The day began yesterday with a fast visit by tiny ferry to the Granville Public Market (redux) to get what’s needed for an airplane picnic: Great baguettes from Terra bakery, charcuterie of spring pate and sliced salami from a French-Canadian stand, and cold smoked salmon. I’ll say.
Arriving in downtown SF, by Union Square, via Bart, the tumult, madness, dirt, ambition, and casino-like entitlement of day to day life in my home country were immediately evident. In my face. No desire to face reality, I cashed in briefly with a nap.
That was before dinner at Gary Danko. Having always wanted to go, at last I went. Normally in San Fran it’s Zuni. Anyhow, a wonderful three course meal of morels in a tart; blue nose bass wrapped in proscuitto; and, some desserts. A Robert Sirsky blend, most Pinot Gris, was delicious. At the next table, a woman got hammered and extremely happy on two big Martini’s before getting sad, quiet, and ataxic.
This AM, speeding along in a Mustang convertible, fobbed off on us by a clever Avis agent who talked us into the cool car, we reached Yountville. Bouchon: rabbit cassoulet and roasted sturgeon.
Uh oh: Room service just arrived with a gift–Schramsberg blanc du blanc and a cheese plate.
Hate to run and eat…