We are now in San Francisco. I suspect today's (yesterday's) blog will turn out to be the longest (see PS, for instance), with the least done.
The day began with a "quick" visit to Duckhorn, north of St. Helena. Duckhorn, aka Duckporn (don't ask why), is supposedly famous for their Sav Blanc. But they only had one on the tasting menu, while offering two fucking Merlots & two Cab Savs.
While there, we realized we had to return to the hotel -- almost an hour away and in the wrong direction for SF. I will refrain from identifying who was the culprit, having left my blazer in our first hotel, forcing us to return there (causing the famed trooper telling us to turn our lights on episode).
I suggested lunch. Leading to this exchange:
Car: There are lots of places near the hotel.
Barb: There's even a Fuddruckers.
Michael: We could even eat at a Mexican place.
Me: Hey, there's Chevy's.
Car: What's that?
Me: I think it says "Fresh Mex" underneath it.
Barb: Yelp says it's a hamburger place.
Me: Maybe it says "Fresh Meat."
Barb: I could use some of that.
After Michael's second demonstration of the Covey method (the 7 quadzillion ways of supposedly successful people), we ended up at Chevy's.
"Fresh" as in they made the guacamole at the table and the tortillas by hand in front of you in the restaurant. For "casual dining" Mexican, it was quite good.
Before we even left the restaurant, I needed digestive drugs. ): Thanks Barb.
The drive into San Fran was slow, including a three-car accident. But we eventually saw this:
We whipped around the west end of San Fran for this:
Then, into town to the hotel and to return the car.
On the way in, Michael and I began to play our requisite game of Dumb and Dumber. "Hey, Michael, there's a Starbucks." "Steve, wow! I wonder if we will see one again." Next corner, same routine. By the time we got home from dinner, Karen made a threatening demand that there be a moratorium on the "there's a Starbucks" routine. ): I admitted I had said it about the same one three times :) (it was at Bush & California). LOL
As to the hotel: I think I am responsible for the worst hotel decision of the vacation. This is by far the most expensive place -- it is nominally a boutique hotel. I now have a new definition for what that means. It is twice as much as any other place we stayed. But, despite that, it has added to the Steve must's list for a quality hotel room: it has neither curtains nor a chair! It also does NOT have glass glasses!!! All of this is highlighted by the fact it is not really in a great location (not like we can walk to anything, but we are just far enough away -- there's a funny rift about it being near Union Square [a block off Union St, instead]). All in all, a dud.
Michael and I took the car back. See Starbucks rift. See variation on Seinfeld rift on "Not that there's anything wrong with that." We ARE in San Francisco, remember? One car-wide sighting was of two young women on 3'' platform heels. Someone pointed out the paradoxical shortness of skirts (not me). They looked like baby giraffes making their way down the sidewalk.
For the rest of time before dinner, see title. ): Chevy's Revenge.
Then to dinner, at Scala, not coincidentally, just off Union Square (reservation before clarification about where the hotel REALLY was). It was excellent, deserving of the 4.5 stars on Yelp. I will start with Barb's beef carpaccio app:
That was followed by main courses -- Michael had the orecchittete, Barb pesto spaghetti, and I had mushroom risotto with filet mignon. Karen's was the most visual -- clams on saffron linguni:
Today's extra photo link.
And, finally, my favorite, of course, the dessert:
The far one is their take on Boston cream pie, in the middle is a chocolate pecan tart, and that's dark chocolate ice cream closest. None was left. :)
Barb got their specialty of 8 homemade chocolates. Each is designed after a San Francisco neighborhood (Mission, Haight-Asbury, Nob Hill, etc). Hilariously, the Haight-Asbury one was titled "Officer it's only dried oregano." :) Which actually had oregano in it. Barb reported it was v good.
Day one in San Fran down. Two to go. Pout. Almost done.
PS Maybe the funniest part of yesterday was the reading of the previous day's blog. Michael said "that's funny that you made that up about me and the spit bucket." I said I didn't, you really said it. He said, c'mon. Fortunately, Waldorf and Statler backed me up from the back seat, saying "we all heard you say it." In an immediate shift of gears, Michael went to "I was three sheets in the wind, you know." We pointed out that the notion was not lost on us all. "If you'd given me a bit more, I might have done anything." We knew. "I think I drank more yesterday morning than in a whole year." Thanks. You told us that yesterday, more than once, too. :) So, patient reader, know that I try to report events accurately, even if the principles deny them. :)
PPS We took the car back to Avis. In a consultative decision, we decided rather than park it in SF and try to manipulate the streets, and pay to park everywhere, we would get around without it. Barb found an office "near Union Square" (remember, "close to the hotel"), where we dropped it off. It had 2,200 miles on it. Yes, that many. As Michael said "that's why we got it, to put miles on someone else's car." The Ford Edge actually got over 20 mpg going through lots of mountains -- not a high percentage of those miles was interstate -- and often loaded with five six full bags of luggage. Despite its various design quirks (we had all kinds of trouble with the sync system & unlocking one back door), it was the perfect vehicle for this -- holding four adults and luggage over long haul.
PPS 2 The H's left wine country bearing 9 bottles of wine. There is much discussion of how to get them home -- to buy another bag and check it, or to make do with the ones we have. BTW, acc to Dr. Google, a wine bottle weighs approx. 2.75 pounds.
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