Spring in San Francisco always sneaks up on me. I know that come February, the rains will taper off, shy mauve blossoms will star the plum trees, the bees will start pummeling the fuzzy clusters of acacia, and the boys in their speedos will be lying out on Dolores Beach. But still, just a couple of weeks after January's icy nonstop rains, it's suddenly a new season.
This weekend was just ravishing, everyone out with bare ankles, stumbling around still winter-pale and grinning stupidly at the warm sun. Ti Couz had their umbrellas up for the noontime crowds eating crepes, drinking cider and pretending that 16th St was the Latin Quarter, except that we're much luckier, because Paris in February is wind-whipped and gray, the castles of pink macaroons at Laduree the only cheerful thing in the whole bitter frozen town.
It was a day for--what else?--a mint chip cone at the Bi-Rite Ice Creamery (yes, I'm filling up my buy-10-get-one-free punchcard, thank you very much), indie movies at the Roxie (what's playing at the Roxie? I'll tell you what's playing at the Roxie....the SF Indie Film Fest, that's what) and then, on Sunday, a hike up to the top of green, green Bernal Hill to survey the territories. And then an N-Judah out to the beach, where the happy hordes were swarming the Java Beach cafe (because god forbid you're ever less than a block from a latte and an oat cake, even at the far western fall-off of the continental U.S.) and it was just a easy stroll across the sandy pavement of the Great Highway onto the wide strand of Ocean Beach, where the waves were breaking in great tumults of creamy foam and dogs were racing madly everywhere.
This being my life, I got a call from Molly halfway down the beach. She was shooting some photos to promote the Sundance, her favorite country-western dancing bar, and did I want to come down to be in the shoot? Well, sure! This being Molly, she had about 7 complete extra outfits, including cowboy boots and hat, in her car, so I bought some cheap lipstick and mascara on the way and we trucked down from Cafe Flore to Troy Dean's basement photo studio for a hour of dancing and posing. I fully expect to be handed a club flyer with my grinning mug on it one of these days...
Down in the overgrown Bernal background of Wild Side West to celebrate our Cindy-and-Naomi moment, an impromptu old-time music jam was going on under the trees and every little nook was full of neighbors sprawling over beers and bloody marys and plastic packs of mini-cupcakes, celebrating the first beautiful weekend of spring. And then Molly ran off to dance and I ran home to madly chop the bounty of my Mariquita Farm mystery box, a huge haul of greens, parsnips, true baby carrots, squash, turnips, fennel, parsnips, beets, parsnips, leeks, and parsnips. Dinner with Papa Sueno and the Red Meat Ranger followed--roasted squash, green noodles with leeks, garlic, greens and parmesan, with pears, toasted walnuts and dark chocolate for dessert. And, of course, we had to talk about fruit.
All in all, a very good day.