ode to tartine (SF not West Village)
For those of you who have not been blessed with a wonderful friend who lives in the Mission District of San Francisco, well, I guess luck does not smile upon you. I have been meaning to write for some time about the sublime place where I spent every morning but one (when I had breakfast on Valencia Street with SW and her dear fiance) during my stay in San Francisco this past June. My darling Rachel does not drink coffee and consequently does not have a coffee maker or beans in her apartment. Thus it fell upon me to find a place where I could get my morning fix and sit down with my journal and the New York Times. Many a friend had spoke with awe about a certain pastry shop in the Mission District, but I didn't realize that I would be fortunate to stay two short blocks away from said haven.
While there, I sampled many a fruit studded bread pudding, varied veggie quiches, ham and gruyere croissants, morning buns, and frangipane croissants. Oh and wonderful coffee and conversation at the communal tables. I met men of finance who were trying to sort out what to do with their millions (buy in Noe Valley? Start a coffee shop?), mothers who trusted me to watch their newborns as they went back to their cars and who also happened to have lived in the same building that T now resides while they were in their New York phase, yarn store owners, and more.
San Francisco, I miss your cool mornings. I miss wearing my scarf and sweaters on my way to hot, hot coffee and treats. I miss getting up and hugging Rachel goodbye before she went off to work. I miss walking around town and riding the bus and MUNI rail listening to Feist's "The Reminder." Rachel, can I come back soon?