in the newest addition, the Ocatilla building. There were a few kinks with the room, but overall the Biltmore served as a comfortable refuge for the few days I was in Phoenix.

Arizona

2011-10-08T09:04:00.000-07:00

Every now and then I'll visit a place that manages to mesh exactly with how I envisioned it looking. This saguaro cactus was on a hill just beyond the edge of a Phoenix parking lot.

Giant Dipper

2011-09-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

I watched the cars zip up and down the tracks, trying to determine whether my reaction to riding would tend more toward thrilled or terrorized. As fun as it looked, I couldn't quite make the decision to ride San Diego's Giant Dipper Roller Coaster.

Waning Days of Summer

2011-09-06T07:55:00.000-07:00

The view from the San Diego beach house provided a vantage point to watch the ever-changing groups of people playing volleyball, from sunrise to sunset.

Palm Springs Modernism

2011-08-14T18:47:00.000-07:00

The cluster of houses at Park Imperial South in Palm Springs serves as a living museum of 1960s modern architecture, with signature visual elements such as the zigzag folds of the roofs and the patterned block walls. The owners have been meticulous about maintaining the original design of the few dozen houses that make up the neighborhood. I'm curious to see what lies behind these largely opaque walls.

Palm Spring's Mesa Gatehouse

2011-08-06T07:01:00.000-07:00

At the entrance to Palm Spring's Mesa neighborhood there's a small masonry structure that looks like it's out of the Wild West. I've heard two stories about it, one that's factual and the other that might be embellished with a bit of romantic embroidery.

The gatehouse was built in the 1920s-1930s as an initial flourish for a housing development situated at the base of the San Jacinto Mountains. This timeframe is also when Prohibition was in force in the US. I've been told by a resident that the gatehouse served as a lookout for a speakeasy located up the street. I'm not sure whether this tale would pass the fact checking department of a newspaper, but I thought it was too charming of a tale not to pass along.

Sunflower Power

2011-07-24T20:45:00.000-07:00

The wedding hosts were thoughtful to arrange for a single sunflower to brighten an otherwise generic hotel room in Hopland, California.

Red, White, and Blueberry

2011-07-04T09:21:00.000-07:00

Quite by accident I managed to gather together three of my favorite summer berries during separate trips to the farmers market and the grocery store. I had my first real taste of summer when I discovered the proliferation of fruit in the refrigerator and was able to throw together an assortment of raspberries, blueberries, and strawberries. Happy Fourth of July.

Frozen Assets: Hand Cut Ice

2011-06-26T20:30:00.000-07:00

I've heard passing mention of hand cut ice but figured it was simply the stuff of mythology. I finally encountered a gorgeous rectangular block of it in a pre-dinner drink at Bar Agricole. There may be practical benefits with manually chiseled ice, but as far as I'm concerned it's all about the clink and dazzle.

Summer Fog

2011-06-19T20:22:00.000-07:00

A warm and sunny weekend in the Wine Country rapidly became a memory as we drove through Marin toward the fog-shrouded Golden Gate Bridge.

Russian River Wine Tasting

2011-06-13T20:13:00.000-07:00

The tasting room at the Gary Farrell winery, in western Sonoma County, provides the vantage point for a sweeping look across the Russian River Valley.

Russian River Morning

2011-06-13T20:10:00.000-07:00

Rental kayaks ready for an excursion on the Russian River.

Scary Places

2011-06-04T08:24:00.000-07:00

With San Francisco's hilly topography, the street I wanted to be on turned out to be overhead (Beale under Harrison). I happened to notice a narrow set of stairs that connected to the street above. The stairwell looked like a good place for bad things to happen. Faced with a long detour or a quick ascent up the stairs, I crossed my fingers and took the stairs.

Palm Springs Morning

2011-05-15T14:36:00.000-07:00

After a long Palm Springs weekend, I was the last one remaining in the house on a Monday morning. I got up around sunrise and headed toward a hill that provided a view from Palm Springs down the Coachella Valley.

Rearview Mirror

2011-05-01T10:00:00.000-07:00

After discovering Terry Richardson's addicting photo diary I was inspired to start the day with a camera in my pocket. Near San Francisco's Financial District there's a massive construction project underway. For months workers have been demolishing the old bus terminal and the web of elevated ramps that connected it to the Bay Bridge. At the construction site I noticed a pair of mirrors, one of which caught a reflection of the nearby buildings.

On A Clear Day

2011-04-24T18:33:00.000-07:00

I dropped by a real estate agent's open house in a high rise building not so much to look at the unit for sale, but for a chance to check out the view of downtown San Francisco. The strong winds today pushed away the clouds and fog, providing a miles wide look around the Bay Area. Hard to believe that about half the buildings pictured were built during the past 10 years or so.

American Conservatory Theater

2011-04-17T11:38:00.000-07:00

After the performance of Jean-Paul Sartre's "No Exit," the audience was invited up to the stage to take a peek in the small sealed room where most of the play occurred. In the audience we viewed the actors via video feeds that were projected onto a series of screens above the stage. Miraculously, the inventive production was able to deliver a remarkable degree of intimacy with the actors, in spite of their being physically hidden from view.

In the photo is a view of the 1910 theater's ornate ceiling.

Southern California - Coronado

2011-04-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

We took a short ferry ride from San Diego to get to the small island of Coronado. Sitting on the top deck of the ferry in the fresh breeze was a pleasant way to cross the water.

We visited the Victorian-era Hotel del Coronado, with the distinctive red roofed turrets, just as I'd expected after having seen them over the years in a number of different photos. There wan't much time to explore the town, but my overall impression is that it's immaculate.

The trip home began with a ferry ride back to San Diego, a car to the airport, a Vodka tonic to ensure a smooth trip, a flight, and finally a cab to San Francisco.

San Diego

2011-03-30T22:12:00.000-07:00

It didn't require scuba gear or an oxygen tank to get this close to the fish. I was standing outside a large tank at Sea World in San Diego. I was fascinated by the exhibits with sharks, penguins, and dolphins. I'd never experienced anything quite like Sea World. It's something of a cross between Broadway and a zoo, with animals and trainers performing in regularly scheduled shows.

Hawaii's Kona Coffee

2011-02-22T20:07:00.000-08:00

When I knew I'd be visiting Hawaii's Big Island I started investigating what might be interesting to see or do, beyond the beaches and ocean. I discovered I'd be staying near the region where a number of farmers cultivate the island's famous Kona coffee.

I drove from sea level to 3,200 feet to an organic coffee plantation. I saw the progression of the beans, from ripe red beans on a coffee tree, to the sorting and roasting processes, and finally into a cup of coffee. I can't wait to open the bag of coffee I'm storing in the freezer.

Aloha

2011-02-07T11:30:00.000-08:00

I wasn't quite prepared for the lunar landscape on the west side of Hawaii's Big Island. Before last week's arrival I'd envisioned a tropical environment with a jungly tangle of vegetation.

Instead, I found a stark and bare landscape of lava flows and rocks. It felt like a newly created planet, before life and vegetation had a chance to take root. The island was formed through centuries of volcanic eruptions, which produced enough layers of lava to form the island, located about half way between the US and Japan. The lava continues to flow and gradually adds to the size of the island.

I visited the Kona Coast, which seemed like a rocky tropical desert. The large resorts on the coastline provide a man made landscape that simulates a tropical fantasy. Once I abandoned my initial expectations I was able to settle in and enjoy the beaches, ocean, and summer-like weather.

Afternoon Fog

2011-01-27T09:48:00.000-08:00

On too many afternoons I've seen the fog's dramatic arrival and wished I'd had a camera with me. Finally I was able to capture the low layer of fog that came in off the Pacific Ocean, passed through the Golden Gate, and settled just under the San Francisco Bay Bridge.

Winter in Wine Country

2011-01-17T16:13:00.000-08:00

The fruit has been harvested and the grape leaves have fallen. Now all that remain in the vineyards are the bare vines. Yellow mustard blooms brighten a grey and foggy morning in the Napa Valley town of St. Helena.

I discovered that wine tasting is much more carefree when nobody has to be responsible for driving. By staying in St. Helena we were able to walk to three wineries, the favorite of which turned out to be Heitz Cellar. They have several wonderful single vineyard Cabernet Sauvignons; these might just be splurge-worthy if you happen to encounter them on a wine list.

Surprise!

2011-01-09T16:57:00.000-08:00

Everyone managed to maintain the secret of the surprise party until the moment the birthday boy arrived. With something like six weeks advance notice, I was afraid I'd somehow be the person who leaked the details of the event. The location for the celebration was a photographer's loft situated near the industrial portion of San Francisco's waterfront. With the exception of the caterer, bartender, and DJ, it reminded me a bit of the parties I went to when I was in my 20s and 30s. There was a wonderfully eclectic mix of people, a broad spectrum of ages, and a mix of familiar and new faces.

California Report

2010-12-27T21:21:00.000-08:00

Whenever we Californians complain about the weather, we're pretty much told by those from other states that we have no grounds since it's colder/icier/snowier/windier somewhere else. Well today even I'll agree with that argument. With the news full of stories about canceled flights, trapped New York subway passengers, and general winter paralysis, I have to concede that today was a pretty nice day in San Francisco. Yes, the noontime air had a damp and wintry bite and the fog hung around longer than usual, but overall we had it pretty easy.

Wine and Design

2010-12-18T11:21:00.000-08:00

I spent some time at a current museum exhibition that explores the visual culture of wine. One of the most striking displays was a complete grape vine, including the typically unseen roots. For as much time as I devote to wine and visiting wineries, it's especially fascinating to see, for the first time, the complete source of the juice.

I was particularly intrigued not just by what was displayed, but also by how it was displayed. The exhibits and overall installation were brilliantly crafted with input from the architecture firm Diller Scofidio + Renfro. This is the same firm that designed the High Line in New York, which I visited and wrote about earlier this year.

If you're going to be in San Francisco, you can visit the exhibition "HOW WINE BECAME MODERN Design + Wine 1976 to Now" between now and April 17 at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art.

Desert Landing

2010-12-15T20:44:00.000-08:00

Landing in Palm Springs towards the end of the day provided a great view of the setting sun. After picking up the rental car and leaving the airport, I found it a bit incongruous to be listening to Christmas music while driving by palm trees in 80 degree weather.

The Opposite of Virtual

2010-11-26T08:42:00.000-08:00

After several years of not lifting the lid on the Scrabble box, I'd forgotten about the tactile pleasure of playing the game. Forming words with the smooth wooden tiles was a familiar activity, but it probably evoked a stronger reaction because I seem to spend an increasing amount of time creating words with my finger tips rising and falling over a keyboard. I'd hoped that my seven letter word "crudite" would win the game, but, alas, my final score came up short.

Hotel Healdsburg

2010-11-08T20:30:00.000-08:00

After checking into the Hotel Healdsburg it took a moment for me to realize that the front desk clerk had handed me an actual hotel room key, rather than a magnetic card. The virtue of metal keys is that they always work - no need for multiple card swipes to unlock the door, as with a plastic card. Funny how something once so familiar now has a whiff of novelty about it.

The sleek and contemporary hotel, opposite the Healdsburg town square, stands in contrast to so many of the other wine country accommodations that tend toward a frilly Victorian aesthetic. When a hotel or inn serves breakfast, I'm always curious to see who shows up in the dining room in the morning. I find a hotel breakfast to be intriguing because it's a shared experience among strangers, one that can be as social or as private as one wishes it to be. In my case I worked my way through a couple of newspapers before heading out for a walk around the square.

Wine Country Weekend

2010-10-31T20:22:00.000-07:00

A weekend trip to the wine country highlighted the change of season. Since my last visit in early September, the 2010 crop of grapes has been harvested and now the leaves on the vines are beginning to turn toward autumnal shades of gold and red. The photo above is of a vineyard in Sonoma County's Dry Creek region, a viticultural area that produces some of the state's best Zinfandel.

Desert Night and Day

2010-10-22T20:56:00.000-07:00

Returning in the evening to the house where I was staying as a guest, waiting for the front gate to open. The repetitive geometric shapes are a familiar motif in Palm Springs architecture, something I explored in a posting from last year.

Palm Springs Sunrise

2010-10-14T18:25:00.000-07:00

As the first person awake in the house where I was a guest, I wasn't certain whether I'd be able to step outside without setting off an alarm siren when I opened the front door. I took a chance, unlocked the door, and was relieved to escape into the silent morning without creating a commotion. I walked down the street and watched the sunrise, as dogs barked unseen behind the fences of neighboring houses.

Talk of The Town

2010-10-12T23:05:00.000-07:00

Every now and then a community has a shared experience that becomes a local topic of conversation. It might be the performance of a local sports team, unusual weather, or a political scandal. After spending an extended weekend in the desert town of Palm Springs, I quickly discovered what's the talk of the town. It's the grass, specifically the lifeless interval between summer and winter grass.

Around this time of year gardeners replace summer's Bermuda grass with winter rye. During the transition between the two strains of grass, the planted landscape is just about universally dry and brown. At this moment country club golf courses look more like dry savannah than the green images conjured on postcards.

To speed the transition between the seasonal grasses, a scalping takes place - the Bermuda grass is cut extremely low and then the ground is seeded with rye. This scalping exercise kicks up a ferocious amount of dust and allergens; if it's not illegal, it's certainly not encouraged. The preferred alternative to scalping is to let the Bermuda die before seeding with rye. This takes quite a bit more time than impatient people are willing to endure, especially if they're expecting out of town guests to arrive around Thanksgiving and be greeted by verdant lawns.

From Ocean to Desert

2010-10-04T20:25:00.000-07:00

I imagine the stark and arid desert is as alluring to marine climate dwellers as the ocean is to those who reside far from the sound of fog horns and salty waves, at least it is for me. Later this week I'm planning to visit the small desert town of Palm Springs. I'll be the houseguest of friends whose backyard provides a view of the extraordinarily steep, stony, and bare San Jacinto Mountains. With daytime highs in the 80s and 90s, this long desert weekend will certainly provide a few of the summer days that I missed during an unusually cool coastal summer.

Feels Like Summer But It's Not

2010-09-26T18:00:00.000-07:00

With the official start of fall, summer-like temperatures have finally come to San Francisco. Although this year's summer months have been colder and foggier than typical, I'm surprised to find that no weather records have been broken. Today was the type of hot and sunny day that I imagine most of the country enjoys between May and September.

Pictured above is San Francisco's Ocean Beach, with a glimpse of the Pacific Ocean. This weekend I felt the need to remind visiting family that the weather is really not like this all the time.

Art & Science

2010-09-19T23:14:00.000-07:00

During a recent CD release party I couldn't resist the chance to slip away for a quick snoop around the recording studio. The range of technology and equipment had me repeatedly saying wow in the back of my head. If I didn't know the mixing board, detail above, was used for sound engineering, I could easily imagine it serving as a prop for a mad scientist in a Bond movie. The glowing buttons, illuminated gauges, and innumerable knobs all but begged to be tinkered with.

The recording studio is located in what was San Francisco's gritty industrial area, South of Market. The streets now contain a mix of auto repair shops, restaurants, bars, lofts, industrial buildings, and warehouses.

With the exception of the building number, the studio entrance is completely anonymous and unremarkable. Once the steel door shut behind me a glass of wine appeared in my hand and I began enjoying an evening to celebrate Joan Jeanrenaud's and PC Muñoz's new CD "Pop Pop." I think Joan must be as comfortable playing the cello in the world's concert halls as she is sharing a casual breakfast with friends at her house in San Francisco. If you're curious about the music, follow the second link to preview the tracks, which can probably be described as contemporary classical in style.

Heirloom Tomato Festival

2010-09-12T18:36:00.000-07:00

I've never given much thought to the mixed up jumble of assorted heirloom tomatoes that are heaped into bins at the grocery store or the farmers market. The signs usually say heirloom tomatoes, the price, and nothing else. Exactly what those individual tomatoes are is something of a mystery since the varieties are not highlighted.

At yesterday's heirloom tomato festival, in Sonoma County, I discovered that there are dozens of varieties, each with a name and unique flavor. I tasted about six varieties, which left over a hundred untasted. I was surprised at the pronounced differences among those I tried - some had a concentrated tomatoey flavor while others had a more ephemeral taste.

Having seen and sampled the variety of heirloom tomatoes available, it's curious that produce sellers don't specify the varieties, as is done with, say, apples. Imagine if apples were thrown together in a bin without regard to whether they're Granny Smith, Red Delicious, or Pippin. Curious that there isn't more emphasis on the individual varieties of heirloom tomatoes.

Labor Day Weekend in the Wine Country

2010-09-06T08:22:00.000-07:00

By Saturday morning, Friday's plan for lunch in Healdsburg had turned into an invitation to St. Helena. Our hosts for the weekend live next to a vineyard, as seen at sunset. The guest room is wonderfully quiet: about the only thing to hear through an open window during the night is the sound of grapes cooling off after a hot summer day.

Driving between the valleys of Sonoma and Napa on Alexander Valley Road. The car's outside thermometer shows a temperature of 87 degrees on a still, dry, and cloudless afternoon.

Saturday night dinner. The barbecue coals are ready to begin grilling beef, pork, and asparagus. Marking summer's finale with a plate of red and yellow heirloom tomatoes, a scattering of basil, and a splash of vinegar.

In the warmer regions of the Wine Country the harvest is already underway. Once field workers have harvested this bunch of grapes it'll be on its way to becoming part of the 2010 vintage.

A Visit to New York City

2010-08-17T21:08:00.000-07:00

After taking a seat at The Broadway Theater, I apprehensively opened the Playbill to check whether there was an understudy insert tucked into it. I was happy to see that both of the stars of "Promises, Promises" would be appearing that night. I can almost believe that Sean Hayes and Kristin Chenoweth had as much fun as the audience did.

Later in the week, I stopped at Birdland for a late night jazz performance. The show seemed to be around me in the audience as much as on the stage. Perhaps it was the music that drove the couple immediately in front of me to increasingly indiscreet demonstrations of their shared passion. Through her gestures, the drunken woman to my right indicated she wanted me to join her in expressing her disapproval for what was going on. At the end of the show she described herself as being a particularly feeling and insightful person. This eventually led to the revelation that she is a self-described Indigo (do not ask). When her conversation turned toward unsolicited personal and professional guidance, it seemed the right time to decline her husband's invitation to join them for a nightcap.

It was too late for lunch, too early for dinner. A pair of hot dogs from Gray's Papaya filled the gap nicely. I ordered the Recession Special but had to abandon it when I remembered that the papaya drink had milk in it. Instead, I had the pineapple juice, which cost a bit more. Lunch was delayed by visits to The High Line and B&H Photo. I think B&H must be the biggest camera store in the world, at least it felt that way. It took awhile to acclimate to the sensory overload: a crazy network of conveyor belts rumbling overhead, enormous crowds, multiple lines, and what surely must be every photographic product in production.

If there's anything good about flying, it's the uninterrupted time it provides to read through a pile of newspapers. I'm happy if my fingertips are turning black with newsprint toward the end of the flight. The easy availability of multiple newspapers throughout NYC is perfect for a news junkie. Whether on the street or in the subway, there's always a supply of papers to read. I found the news racks on Madison Avenue to be particularly beautiful. It's certainly no accident given that they were designed by Karim Rashid, an industrial designer whose work manages to combine imagination and great style. The New York Post was an enjoyable accompaniment to a weekday lunch at Fred's, the upstairs restaurant at Barney's.

I was captivated by what I saw while walking on The High Line, a park situated on the west side of New York City. It's located on what had been an elevated 1930s structure for a freight train. The train platform cuts right through the city and provides great views of the surrounding area. I thought the architectural details and loose landscape design were beautifully thought out. The union of the wooden bench and the granite paving struck me as especially brilliant.

In looking through some of my pictures, I wonder whether I suffer from a terminal sweet tooth. Any healthful effects of an after dinner walk through Greenwich Village were ~~probably~~ negated by a 10:30 p.m. visit to the Magnolia Bakery.

That basketball sized glob of pink fluff came as a surprise after a staid dinner at the Four Season Restaurant, located in the Seagram's Building. As diners finished their entrees, the waiters would deliver the puffs before dessert arrived. I silently congratulated myself for taking only a sticky pinch or two from the pink wad, before digging into a disk shaped chocolate cake .

From Freezer to Broiler

2010-08-12T17:45:00.000-07:00

New York City is delivering all of the summer heat that I've been missing in fog-bound San Francisco. I have to think it's this hot and steamy weather that I'll be reminiscing about in December. My flight's afternoon arrival, yesterday, provided enough time to check into the hotel, unpack, change clothes, and have dinner at Donahue's, an old and atmospheric East Side restaurant, located across from the building where Bernard Madoff lived, before he was forced to more appropriate accommodations.

It was good to catch up with an old friend during lunch today at Bergdorf Goodman's seventh floor restaurant, which provided a clear view up Fifth Avenue and over the park. After some desultory shopping, I walked to TKTS to pick up tickets for the Broadway musical "Promises, Promises." I can't wait to see the delightful Kristin Chenoweth in tonight's performance.

Good News: The Wine is Corked

2010-08-07T09:35:00.000-07:00

The threat of a corked wine has intrigued me for some time, primarily because I've wondered whether I'd simply accept the funky taste and smell as an unusual characteristic of the wine, rather than recognizing it as evidence of a real problem that has ruined the wine.

During a recent dinner at Quince, a friend ordered a nice bottle from the Burgundy region to celebrate a pair of milestone birthdays. The sommelier returned to the table and said that when he opened the bottle he determined that the wine was corked. He said he'd get another bottle of the 1999 Domaine de Montille Volnay Premier Cru Taillepieds.

I was secretly delighted with the misfortune that befell the wine because I'd been curious about what exactly a corked wine smells like. I asked him to bring a glass of the tainted wine so that we could all have a sniff. It was profoundly apparent on the first whiff that something was wrong. The wine instantly conjured up memories of the smell of a damp and moldy book. I'm now reassured to know that when the time comes I'll be able to state boldly "this wine is corked."

P.S. As I write this I realize that it was a year ago that I began sharing weekly photos and observations. At the time I started The Sluice Box I had no idea how encouraging it would be to hear from readers located all over the world. Thank you for a great first year.

Transbay Terminal: End of The Line

2010-07-30T21:28:00.001-07:00

The imminent demolition of San Francisco's Transbay Terminal has not inspired much in the way of sentimentality. For the twenty or so years I've been acquainted with the building it's been a decaying relic. The lower level has been a permanent haven for transients, the few amenities have been boarded up, and the aura of obsolescence has become pervasive. If the local paper wrote an obituary for it, the cause of death should simply be described as old age.

I visited the building today for a final look. I was surprised to see that an intact coffee shop and cocktail lounge had been uncovered as part of a historic tour that took place today. These two derelict spaces had simply been sealed up, remaining unseen for who knows how long. The Terminal's worn green terrazzo floors, wooden benches, and old signage surprised me with their vintage charm.

My most vivid memory of the building dates back to the time after I graduated from college, still lived in Berkeley, and commuted into San Francisco. At that time, late-1980s, there was a thriving newspaper business in the Bay Area. I have a clear memory of an old newspaper vendor who sold papers to people as they entered the terminal. There was something of the crusty carnival barker about him in the way he energetically repeated the refrain "Chronicle, Examiner, Trib!" over and over, day after day, week after week. He managed to belt the phrase out almost as a single syllable.

Looking for Signs of Summer

2010-07-25T22:50:00.000-07:00

Thank goodness the local farmers market brings a weekly supply of summer to chilly San Francisco. Around here the summer season could almost slip by undetected were it not for the procession of summer fruits and vegetables, trucked in from the hot inland growing regions, that pass through the farmers' stalls.

I'm preparing to receive a triple digit dose of searing heat and soaking humidity when I visit Manhattan in mid-August. I reassure myself that it will only be brutal in the intervals between air conditioned buildings. I'm reminded of the definition Fran Lebowitz has for the outdoors: the space between the restaurant and the taxi. Feel free to share any fresh ideas you have about what's fun to do in New York during August.

Last summer I enjoyed a pleasant lunch at a winery in the Sonoma County town of Sebastopol. Included with the lunch was a serving of English shelling peas, which the chef had quickly steamed, tossed with Plugra butter, and finished with a few shakes of salt. When I recently saw these peas at the farmers market I knew they'd be a colorful seasonal accompaniment to a roasted chicken. After 15 minutes of shelling, I had a bowl full of peas that were ready to cook. With a little more than 1 minute in the steamer they were finished. They'd turned a brilliant shade of green and provided a reminder that it really is summer somewhere.

Downtown After Hours

2010-07-18T19:15:00.000-07:00

As office workers leave downtown San Francisco for the weekend, a battalion of maintenance personnel arrives to polish, buff, and clean the buildings' marble, metal, and granite. The surface at the base of a tall building became temporarily reflective with puddled water, as a crew power washed away a week's worth of accumulated grime.

Cool Town, Summer in the City

2010-07-11T18:58:00.001-07:00

Summer visitors to San Francisco quickly realize that there's not much use for short pants and other warm weather clothing. If winter weight clothing existed in summer colors, this would be the ideal city for it. For most of the prime summer months the city by the bay is enshrouded in varying densities of fog. In the first photo you can see that the top of the Transamerica Pyramid has virtually dissolved in the arrival of this afternoon's fog. The second photo is a view to the apex of Nob Hill, with a peek of Grace Cathedral in the center. Summer weather isn't far from here: about 20 miles inland people are enjoying conventional summer days with highs in the 80s.

Mies van der Rohe's Barcelona Pavilion

2010-07-05T09:38:00.000-07:00

When the open air bus I was riding passed the stark and striking Barcelona Pavilion, earlier this year, I knew I had just a moment to decide whether to get out and explore an icon of 20th Century modern architecture. Figuring that I'd never again be in that particular corner of Barcelona, I quickly hopped off the bus to visit a building that I've seen in photographs for the past 20 years or so.

What the photographs I've seen don't quite convey is the visual and tactile allure of the beautiful building materials: the travertine, the green and red marble, the silvery steel columns, and the walls of glass. The seemingly simple structure combines brilliant architecture with gorgeous materials, resulting in a minimal design that delivers maximal impact.

I thought the building, designed by Ludwig Mies van der Rohe, was in remarkably pristine condition for something that was 80 years old. I later discovered that this is a 1980s reconstruction based upon photographs of the original building. Incidentally, the ubiquitous Barcelona chairs, which seem to grace an inordinate number of office lobbies, were originally designed for this building in 1929.

Russian River Weekend

2010-06-21T21:45:00.000-07:00

Last weekend turned out to be a good time to get out of town for some sunshine and warm weather, just before the official start of summer. After an easy Friday morning drive north from San Francisco, the weekend began at the Lynmar winery in Sebastopol. White truffle infused popcorn and a glass of Lynmar Chardonnay got the outdoor lunch off to a perfect start. In the vineyard we enjoyed a picnic lunch, prepared by the owner's chef, that included herbs and vegetables pulled from the winery's garden and roasted chicken, all layered on slices of locally baked bread. A glass of Pinot Noir, a handful of cherries, and a lavender shortbread cookie provided a delicious conclusion.

From there it was a short drive to the rustic Russian River town of Guerneville, where we spent the three days that led to the eve of the summer solstice.

The Russian River region produces excellent Chardonnay and Pinot Noir wines, one of which I highlighted in the previous posting. At about the midway point in the growing season, the vineyards are fully covered in a canopy of grape leaves. The fruit is beginning to take shape, as seen in the picture above. RIght now the 2010 vintage grapes are about the size of English shelling peas. In about three to four months the grapes will reach full maturity and field hands will begin the work of hand harvesting them.

It's Delightful, It's Delicious, It's Decanted

2010-06-13T11:32:00.000-07:00

Over the past couple of years I've come to the realization that it's not just red wines that benefit from being decanted. The quick trip from the bottle to the decanter can also enhance white wines. Red wines are commonly decanted to aerate the wine, soften the tannins, and separate the sediment from the wine. The most appreciable benefit for white wines is how they lose the excessive refrigerator chill when they're poured into a decanter and left to stand for ten minutes or so, which appreciably opens up the flavor and nose. I like the way a wine making friend in Napa describes the effect of decanting: helping wine do a better job of expressing what it has.

Once settled in a decanter, it's possible to fully appreciate the color of the wine, which can range from palest yellow to honeyed gold, something that's not visible in the dark bottles that contain many white wines. Decanting also provides an opportunity to appreciate the full aroma of the wine, the scents of vanilla, oak, and yeasty baked bread in the case of a big California Chardonnay, the white wine that probably most benefits from decantation.

The Flowers Chardonnay, pictured, was poured for an at-home celebration to mark a special occasion. It was decanted into into a Riedel decanter, as shown in the first picture. There's something delightful - almost ceremonial - about pouring the wine through the aerator and watching it swirl down the interior of the decanter. To appropriate the lyrics of Cole Porter, the entire experience might even be called de-lovely.

Heading into The Weekend

2010-06-04T23:51:00.000-07:00

Friday night sunset over San Francisco Bay, at the end of an unusually steamy day. At least one person claimed the unfamiliar tropical weather portended an earthquake; to me it felt as if lightning and thunder were imminent.

Friday night dinner at the Tadich Grill, which serves some of the city's best sourdough bread. The loaves have a wonderfully lusty, primitive crust.

Tadich Grill still life.

Traveling on Muni Metro.

Jewel Thieves Don't Take a Holiday

2010-05-31T22:00:00.000-07:00

With the exception of a jewel thief, I'd wager most of us who remained in San Francisco for the holiday weekend had a quiet and relaxing time. It seems more people leave the city than enter it on holiday weekends, which accounts for the lack of traffic in the Financial District on Sunday afternoon, first photo.

While downtown yesterday looking at watches at Shreve & Co, I noticed the top of a glass display case had been smashed, leaving a shower of broken glass amidst the jewelry. I asked a salesperson, who was removing the glass with gloved hands, whether there had been a robbery. She said that during the night a burglar cut through the metal security gate on Grant Ave, broke a window, entered the store, smashed the glass top of the case, and then took what he could. Fortunately this event occurred in the still of night, so nobody's safety was jeopardized.

I couldn't help but think that the late night intruder left a good deal of potential loot behind. What's surprising is that the display case glass didn't shatter like a car window, into a thousand pieces. Instead, the glass remained largely intact, providing only a narrow hole for the thieving hand to do its work. Considering the tedium involved with cutting through nearly two dozen metal gate rods, it's surprising the thief wasn't better focused on completing the task he'd set out to do. Seems like a sloppy job, at least to this arm chair detective. If the thief had been a bit savvier, he might have known that the really good stuff is locked away in the safe each night.

Food, Glorious Food

2010-05-24T22:12:00.000-07:00

Now that I'm back home, I'm finding it's the Parisian pastry shops that my thoughts frequently drift toward. I think about the display cases filled with shelves that held dozens of elaborately detailed and beautifully made pastries, each a delightful confection. It seemed that one of the many shops that carried these delicacies would appear every few blocks or so. I wish I saw more of these bakeries at home, rather than the places that sell cookies the size of pancakes or swollen muffins that appear to have been doing a little steroid doping while they baked in the oven.

During dinner at Taillevent in Paris, I enjoyed some of the most extraordinary food I've experienced. The skill and effort that went into each dish was staggering. My appetizer course contained a variety of meticulously prepared green spring vegetables. Included in the small bowl were peas sliced neatly in half. How is such a preparation even done...with a razor blade? A lobster dish, last picture above, was a beautiful composition that sat within a square border, drawn with four alternating sauces. In reflecting on the food and overall dining experience, I can't help but be inspired by the commitment to perfection.

No Bull

2010-05-13T17:59:00.000-07:00

Throughout the day of the bullfight, I found myself wondering about that evening's event. The combination of formal ritual and plain brutality was at once intriguing and somewhat repellent. For a moment I considered whether the animal rights activists' opposition to the spectacle might possibly be valid. Even so, I held a ticket, curious to see a uniquely Spanish event while in Madrid.

Once sitting in the ring, officially Plaza de Toros de Las Ventas, I was struck by how the structure forms a perfect circle. The Moorish-style bullring, built in 1931, provides seating for 25,000 spectators. Seats are distinguished by being either in the shade or the sun, with a shady seat being preferable, at least based on its higher ticket price. The stone bleachers are situated in steeply raked sections that require a sure-footed upward hike to climb. Seating is on a hard stone surface; fortunately I rented a small brown seat cushion from one of the vendors near the entrance. A number of people in the crowd were surprisingly well-turned out for the occasion, almost genteel in appearance. One of the tweed-jacketed men before me settled into his seat and lit up a cigar, ready for the ritual to begin. I quickly got caught up in the excitement of what was about to unfold.

An announcement in Spanish, a language with which I have minimal familiarity, flowed out of loudspeakers. Members of the audience began to shout and stir. It wasn't clear what was happening but people were actively demonstrating their unhappiness. I waited and wondered what had been said, why the crowd was reacting with increasing animation. Soon people began to hurl their seat cushions into the bullring. I asked someone nearby, who I happened to recognize from breakfast at the hotel, what the announcements were about. He said that there were concerns about the weather, that it might rain. Eventually these concerns led to the cancellation of the bullfight. Just like that it ended. Incredulous. All of the anticipation and excitement drained away. We filed out of the bullring. The refund line was so long that I simply handed my ticket to a young girl and told her she could take my refund. I was soon back in the subway, heading back to the hotel and pondering alternate amusements for the evening.

Inside the Champagne Region's Chalk Caves

2010-05-06T19:14:00.000-07:00

Chalk cave where Champagne ages

Entry to the chalk caves

Racked bottles

The Epernay rail station

Champagne has marked so many of life's special occasions that I thought it was worth leaving Paris for a visit to see where it's produced. The Champagne region is a little over an hour's train ride from Paris. After arriving in the small town of Epernay, it was a short walk from the train station to Moet-Chandon, where I'd scheduled a tour and tasting.

The most memorable part of the tour was the walk through the dimly lit chalk caves, where bottles of Moet-Chandon and Dom Perignon were being aged. There were eighteen miles of caves, characterized by roughly-hewn walls and broad curved ceilings. The tour covered a mere fraction of the total caves, but it was clear that they were laid out in a network of main avenues and smaller tributaries. The tour ended with an appropriate finale: two flutes of Moet-Chandon, a rose and a white.

After leaving the cool-temperature caves and returning to the sunny street above, we had time for a walk around the town's limestone sidewalks before it was time to catch the train back to Paris, in time for a late lunch.

Longest Term Vision

2010-04-29T18:19:00.000-07:00

When I heard that a church in Barcelona was under construction, I assumed this meant some basic maintenance was being performed, such as a repair to the roof. Only when I arrived at the church did I learn that it has been in the process of being built since 1882. The stone building is fantastical, quite unlike anything I've seen before. Instead of precise and orderly right angles, the church consists of daring organic shapes, rounded forms, and sculptural surfaces.

The middle photo is a view from inside one of the four towers. I took the shot as I descended a narrow spiraling staircase that was open to the air and provided sweeping views across the city, bottom photo.

Barcelona architect Antoni Gaudi laid out the original plans for La Sacrada Familia 128 years ago. The original estimate was that it would require hundreds of years to complete. Advances in technology have trimmed that estimate down, with the current completion date projected to be about 20 years from now.

While visiting the site I couldn't help but consider how much of my attention is focused on what's right around the corner. In the get-it-done-yesterday environment that many people work in, I can only imagine the reaction the brave soul would receive who proposed a project that would take, say, fifteen years to complete.

France > Spain > Home

2010-04-22T16:05:00.000-07:00

After 21 days of hotel rooms and restaurant meals, it was nearly exhilarating to wake up at home and eat a simple breakfast of oatmeal and flax seed, bringing to a conclusion an indulgent marathon of morning croissants and pastries.

Leaving from Madrid fortuitously ensured our flight home bypassed the chaos resulting from the Icelandic volcano ash. Over the past week I overhead a number of stranded people cataloging remarkable inconveniences, such as having to cobble together itineraries that included cars, trains, ferries, and planes. It's not surprising to hear so much talk about the volcano: I just read that the ash has created the biggest impact to civil aviation since World War II.

Madrid's international airport helped make the departure one of the most pleasant airport experiences I can think of. The four year old airport has a logical layout and a fresh, clean design. The facility is built for massive volume and easily accommodated the large influx of travelers who were rerouted from airports in northern Europe.

In the weeks ahead I'll be sharing several experiences from the trip to Spain and France. In the meantime, I couldn't resist sharing a couple of iconic photos from these two countries, a Flamenco dancer from Barcelona and a familiar view from the Arc de Triomphe, with the Champs Elysees on the left.

Madrid

2010-04-17T14:18:00.000-07:00

Hola from Madrid. Starting in Barcelona I've begun eating various forms of ham with breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It's begun to feel like all ham, all the time. I don't have a particular fondness for pork; rather, this new habit springs from the ubiquity of this form of meat in the parts of Spain I've visited. At breakfast there are ham sandwiches made with small torpedo-shaped rolls rubbed with tomato and filled with Serrano ham. Similar sandwiches are also available as tapas at virtually every cafe from the lunch hour and late into the evening. I've also been enjoying a few too many croquettes filled with ham. For dinner appetizers I've had slices of Iberian ham, jamon Iberico, cut directly from the pig's leg, hoof and all, as seen in the second photo. The Iberian ham is something of a luxury item, with the meat coming from a black Iberian pig that is fed a diet of ripe acorns, slaughtered, and then cured between 1-3 years. A very small number of Spanish hams, less than ten percent, are of the Iberico quality.

My first exposure to Spanish ham occurred somewhere on the highway between the French border and Barcelona. The train we were supposed to take was mysteriously replaced with a bus, which made a stop mid-way into the journey. At the truck stop cafeteria I was surprised that the sandwich I chose was served on a fresh roll and that the ham was rather tasty. The hams I've been eating are chewier and a bit more flavorful than the Prosciutto di Parma that I'm fond of. I'm curious to see if I'll be able to find the Iberian ham once I return home.

Barcelona

2010-04-13T10:31:00.000-07:00

After nearly 12 hours of travel from St Tropez, with what seemed like stops at every snake crossing and pig path, we finally arrived in Barcelona. It seems that train schedules are mere suggestions of what might possibly occur, not firm commitments as to actually what will happen.

Once settled into the hotel, I was delighted to find examples of Antoni Gaudi's architecture in the nearby blocks, third picture above. This was my first chance to see the Gaudi buildings I'd admired in books, photographs, and magazines. The designs are fantastical, twisted creations, almost like something out of a children's story book. I can only imagine - and admire - the open-minded artistic and cultural environment that allowed these buildings to move from the architect's drawings to fully built creations. To my eye these buildings still look revolutionary, even decades after their completion. I'm impressed that a city that has a large Gothic quarter, second picture above, could accommodate such progressive buildings. My general observation is that the city seems to celebrate design in large and small ways. The door knocker, first photo, is just one example of the beautiful designs I've encountered.

With our southern travel trajectory the dining hour has become progressively later. In Paris, Taillevent was empty at 7:30 p.m., which meant we were first to arrive and able to choose the perfect table for M's birthday dinner; in St Tropez a number of restaurants didn't even open until after 8:00 p.m. Dinner in Barcelona begins at about the hour I'm inclined to begin sleeping, 10:00 p.m. I'm left to wonder how any work gets done with this kind of schedule. I'm slowly adjusting my routine so that breakfast ends about the time lunch begins, and lunch ends just a couple of hours before my customary dinner would begin. Fortunately there's ample time for afternoon napping to counteract the effects of jet lag and changing routines.

St. Tropez

2010-04-09T08:01:00.000-07:00

About nine hours after leaving Paris by high speed train, we arrived yesterday in the French Riviera resort of St Tropez. Earlier today I walked the streets and got acquainted with this surprisingly small town, situated on the Mediterranean Sea. I especially like the aged appearance of the tile-roofed buildings, with their faded plaster exteriors in colors of chalky yellow, powdery tan, and sun-bleached pink. I've recently realized that this is the coastal region of Provence, which accounts for its similarity with the Provencal style.

The slips along the Tropezian waterfront are occupied by a veritable parking lot of super yachts. It was a curious experience to have breakfast at a cafe this morning while looking directly at the occupants on the stern side of a yacht, also having their own al fresco breakfast. We were simultaneously close, sharing the same experience, yet separated by a distance that seemed greater than the narrow street between us.

In another two days we'll move on to the next city along the Mediterranean.

Bonjour

2010-04-03T21:32:00.000-07:00

Greetings from Paris. I'd forgotten just how thoroughly French in style Paris is, not just in several blocks or a particular arrondissement, but extending seemingly for miles in every direction. Wherever I walk the architecture is quintessentially Gallic, whether it be limestone facades cut in the Beaux Artes style or the curvilinear iron work of the Metro station entrances, exemplifying the Art Nouveau period. With such a consistent style there's no question where I am as I wander the streets.

I recall from my last trip here, about 10 years ago, the delightfully stark and severe formality of Place Vendome, pictured above. I was happy to discover that the hotel where I'm staying is a couple of blocks from the plaza. Among my visits there yesterday was a trip to the upstairs floors at Charvet, where I was captivated by a full floor entirely filled with shirt cloth choices, stacked in bolts from wall-to-wall and floor-to-ceiling. It would have been easy for me to spend an unconscionable amount of time examining the options. As I hastily looked I was reminded of a brief scene in Fitzgerald's "The Great Gatsby" where Daisy chokes up with tears while she's surveying Jay Gatsby's extraordinary collection of multi-hued shirts. When reason prevailed, I left the shirt floors and sorted through what must have been hundreds of different silk pocket square designs, leaving with one that had a pattern that seemed to reflect my limited impression of the French stylistic spirit. After a few more days in Paris, it's off to the next destination.

Speed of Light

2010-03-27T08:10:00.000-07:00

While the traffic signal was green, cars and a bus whizzed by in a blur along San Francisco's Embarcadero, with the Bay Bridge in the background. After snapping several frames, the camera battery died unexpectedly, ending my venture earlier than I'd planned. The clear and mild evening was perfect for taking pictures, so I'm left wondering what else I might have captured, with a bit more juice in the battery.

In several days I'll be leaving on a three week trip, so my next posting will made from my first destination.

Lucky Number Seven

2010-03-22T21:48:00.000-07:00

From across the street the sign with the red triple seven caught my attention because I've been thinking non-stop about a trip I'll begin next week, one which includes at least one flight on a Boeing 777. I'm hoping to do some postings while spending three weeks visiting four cities, two countries, and one continent. I'm busy preparing for the vacation, trying to minimize what I forget, keeping track of what's to be done, and attempting to reconcile the difference between what I want to pack and what my luggage will actually accommodate.

What About The Early Worm?

2010-03-18T18:43:00.000-07:00

The early bird gets the worm, but we tend to overlook the fate of that early worm. Perhaps out of concern about being an early worm, I don't greet the sunrise with any regularity. On those rare days when I am pulled from the house earlier than usual, I'm surprised at the number of people whose days are already fully underway, walking down the sidewalks with coffee in hand or running along the waterfront. One morning I happened to be up earlier than usual and stepped out to find the sky a golden pink shade. I quickly went back in to get a camera to capture a souvenir of that unfamiliar and beautiful time of day.

The Tyranny of Good Taste

2010-03-12T16:01:00.000-08:00

I was full of anticipation about what might happen during last week's televised red carpet arrival at the Academy Awards. I'll confess to having been curious to see what's not supposed to happen, the gaffes, the lapses in judgment, the demonstrations of crashing bad taste. Less tinged by schadenfreude was my desire to see fashion that was daring, bold, and adventuresome. In the end, I think the battalion of stylists and handlers succeeded in their mission: protecting their celebrity charges from the baser impulses that result in morning after ridicule. Wouldn't a little bad taste and surprise have been the antidote to so much carefully calibrated perfection?

I experienced another example of textbook good taste at a recent lunch in the Napa Valley town of Calistoga. The Solage resort was all about stealth luxury, washed with an eco ethos and cast in shades of sustainable green. In the restaurant dining room, bare wooden tables - free of laundry intensive linens - became just one of the testaments to right-minded conservation. The resort's proud correctness came close to making me yearn for the incandescent blaze of the Vegas strip or the finned American cars from Detroit's glory years. To its credit, Solage was perfectly lovely, the staff uniformly cheerful and engaged. But I left feeling like the resort's management was just a bit too earnest in trying to package the place up in understatement and of-the-moment thinking about conservation. After lunch I was so overwhelmed by the Solage zeitgeist that I wanted to rush out and do something unsustainable and incorrect, like wearing fur or consuming several slices of foie gras.

The two photos above were taken during a late lunch at Solage's restaurant, Solbar.

Sweet Ending

2010-03-05T17:50:00.000-08:00

There may not be much difference between the back alley addict and me when it comes to the power of our addictions. What distinguishes us from each other is that my substance is sugar, my paraphernalia a knife and fork. Try as I might, I cannot master my chronic sweet tooth. If only baklava were the nutritional equal of bluefin tuna. An extraordinary dessert can be the best part of dinner. Even so, it's easy for me to resist desserts that are cold, creamy, and pulled from the refrigerator - generally symptoms of a restaurant missing a pastry chef. A cheese course? Much too serious and sophisticated for my taste. My ideal dessert menu is full of floury, buttery, and sugary baked confections.

A recent dinner ended without the sweet finale I'd hoped for. Just as well, I thought: better off without dessert. On the walk home I spotted a donut shop on a side street. I entered the store with the promise that I'd take a quick look and leave if they didn't have the exact treat I envisioned, a glazed old fashioned donut.

As far as donut shops go, this is one of the better ones. It's in a formerly dicey part of town. I'm certain there were, some time ago, bullet proof windows, with items being passed through openings in the glass. An influx of condominium dwellers over the past decade has smoothed out some of the rougher edges in this part of town, SOMA. Even so, I'd rather not imagine what grief the counter personnel are subjected to in the wee hours of a store that's open 24 hours per day.

As you can see, they had just about any donut conceivable, including the one I sought. My God it was delicious. If after a few bites I'd been shot dead it would have been a life well lived.

By the way, I want to let you know that I've created a page on Facebook. Click here to check out the page. If you become a Facebook fan you'll receive new postings in your Facebook stream. It would be great to see you on Facebook.

California Chardonnay: An American in Paris

2010-02-26T18:25:00.000-08:00

It was good to get out of the city and spend a winter weekend in the Napa Valley. I was delighted to visit Chateau Montelena in Calistoga, one of the valley's northernmost regions. A limestone castle, complete with crenellated walls and Gothic detailing, dominates the property. The winery is perhaps best known for helping demonstrate to the world that California vintners could produce wines that rivaled their French counterparts. The year was 1976 when a wine merchant in France conducted a blind tasting to determine whether French or California wines were superior. The judges' verdict was seismic in magnitude: the California wines came out on top in both the red and white categories, with Chateau Montelena's submission winning in the Chardonnay category.

With this history in mind, I was full of anticipation as I climbed up to the winery's tasting room, wondering whether the wines could still deliver, or if the winery was trading on the faded glories of years gone by. Entering the tasting room, I couldn't quite figure out how it could be jammed with people on a cold day, during the off-season, and in a recessionary year. When a spot at the counter finally opened I was able to begin tasting the first of the four wines that were being offered. I tried to convince myself that it wasn't all about the Chardonnay; but it was, at least for me.

My first impression of the 2007 Chardonnay was how European it was. To me this means restrained oak, moderate alcohol, and a lack of butteriness, which has become something of a signature among California wines. The wine was very enjoyable, in a way different from what I generally find in Napa. After having several days to think about the wine, I've found myself looking for an occasion that calls for pulling the cork out of one of these exceptional bottles.

Special thanks to Summer is a Verb for sparking the idea to visit the winery.

It's Mustard Season in Napa Valley

2010-02-21T16:30:00.000-08:00

An overnight trip to the Napa Valley town of St. Helena happened to coincide with the brief time when wild mustard flowers bloom and paint the dormant grey vineyards a brilliant shade of yellow. From Calistoga to Carneros I saw people standing outside their parked cars taking photographs of the colorful display. On this dreary winter weekend the cheerful mustard helped fill in for a sun hidden behind a heavy cover of clouds.

Under The Streets of San Francisco

2010-02-16T17:32:00.000-08:00

Continuing with last week's transit theme, I caught this view of the city's underground rail line while waiting for a train. The 5.5 mile subway travels beneath San Francisco's main artery, Market Street. Living in proximity to the line emboldened me to give up my car about ten years ago. I figure this radical reduction of my carbon footprint gives me license to be a bit carefree when it comes to minding the kilowatts I consume in day-to-day life.

The Streets of San Francisco

2010-02-12T17:00:00.000-08:00

An elderly visitor from Milan might be surprised to discover these orange streetcars traversing the streets of San Francisco. The City acquired nearly a dozen 80 year old cars from Milan and has restored them to working condition. The colorful cars, in their orange Milanese livery, are part of the City's rolling transit museum that includes representatives from throughout the world. These may look like amusement park rides but they're in daily service, adding a bit of international flair to both the streets and the daily commute experience. I'm thinking the best part about visiting my dentist is probably the trip to his office in an old streetcar, one with handcrafted wooden seats and windows that open to let in the sights and sounds of the passing city.

Art Deco and King Tut

2010-02-06T10:19:00.000-08:00

In a vague way I'd known that the discovery of King Tut's tomb influenced Art Deco design, but I'd never been quite certain exactly how the discovery of the young pharaoh's burial treasure influenced the early twentieth century design movement. When pieces from King Tut's tomb came to San Francisco's de Young museum I knew I'd finally get a chance to see first-hand the origin of the influence.

In 1922 the general public became fascinated with what British archaeologist Dr. Howard Carter discovered in King Tut's tomb. Egyptian themes began to emerge across the design spectrum, influencing clothing, furniture, architecture, and jewelry. A few years after this discovery, Art Deco came into vogue and incorporated the popular Egyptian motifs that were already in circulation.

While looking at the ornate artifacts, I quickly began to recognize the inspiration for the Art Deco designs I'd seen over the years. I never thought of these designs as uniquely Egyptian so much as simply Art Deco. I saw among the tomb's objects the zigzags, wavy parallel lines, and stair step shapes that are familiar parts of the Art Deco vocabulary. The richly ornamented surfaces of a coffinette resembled the gilded surfaces of many of the Art Deco office lobbies through which I've passed. It was fascinating to tour the extensive collection of items from the tomb, something I'd been hoping to see for years. From a design perspective, I'm most happy to finally understand how the contents of King Tut's tomb influenced everything from Grauman's Egyptian Theatre in Los Angeles to Rockefeller Center in New York City.

Photograph by Harry Burton, who photographed the tomb contents in the 1920s.

A Day Without Rain is Like a Day Without Sunshine

2010-02-05T21:40:00.000-08:00

This afternoon I stepped out during a momentary interval of sunshine. The puddle, created by a series of recent rainstorms, provided a reflective surface to capture the Ferry Building and a passing pedestrian. With more storms in the forecast it's going to be a day or so before it's time to exchange umbrellas for sunglasses.

A Trip to The de Young Museum

2010-01-31T21:27:00.001-08:00

Had local environmentalists succeeded in their mission, this museum would never have been rebuilt in San Francisco's Golden Gate Park. I suspect that some extreme elements of this movement would even delight in seeing the park revert back to the barren sand dunes that greeted gold miners way back in 1849. Fortunately for the museum-going public, this urban park now has an observation tower from which to view the Golden Gate Bridge, the park itself, and the surrounding topography.

The first photo is a close-in view of the embossed copper skin that covers the base of the de Young museum, designed by Swiss architecture firm Herzog & de Meuron. Over the weekend I visited the museum to see the King Tut exhibit, "Tutankhamun and the Golden Age of the Pharaohs." In the days ahead I'll share a few details from that trip.

Piano Jazz: George Winston

2010-01-30T10:31:00.000-08:00

My initial reaction to George Winston's latest CD is how fundamentally American it is. The album's music resides in the jazz neighborhood, but there are detours down nearby side streets to sub-genres such as New Orleans Rhythm and Blues. In this solo piano album, Winston plays the music of Vince Guaraldi, a San Francisco-born jazz musician best known as the composer for Charles Schulz's Peanuts TV shows. For me the music stirs distant recollections of the animated shows, but I think the accompanying music is what I most remember when I reflect back on them. Aside from what was played on my parents' turntable and car radio, these shows provided some of my first exposure to jazz piano, something that's been a lifelong interest.

Over the past several weeks I've been able to listen to a digital clone of the master, which I've been told is the next best thing to being in the studio when the recording was underway. The songs are melodic and the playing style is robust. The recording technique helps brings out the bell-like quality of the grand piano. I've found the infectious melodies repeating in my mind days after listening to them.

Coast to Coast and Around The World

2010-01-24T17:40:00.000-08:00

Obtaining a winter sweater would seem to be a simple enough exercise. It only becomes difficult when expectations don't quite mesh with what's available. I'd been envisioning a rustic Shetland crew neck sweater from Scotland, the kind that is hand knitted with virtually no seams.

For some reason Brooks Brothers stopped carrying this particular type of sweater, an item they'd stocked for years, if not decades. I recall reading, some time ago, that when Brooks first began importing these sweaters the wool would occasionally arrive in the US with a whiff of the cooking odors from the Scottish houses where they were knit. I asked my favorite salesperson at the local BB store why these sweaters disappeared: demand for them had dwindled. For a moment I questioned whether I should continue my pursuit when the majority of people seem to have moved on to other sweaters, probably those made of cashmere, lambswool, or merino wool. I decided to persist a bit further.

One of the local men's stores, Cable Car Clothiers, had a scattered selection of colors and sizes. The salesman said they were waiting for their supply of Shetland sweaters to work its way through US customs. There's something Dickensian about Cable Car's approach to business, so I wasn't too surprised that they didn't have these in stock, even though it was only a month before the height of the Christmas shopping season.

There's a curious Scottish store near Union Square that stocks kilts and whiskey. When I asked about whether they had Shetland sweaters, the salesman said they receive at least one request a week for these sweaters, but that the store management was not interested in stocking them. I'll leave an assessment of their business practices to those with keener minds in the realm of commerce.

My next option was J. Press. They have a sweater that would have been ideal were it not for a roughly brushed surface that gives the sweater the look of something that has been heavily worn for many years. Their version, called the Shaggy Dog, has a strong fan base, so I'm clearly in the minority when it comes to my views on this one. When the sweater arrived I immediately sent it back to the store.

After exhausting domestic retail options, I decided to expand my search and work directly with the source in Scotland. Spirit of Shetland produces precisely the sweater I'd been in search of. I was able to find the exact color I'd envisioned, an earthen tone that evokes the colors of damp moors, tilled soil, and hanging moss. I exchanged several emails with Barbara to answer some basic questions. I realized her operation must be somewhat small when she said she'd get my order to the post office when the rain eased up a bit. The sweater arrived in a hand addressed package. The construction is just what I'd hoped for, including the seamless body and sleeves that are knitted into the shoulder, rather than being stitched. The ribbed turn-back cuffs are long and substantial. This sweater seems like such an essential staple that I'm puzzled why it required an international search to find one.

The Magic Behind the Curtain

2010-01-17T21:43:00.000-08:00

Visiting the backstage of a theater for the first time is a bit like catching a passing glimpse of the kitchen commotion in a favorite restaurant or stealing a peek at the cockpit of a plane. These are the places, typically concealed behind doors, where the full complexity of the operation becomes apparent. For several hours I had a chance to get a sense of the behind-the-scenes stagecraft that goes into producing a play. A.C.T., one of San Francisco's oldest playhouses, celebrated its 100th anniversary by hosting an open house and inviting theater goers to take a peek behind, under, and above the stage. The ornate theater is located near Union Square. With 1,024 seats it's the size of a typical Broadway theater.

Among the people I had a chance to talk with were a wig maker and a costume designer. The wig maker described, in her tiny windowless workshop, how she hand threads human hair to create a realistic hairline for each actor's wig. Rather than conjuring up whimsical confections, the costume designer begins her creative process by researching clothing that was worn during the era that a particular play is set in. I was particularly interested to hear that accessorized costumes are available for rental. I noted this option as a possible cure for my chronic inability to come up with creative and fully-realized Halloween costumes.

While exploring the bare stage - as the people in the first photo are doing - I took a look at the system of red handles, ropes, pulleys, and counterweights. The stagehands use this fly system to raise and lower curtains, sets, and lighting equipment. I was reminded, darkly, of the movie villain who gets backstage, climbs into the rigging, cuts a rope, and sends a set crashing down on his intended victim.

The set designers displayed a number of the maquettes they use to visualize and test their stage set designs. These scale models looked like something with which kids would enjoy playing. I thought it would be delightful to have one of these on display at home.

Directly under the stage is the morass of equipment that the stagehands use to raise and lower set elements to and from the stage floor. As you can see, this utilitarian part of the theater looks almost like a car repair shop. The brown wooden bed, under the blue cover, is a leftover from the recent production of Dickens' "A Christmas Carol."

I'm curious to see what impact this tour will have on my experience when I'm seated back in the audience next week, watching A.C.T.'s production of Racine's "Phedra."

Fresh Provisions

2010-01-10T23:00:00.000-08:00

It was a pleasant surprise to come home and find the shirt maker's cardboard package in the mail. I'd nearly forgotten the details of the order I'd placed sometime before Thanksgiving. A few days ago I tried to summon hazy recollections about the exact scale of the check, the shade of pink, and the weave of the cloth. My concern was that the shirts would arrive and I'd wonder "what on earth was I thinking?" Fortunately the package contained no unpleasant surprises.

This particular shirt maker, Joe Hemrajani, visits a number of cities across the United States. As is the practice of most visiting tailors, he sets up shop in a hotel room for a day or two and welcomes new and returning customers. It's a pleasure to do business with Joe because he's knowledgeable and provides good, reliable service. I first learned of this company through Will at A Suitable Wardrobe, one of my favorite sources of authoritative information about classic men's clothing and style.

Instead of having billowing shirts that look like bed sheets with buttons, I finally have a reliable way to obtain shirts that truly fit. It's taken several orders, each with minor tweaks, to perfect my shirt pattern. Now that the details have been refined, it's just a matter of figuring out which cloth to choose, placing the order, and then waiting for the package to arrive in the mail. For those with little patience, the hardest part of the process must be poring over the endless cloth samples in the hotel room. I've found I enjoy pausing for an hour or so to flip through the cloth books and narrow my choices. Joe offers up more shirt options than any store in town could ever hope to stock. The hotel room is filled with dozens of sample books from British, Italian, and Japanese mills. I've grown to favor the Thomas Mason books since their selections tend to be classic, the colors bright and true, and the cloth beautifully executed. Now that this order has arrived I'm already beginning to think about what I might need the next time Joe comes to town.

First Dawn of the New Decade

2010-01-01T09:19:00.000-08:00

This morning I woke up early so that I could walk to the bay and see the first dawn of the new decade. As I headed toward the water the streets were largely empty, except for a few people who were either starting their day or winding down their New Year's Eve revels. The sidewalks were scattered with last night's trampled party hats and streamers. An empty Champagne bottle had me wondering whether the people who'd left it had been swigging directly from the bottle or whether they'd had the foresight to bring along glasses. In the next few hours these remnants of the celebration will be swept up and hauled away and 2010 will be well underway.

For the advent of the New Year I was hoping the sunrise would deliver a dazzling dawn of coral pinks and blazing oranges. The reality was a bit more subdued than I'd envisioned. The sky gradually illuminated from blue to grey as the sun rose behind a heavy cover of clouds. Once the sun had finally risen I headed back home, prepared to see what the year ahead brings.

Getting Ready for the New Year

2009-12-27T15:14:00.000-08:00

With the New Year almost here, I paid a visit to a nearby office supply store to pick up a new calendar. It's a bit of a puzzle how this particular store persists with what appears to be an antiquated approach to business. The cash registers may well be the same ones they were using 20 years ago. While the store manages to be tidy, there's also a general overhang of neglect about the place. Perhaps most unusual for a retail operation, the staff members don't seem to change every several months. I continue to recognize people who've helped me with past year's calendar purchases. The store's been in San Francisco since 1873, so my quibbles and concerns probably don't have much merit.

Exactly why I continue buying a calendar is something I've occasionally questioned. It would be more efficient to centralize everything in a single online calendar. What I like about a printed calendar is that I'll have a record I can flip through to recall who I had lunch with, the movies I saw, the trips I went on, the performances I attended, and when my last trip to the barber was. I'm not quite able to warm to the idea of scrolling through an online calendar to reminisce about past year's activities. I realized the shortcoming of digital records when I used a Palm Pilot for a year or so. At the end of that year I had no convenient record of what happened over the course of the previous 365 days. I've tried the At A Glance calendars (too big), Filofax (too bulky), Day Runner (inelegant), and Letts of London (just right). I thought I had a Letts book for each year of the decade, but I now realize that my dalliances with Filofax and Palm Pilot created some gaps in the archive.

The Letts books are pretty close to perfect. The navy blue binding is subtle and the layout of the interior pages consists of clean black typography on stark white sheets. The sections allocated to each day provide just enough room to jot down a few impressionistic details. To mark progress through the year, there's a helpful navy blue ribbon. Since the books are slim, they're easy to carry along. In reviewing the number of blank pages in my 2009 calendar, I should probably resolve to be a bit more diligent about noting what happens in 2010.

Wishing you a wonderful New Year, one which will fill your own calendar - whether it be digital or analog - with many pleasant entries.

Night Lights for The Winter Solstice

2009-12-21T06:58:00.000-08:00

I thought these pictures from late last week made sense to share on the darkest day of the year. I'm reminded of the sentiment expressed in the lyrics from Vernon Duke's jazz standard "Autumn in New York," one of my favorites. "Here on the twenty-seventh floor, looking down on the city I hate and adore." For me the winter solstice inspires a similar ambivalence. It's the darkest day of the year yet it also marks the point at which the daylight hours will, finally, begin increasing.

Avian Lunch

2009-12-18T14:55:00.000-08:00

I was walking along the waterfront on my way to lunch when I passed this seagull, who I suspect was waiting for his lunch to appear below the water's surface. I continued on my way to get a turkey sandwich. I'm hoping the gull will partially forgive me my avian lunch. I'm not too concerned. I didn't order a seagull sandwich.

Wet Weather Gear

2009-12-12T16:05:00.001-08:00

The first big wet storm of the season gave me a reason to bring out these waterproof shoes for their 26th winter. They make it easy to walk around wet city streets by allowing me to step directly into deep puddles, rather than having to navigate around them. The shoes also do a good job of gripping the pavement, due in part to the rubber sole that has a distinctive chain patterned tread. I can't imagine a more perfect and reliable rain shoe.

There's no glamour here. These guys are all function and utility. I like the fact that they work as well in a duck blind as they do in an urban center. They might be a bit incongruous for the city, but I enjoy the touch of outdoorsy panache they provide.

I attribute their longevity to the fact that they only get worn five or six times a year. I recall reading when I ordered them, via printed catalog, that the shoes could be returned to Maine and the soles could be reapplied when needed. Whether LL Bean still offers this service doesn't matter too much anymore. I've gotten more wear out of these than I'd ever imagined.

Tis The Season

2009-12-05T13:59:00.000-08:00

Each year the Delancey Street Foundation opens a Christmas tree lot on Pier 32, just south of the San Francisco Bay Bridge. The staff are always friendly and help get the holiday season off to a cheery start. This was a good day to choose a tree since the mild conditions will soon be replaced by a week's worth of stormy weather, if the forecasters are correct. Tomorrow's incoming rain should provide a pleasantly wintry backdrop for an afternoon of tree trimming.

San Francisco Gem: The Palace Hotel

2009-11-30T22:40:00.000-08:00

San Francisco's Palace Hotel provided a warm setting for a goodbye lunch with visiting family. The day after Thanksgiving was delightfully quiet at the hotel's spacious Garden Court restaurant--remarkable considering the hotel's proximity to the Black Friday chaos at nearby Union Square. To my way of thinking, space and quiet are among the supreme luxuries that a restaurant can provide. Tables under the leaded glass skylight are well separated and the space is quiet enough to allow for conversation in a normal speaking voice.

When the hotel opened in 1875, the carriage entrance was situated where the restaurant is now located. It wasn't until 1909, three years after the earthquake and fire, that the restaurant began operating in its present location. I try to imagine the sound of last century's horses that clomped through the space as they pulled the carriages of arriving guests.

It had been a number of years since I last ate in the restaurant and sat under the glass domed ceiling. During the intervening time, I would occasionally walk by just to reacquaint myself with the grand space. Last week provided the perfect occasion to make a return visit to this one-of-a-kind gem. I really can't think of any other room quite like it.

As Never Seen on TV

2009-11-21T20:56:00.000-08:00

It started with the best of intentions, infused with optimism that everything would turn out alright, just as it does on televised cooking shows. The season seemed perfect for a colorful and earthy puree of root vegetables, fresh from the farmers market.

I peeled and chopped turnips, carrots, and parsnips expecting to have an innovative alternative to mashed potatoes. The bounty slowly simmered in a pot as I envisioned a tasty outcome that would delight dinner guests.

I emptied the pot's contents, mashed up the vegetables, and sent them through a food processor. The end result certainly had the color I'd envisioned, one that would brighten a plate of beefy browns and leafy greens.

If only the result were as pleasing to the palate as it was to the eye. I'm not certain where to assign guilt, but I believe the culprits were the parsnips and the turnips. I wasn't expecting the gingery result with its medicinal undertones. My initial enthusiasm dissipated as the realization set in that I'd spent an hour or so on a recipe that should probably not have been printed.

I wasn't quite willing to acknowledge the extent of my dissatisfaction, so I packaged up the puree and put it in the refrigerator, hopeful that I might like it better the next day. The following day came and went, as did the next several. By then the prospect of a mossy layer of grey mold gave me further reason to avoid dealing with the container. A week later I finally followed my initial reaction and pitched the whole mess out, something I don't recall viewing on the few cooking shows I've seen. So much for clever purees of root vegetables. Instead, the prosaic potato will be mashed into a starchy accompaniment for an upcoming dinner, one at which I'd hoped to serve something a bit more creative.

Winter's Approach

2009-11-16T21:00:00.000-08:00

During a mid-afternoon walk I was hit by the awareness of winter's imminent approach. Now that the sun is at a different angle and the sidewalks are scattered with fallen leaves, it's starting to feel like we're making progress toward the winter solstice, which is about four weeks away. The nights are getting colder and there's a new chill in the daytime air. Clear blue skies have finally replaced the fog that had been present from summer through fall. With Thanksgiving next week, it feels like we're poised to start the mad dash to the doorstep of the New Year.

Recession Barometer

2009-11-11T22:55:00.000-08:00

It's tempting to declare the recession over after visiting a few new places and finding them full of people. What I saw seems counter to just about every economic article I've read. Even so, I can't help but think it's a good sign that people are opening businesses and that customers are opening up their wallets.

Last week I dropped by chef Hubert Keller's Burger Bar, his latest San Francisco venture. Mr. Keller is best known for his formal and luxurious French restaurant Fleur de Lys. Because of its sixth floor location at Macy's Union Square, Burger Bar provides sweeping views across the square and up toward Nob Hill. The menu offers just about every permutation of hamburger possible; options include Angus beef, Kobe beef, and buffalo. The place was completely full on a Wednesday night. This holiday season it'll be packed with downtown shoppers. After having dinner, I happened to see Mr. Keller and asked if I could take his picture. Just as he agreed to pose for a photo I managed to knock a stack of Burger Bar business cards off the podium, scattering them to the floor. During the moment I spent crouched down picking up the cards, I wondered if his indulgent reaction to my clumsiness would be the same if I were an errant sous chef in the back of the kitchen; I'll assume it would be. After I gathered the cards we were able to proceed with the picture, seen above.

After Burger Bar, the walk home included a detour to inspect the windows at Wilkes Bashford, which just filed for Chapter 11 bankruptcy, and then a quick stop in a new bar on Kearny called Rickhouse. I was surprised to find that this new place, like the previous one, was jammed, middle photos above. Upon further thought, this is less mystifying since liquor is typically one of a handful of recession-proof commodities.

The final stop was a quick visit to the bar at Gitane, final photo. Once again, a relatively new place that scores of people managed to find on a mid-week evening. The restaurant upstairs looked alluring enough to get me to make a reservation for dinner later in the week. When I returned on Saturday evening, before ACT's production of David Mamet's "November", I ordered a chicken tajine. It's only through my recent planning for a possible trip to Morocco that I'm even aware of tajines. The tajine was almost delicious enough to help me overcome some lingering reservations I've have about traveling to Morocco during 2010.

RN74: California's Road to Burgundy

2009-11-05T07:55:00.000-08:00

One of my favorite new downtown spots for some big city sparkle and a glass of wine is Michael Mina's RN74, located at the base of a recently completed 60 story residential tower. The restaurant and wine bar, named after the road that passes through Burgundy's wine region, combine a number of design touches that evoke train stations and railroad travel, such as train station signs that feature the names of available wines rather than those of departing trains.

With the daunting crush of celebrating, networking, and flirting office workers gone, a Saturday or Sunday evening is a good time to drop by and choose from their 46 wines available by the glass. RN74 is able to offer such a broad selection because most of the wines are stored in four electronic dispensers, first photo above, which control the temperature of the wine and use nitrogen to keep the contents of each bottle fresh.

After speaking with several staff members, I'm impressed with their unusual combination of grace and knowledge. They have a genuine interest in wine and its production. One server shared details of her visits to French wineries while on vacation. Rajat Parr, the wine director, also oversees the making of wine that's labelled under his own name. I've enjoyed his Chardonnay made in the French style from grapes grown in California's Santa Ynez Valley, a coastal region north of Santa Barbara. Having been suckled on high-octane California wines, I'm relishing the opportunity to become acquainted with the more restrained versions from the Burgundy region, most of which don't leave me feeling snockered after the first glass.

Ghostly Fog

2009-10-31T12:19:00.001-07:00

Halloween began with a ghostly fog that dissolved the tops of downtown buildings. As I left home for an early trip to the barber, I was surprised at the density of the fog and the emptiness of the streets, which remain lightly travelled due to the ongoing closure of the San Francisco Bay Bridge. The familiar sound of fog horns provided a lonely aural accent to this most unholy of days.

Nighttime on The Waterfront

2009-10-26T22:19:00.000-07:00

A recent evening began at a new pizza place in North Beach and ended with a walk home on San Francisco's Embarcadero. As I walked by vestiges of the city's past, I found myself thinking how the buildings may remain, but their original uses have been exchanged for more contemporary purposes. Along the waterfront we now have restaurants and sommeliers instead of maritime activity and stevedores. The Ferry Building, top picture, is entirely devoted to pleasures of the palate, much different from its original 1898 purpose as a transit terminal, once among the world's busiest. The Hills Brothers Coffee building, built in 1926, hasn't seen a coffee bean in decades; instead, it now holds an outpost of Google employees. This ongoing process of birth, death, and renewal helps keep the city fresh and vital, even if it does mean we have to say goodbye to some of our old favorites every now and then.

Photos taken on the evening of October 24, 2009.

Bobby Short

2009-10-24T11:25:00.000-07:00

Over thirty years ago a television commercial took me to my first cabaret. The ad, above, also introduced me to Bobby Short, a well-known New York City pianist and singer. This 30 second spot manages to include 10 different camera angles that feature 70's era model Shelley Hack and Bobby Short. It's Mr. Short's expressive voice and piano playing that animate the commercial as Ms. Hack strides from her car, navigates through the bar, and finally lands in a seat.

I eventually became aware of Bobby Short's larger body of work, his big city polish, and his deep knowledge of musical history and the American Songbook. In the recorded interviews I've listened to, he conveys a cheerful disposition, which comes through clearly in his singing style, one that can alternate between playful and archly formal. During 60-plus years of performing, Mr. Short had a particular interest in resurrecting songs that had fallen into obscurity. I like to splice a few of his tunes into a music mix that I play when entertaining, to provide a touch of Manhattan cabaret while at home.

I'd always planned to see Bobby Short when he was a regular performer at the Cafe Carlyle. For whatever reason, I always deferred seeing him until the next trip to New York. Unfortunately that next trip didn't happen soon enough. Mr. Short retired in 2004 and died in 2005. At least his recordings still provide an opportunity to experience one of the country's best cabaret performers.

Local Color

2009-10-19T17:41:00.000-07:00

I had a number of errands to run on Saturday and, on a whim, took my camera along. When I uploaded the photos I was struck by the vibrant colors I'd encountered. The day started with a trip to the farmers market where I planned to get some turnips and parsnips. Alas, the vendor who should have had the turnips confessed to having left them back at the farm, forcing me to postpone an experiment with a turnip recipe. Browsing the market, I saw a large assortment of peppers that seemed improbably brilliant in color. Then I came across a bin of eggplant with a shade of purple so intense it could stop your heart. From the market I walked downtown to drop off a pair of pants at the tailor, had a quick lunch, and then took the subway to have coffee with a friend who was preparing to leave on a cruise to Mexico, which may cross paths with the remnants of Hurricane Rick. It turned out to be a surprisingly colorful afternoon.

Shaken and Stirred: Earthquake Reflections

2009-10-17T05:30:00.000-07:00

Once the mannequins began toppling, I figured it was a good time to hasten from the department store in which I happened to be standing. I remained still as the ground began to shake, held tight as the movement intensified, and finally surrendered when the shaking became more severe than I'd imagined possible. It seemed the building itself must be at risk of collapsing as the swaying and noise increased. This experience occurred twenty years ago today, the anniversary of Northern California's 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake.

As a consequence of the temblor, 63 people lost their lives and $6 billion in damages occurred. The magnitude 6.9 earthquake damaged San Francisco's much-despised double decked Embarcadero Freeway, leading to its closure and eventual demolition. If there's any good to come of the quake, it's the renaissance that the freeway's removal sparked. With the freeway gone, the area surrounding the Embarcadero, which runs along the Bay, eventually became a much more attractive place. People now walk, jog, bicycle, and dine in the former netherworld that the forbidding concrete structure created.

I sat outdoors at a relatively new waterfront restaurant located near where the double deck freeway once stood. In my glass of wine, pictured above, I caught the inverted reflection of the San Francisco Bay Bridge. Twenty years ago, after the mannequins had fallen, I could not have envisioned the transformation that would make it possible to enjoy a glass of wine along with a view of the Bay.

Perked Up Coffee Shop: King's Highway

2009-10-12T19:15:00.000-07:00

I recall years of weekend breakfasts with my grandparents at coffee shops similar to King's Highway, the restaurant at the Ace Hotel & Swim Club in Palm Springs. We'd often visit coffee shops of similar vintage and design, with memorable names such as Pancake Parade and Pancake Circus. Instead of the King's Highway French press coffee, my grandparents would have ordered cups of Sanka, poured by an aproned waitress from an orange handled carafe. Back then I certainly didn't know that these familiar coffee shops, which were becoming a bit faded, fit into a specific style of architecture called Googie. While the name Googie may not be well known, the style certainly is. The strong boomerang shaped roofline and large plate glass windows should be familiar to the several generations of Californians who've driven past them. King's Highway is the lightly renovated reincarnation of a 60s-era Denny's coffee shop.

The perimeter of the King's Highway dining room is lined with orange booths and a row of counter seating, while tables fill the center area. The terrazzo floor is puzzling with large patches that are either damaged or worn through to bare concrete. Somebody clearly made the decision to retain the floor's rough and worn condition, rather than pursuing a meticulous restoration. Consistent with the rest of the hotel, the interior is scrubbed of all extraneous detail, except for a touch of macrame on the suspended light fixtures and a curious elephant head sculpture hung on the flagstone wall. One person at my table remarked that the interior seemed like something out of East Berlin.

The coconut bread French toast with maple syrup was so good during the first breakfast that I went ahead and ordered it again the second morning. I prefer drip coffee, but their French press coffee turned out to be milder and smoother than I expected. Fortunately the casual atmosphere does not translate to sloppy service. During each of my three visits the servers were consistently friendly and attentive. Although King's Highway appeals to a much different customer, I'm sure my grandparents would have enjoyed stopping in for breakfast, especially if they could persuade the server to brew a pot of Sanka.

Pictures taken September 26, 2009.

Playing The Cool Card: Ace Hotel & Swim Club

2009-10-07T05:30:00.000-07:00

"Hey, let's open a hotel!" The new Ace Hotel & Swim Club in Palm Springs looks like something a group of cool kids cobbled together on a shoestring budget. It exudes a vibe that suggests handcrafted and accidental rather than slick and calculated. The design team has created much of the look and mood by scavenging bits and pieces from the not-too-distant past. The lobby’s plate glass window is covered in a spider’s web of macramé and the carpet could be a souvenir from a 1970s spring break road trip to Baja.

Small touches strengthen the improvisational feeling, such as drink lists hand printed on chalkboards and the variety of rummaged decorative accents, many of which look like things people gladly dispatched to charity stores several decades ago. The skeptic in me whispered there had to be a wee touch of corporate cunning behind the thrifted veneer. It may look like the kids are in charge, but the parents can't be far away.

The hotel design has a point of view that tends toward the stripped and spare. I was surprised at the starkness of the structures, which began as a 1965 Howard Johnson hotel. While walking the grounds I found the overall design evoked something that was simultaneously foreign and familiar. The buildings consist of plain and angular white stucco buildings, suggestive of Mykonos and its whitewashed architecture.

The hotel appears to be succeeding by making a clear connection with its target clientele, most of whom were probably born about the time eight-track tape players started disappearing from car dashboards. The packed Saturday afternoon crowd was clearly buying this brand of cool. Those gathered around the pool generated a party atmosphere as they swam, listened to the DJ's tunes, and sunbathed on chaise lounges, all while enjoying further degrees of cool courtesy of the outdoor misting system.

Photos taken on the grounds of the Ace Hotel, September 26, 2009.

Space Age Block Party

2009-10-03T11:01:00.000-07:00

While the Soviets were launching Sputnik into space in 1957, concrete blocks were rising across the desert. These decorative blocks provide the visual cue that reminds me I'm in Palm Springs. A staple of mid-century modern design, the blocks are used for shade walls and privacy screens. I find myself especially drawn to their strong graphic quality. These shots are from various residential properties that happened to catch my eye. For a closer look, click to enlarge.

Urbane Renewal: Riviera Resort & Spa

2009-09-29T20:09:00.000-07:00

Circa 59 restaurant, September 26, 2009 4:52 p.m.

Lobby seating area, September 25, 2009 3:54 p.m.

Entrance lobby, September 25, 2009 3:52 p.m.

After checking into the Caliente Tropics, my Tiki-themed residence for four days, I unpacked and got ready to see a friend who recently moved to Palm Springs. He suggested meeting for a drink at the Riviera Resort & Spa. During the past year I'd been curious to see what the $70 million renovation had done for this 1958 mid-century modern relic. I drove over to the hotel with the rental car's top up, after the novelty of driving top down in 115 degree heat quickly evaporated.

When I last stayed at the Riviera it primarily offered guests faded associations with Hollywood, rather than contemporary style and amenities. This lavish new incarnation provides a serving of Hollywood Regency style seasoned with a glittery sprinkling of Las Vegas flash, something that Frank Sinatra and Elvis Presley might have created, were they hoteliers. Shades of tangerine, brown, and black blend with a variety of reflective surfaces, such as chrome, patent leather, and mirrored glass. The overall effect conjures the feeling of fun and glamour that I associate with the myth of Palm Springs.

Desert Sunrise

2009-09-27T16:17:00.000-07:00

September 27, 2009 (click to enlarge)

I decided to get up before dawn and drive into the desert outside of Palm Springs to see what photographic opportunities I might find. I don't typically get up this early but, with the motel air conditioner cycling on and off all night, I hadn't been getting much sleep. I figured I'd make the best of it, get in the car, and head north. At around 6:00 a.m. it was already in the 7os, so I dropped the rental car's convertible top and drove through the pre-dawn darkness. The air was warm, still, and filled with the electric buzz of cicadas. Out of the 100+ pictures I took, these are a couple of my favorites.

Sky High

2009-09-26T08:39:00.000-07:00

Getting ready to land in Palm Springs, September 25, 2009, 2:58 p.m.

Flying over the stark, barren desert is my favorite portion of the flight to Palm Springs. As the plane approached the town, I was struck at the abrupt transition line where development and lush landscaping end and the desert begins. This sharp difference reminds me that it's imported water and air conditioning that make life in the desert possible. With daytime highs around 110, I don't foresee ever turning the a/c off during this trip.