My Girl...

Knowing that I would be needing to leave SF in a few short days, I started making the calls to people I wanted to see before I left. And I hadn't seen my good pal Sash, surprisingly, in a few weeks.

I guess my timing couldn't be better. Sash was in the beginning throes of the many phases of Breakup affliction, brought on by that neurological disorder called Love. I was only too glad to impart my bitter wisdom and good spinsterly support.

We ended up going to the sophisticated and hip Mission District spot, Range, where her roommate, Justin, was bartending.

We copped prime real estate at the bar, and became the official judges in a bar-off. Or was a cock-fight? Anyway, we drank some good shit.

Range is known for imaginative cocktails, and Justin and Mike at the bar created liquefied masterpieces on the spot for us, with ingredients like freshly mottled chile water, elderflower, huckleberries and molasses... and yeah, gin, tequila, vodka, campari and wine, as well.

We feasted on the most melt-in-your-mouthingest hamachi, and chicory lettuce with barhi dates, hazelnuts and grated parmesan, mushroom-stuffed pasta with brown butter and toasted walnuts, brown rice and shiitake mushroom stuffed chard with sunchoke puree and roasted scallions, and an apple-pear tart with cardamom ice cream.

Oh, to be broke, young-ish and living like a rockstar...

Engorged and wholly Sash-iated, i went home and had some wicked crazy dreams. And, of course, a monster hangover the next day. Again.