I Left My Blog....In San Francisco

San Francisco, CA

November 2012

It’s always so much better to get thoughts down as they occur, but there are times when this is simply not feasible. Like when you’re carrying an umbrella,  shopping package, purse or small backpack, you’re waiting for the cable car, multi-day pass in hand so that you don’t have to fumble for it while sitting, or possibly standing, on the moving car for the conductor to see that you do, indeed, belong on the vehicle in the first place. There is not much access to writing or recording implements in that case, due to the lack of a third, or even fourth arm/hand combination.

So. That leaves us with the slight challenge of remembering the feelings, sights, sounds, thoughts, observations, etc. that we attempt to recapture days (or even longer) later in the effort to re-create for the reader, who may (or, let’s face, may NOT) be interested in helping you to re-live.

Enough of the apologetic introduction. On to the experience. (One thing for which I do feel the need to apologize, however, is the lack of visuals. I simply MUST get my camera together and in good working order so that I don’t have to do without again.)

The first half day of our trip to SF was gorgeous. We arrived in the late morning, west coast time, the weather was fine, the sky mostly blue, and the temperature was only a wee bit on the cool side. We caught a taxi from the airport to our hotel, treated to the incredible energy of our disarmingly self-deprecating driver the whole way. He ran down a list of English/Irish Pubs for us and where those might be found, though I had already done a bit of online research from the familiar surroundings of home. We chatted about families and place of origin, and before we knew it, we had arrived. Two bits of pertinent information: 1) It’s amazing how taxi drivers can both get you where you are going in record time and not get pulled over by the authorities for recklessness in the process, and 2) We never did make it to a pub during the trip simply because we had so many other choices staring us in the stomach.

We checked into our hotel early. The Renaissance Stamford Court Hotel was very accommodating, and honestly, if you had to get stuck in a place with no possibility of going anywhere else, this would be a perfectly acceptable place to get stuck. Gosh, I sound like a reviewer, which I'm not, but I do think that a great service or product deserves a pat on the back and a shout-out.

First stop after check-in: Café de la Presse, a fantastique (heh) 1930's bistro serving true French cuisine. My post-Thanksgiving nutritional resolutions were absolutely wrecked. Even though we didn’t order any wine.

We sat outside in the mostly fresh air. My husband had Steak Frites (steak & fries), his general favorite, while I ordered Confit de Canard Maison (a REALLY AMAZING leg of duck, which as of this writing is a featured image on their lunch menu page). Both were exquisite, though mine was “the bomb”. I won’t even describe it as anyone who has a tendency toward weight gain and/or high cholesterol will need to run to the gym immediately. I don't dream of many dishes after I've left them—I'm more of a live-in-the-moment sort of person—but this would be one of them.

Suffice it to say that any discomforts or inconveniences I may have suffered leading up to this point in the trip were entirely mitigated by this meal.  Our waiter, a very cute 20-something young man with both a perfect American accent and a perfect French accent was terribly smooth for someone his age (probably because he is French), not in a smarmy way at all, but in a calm, collected, accommodating way. The way a waiter should be. And I already told you he was cute, so…smooth.

We never did get to have a breakfast there, but that's okay. There's always next time, oui?

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Next up: Adventure at the antiques and collectibles emporium across the street on the verge of Chinatown.