Now that you know you read that right, you may be wondering why I did it. No, I wasn’t making a mileage run (it’s too early in the year for that!). I don’t get a thrill from jet lag. And while I do enjoy airline lounges and I was able to use some upgrades to travel business class, there are easier ways to get good Champagne and there are more comfortable beds than the not-so-lie-flat ones on airplanes.

The reason I flew all the way from London to San Francisco just for the weekend was to attend the wedding of a close friend from childhood. Exogenous factors prevented me from being away from the UK for more than two days, but—Brits, brace yourselves for my earnest inner-American—she has been such a good friend that I wouldn’t have let anything in the world make me miss her wedding.

The fact that she had impeccable taste in both venue and style made it even more exciting to share in her big day. In classic California fashion, hers was a Sonoma wine country wedding, complete with a stunning backdrop of verdant vineyards and high, dry hills.

I arrived in Sonoma a bit early to do some wine tasting before the wedding. My mother and I stopped at nearby winery called B.R. Cohn to sample their selection (incidentally, I later found out that another friend had had a wine country wedding of her own there a couple of years ago). The 2009 Russian River Valley Pinot Noir was a winner, and we bought a bottle before driving down the road to the wedding at the St. Francis Winery in Sonoma.

Anyone that has been to a summertime wine country wedding in California knows that the weather can be hot. Swelteringly so. Which is why my friend was so smart to start her ceremony at 6pm. The weather was perfectly pleasant by that hour, and as she walked down the aisle with the vines in the background, I couldn’t help but think that she had planned the perfect wedding.

Throughout the evening, I caught up with old friends, made new ones, and marveled at how beautiful a bride my friend was. After it was over, I succumbed to jet lag while my mother drove us back to my apartment in San Francisco.

Speaking of which, despite my short time in California, I managed to see a bit of the city while I was home. Jet lag didn’t just make me sleep at odd hours; it also made me wake up at 4am every day. Rather than see that as a bad thing, I took advantage of my early rising and spent my mornings on the roof deck of my building watching the Golden Gate Bridge and the Palace of Fine Arts in the first light of dawn.

When the rest of the world woke up, I walked along the beach at Crissy Field, ran errands on Chestnut and Union Streets in the Marina and Cow Hollow, and did some mandatory shopping for things I can’t get—or rather, never bothered to learn how to find—in London.

The fact that the weather was ridiculously warm didn’t hurt, either. For those that have never been to San Francisco in the summer, believe me when I say that the climate is usually more dismal than it is in the UK. Seriously. There’s a reason someone once said that the coldest winter they ever spent was a summer in San Francisco.

When I wasn’t running around my neighborhood basking in the rare summer sun, I was partaking in my favorite San Francisco pastime: eating.

I had my ahi poke wasabi bowl from Pacific Catch on Chestnut Street, my beloved California Pinot Noir from Nectar on Steiner Street, my Blue Bottle Coffee latte from Blue Fog Market on Green Street, my Mighty Leaf tea from La Boulange on Union Street, and my huevos rancheros from Balboa Cafe on Fillmore Street. I even indulged in a dark chocolate fleur de sel treat from Kara’s Cupcakes on Scott Street.

When my weekend in California was over, my mother drove me to the airport and I waved good-bye to both her and the city. It was tough to leave my home state after such a short time, but jet lag is worth it for friends, family, and—I’m not afraid to say it—saturated fat and good tannins. It has to be. I’m doing it again next month for a weekend wedding in San Diego.

Located just west of the cities of Healdsburg and Geyserville, the picture-pretty American Viticultural Area is a classic Sonoma Valley wine region. Comprised of almost 80,000 acres—10,000 of which are covered in vineyards—the land is home to over 80 wineries and 26 grape varietals.

Like its southern neighbor Russian River, the Dry Creek Valley experiences cool morning fog and warm days. However, its warmer weather makes it better known for Zinfandels than Pinot Noirs. The area is also a large producer of Cabernet Sauvignon, Sauvignon Blanc, and Merlot.

Sonoma’s Dry Creek Valley is home to every kind of winery, from large producers to small family-run operations. I had the opportunity to visit three of them on my trip last weekend: Ferrari-Carano, Bella, and Michel-Slumberger.

My mother, brother, and I went up to the area excited to spend the day tasting our beloved California wines. The drive from San Francisco took just under two hours, and we arrived at the Ferrari-Carano winery ready for tasting.

There was a wine club event going on that day, so the $15 tasting fee was happily waived. We sampled everything from classic buttery-oaky California Chardonnays to powerful dark fruit-laden Cabernet Sauvignons. They set a good tone for the day.

On the way out, we spent a few minutes exploring the winery’s gorgeous gardens. They were full of bridges that spanned small ponds and sculptures that sat in fields of flowers, and their colors and greenery were dazzling in the Sonoma sunshine.

After enjoying the gardens we were off to Bella Vineyards, my mother’s favorite Dry Creek Valley winery. The wine cave was buzzing with visitors and wine club members, and as we walked into the cool, dark space we saw a beautiful flower-covered table set for a special event.

Our tasting at Bella Vineyards focused on one thing: Zinfandel. Bella is best known for its Zins, many of which have received accolades from the likes of Wine Spectator over the years. We tried three that afternoon, and loved the 2009 Belle Canyon Dry Creek Valley Zinfandel so much that we each bought a bottle. My mother even joined the wine club.

After our tasting we were in need of a rest. We sat down at one of the winery’s picnic tables and shared a chocolate cake and a lemon tart from Miette patisserie in San Francisco. Then we went to the rustic-chic Dry Creek General Store for sandwiches.

Refreshed, we continued our wine tasting in Sonoma’s Dry Creek Valley with a visit to the Michel-Schlumberger winery. On our way in, we stopped to watch the winery’s beekeeper hard at work.

Then we came across an exhibit showing the winery’s commitment to organic farming using animals to do the job of pesticides. Everything from bats to owls to sheep was employed in this effort, and it made for a very unique winery tour.

Our $5 wine tasting at Michel-Schlumgerger winery consisted of a 2007 Chardonnay that was a nice blend of oaky and buttery flavors, a 2007 Malbec, and a 2007 Cabernet Franc from the winery’s Humanitas label, which donates proceeds to the local Habitat for Humanity, and a 2007 Syrah.

After taking a walk around the grounds, we piled back in the car and drove south to San Francisco. Our day of wine tasting in Sonoma’s Dry Creek Valley had been a good one, and I was happy to have branched out a bit from Russian River. My only regret was not being able to take wine back with me to London. I suppose I will just have to return to California for more. I won’t complain.

October has always been the best month to visit San Francisco. The summer fog gives way to the autumn sun, making for a rare time of year when the city is actually warm and its beautiful outdoor areas can be enjoyed without sweaters and jackets.

The wineries to the north and south harvest their grapes around that time and the leaves on the vines start to turn beautiful orange, gold, and red colors for fall. The Indian summer means that organic strawberries still abound at the local farmers’ markets, and restaurants have an abundance of fresh produce to use in their kitchens.

Not wanting to miss out on this perfect time of year in San Francisco, I traveled up to the city after my friend’s wedding in Paso Robles. Aside from eating good food, drinking good wine, and enjoying the nice heat wave, I didn’t have much of an agenda for the week.

One day I drove north up to Tomales Bay, where I stopped for lunch at the Hog Island Oyster Company. Its location right on the estuary meant that the oysters were freshly plucked from the water that morning. Hog Island’s picnic tables and BBQs were the perfect place to enjoy these delicious parcels from the sea. I started with a dozen Sweetwater oysters, which were so good and so fresh that I couldn’t help getting a dozen more.

Full of shellfish, I was ready for some wine. It was a good thing, then, that my favorite area for wine tasting was just a short drive away. Russian River, home of some of  the best Pinot Noirs in California, was my next stop. First I went to Dutton-Goldfield’s tasting room, where I enjoyed the wines and the fact that my host was an avid Giants and 49ers fan. It was such a relief to hear someone say the word “football” without meaning “soccer” that I could have stayed for hours.

I had more tasting to do, though, so I left and continued on to Adrian Fog Winery. Their tasting room doubled as their warehouse, so visiting was by appointment only. It was a unique experience, and was made particularly enjoyable by the fact that Stewart, one of the owners, was pouring.

Back in the city my culinary adventures continued. On Monday evening I went to Gary Danko, which is generally considered one of the best restaurants in San Francisco. The tasting menu and wine pairing were excellent, but the service disappointed. First there was a 30 minute wait for a table despite my 9:30pm reservation. During the wait the staff alternated between being very apologetic and slightly abrasive. When the meal finally commenced, there always seemed to be three different staff members at my table running into one another in their efforts to refill water glasses, serve wine, or set plates down. It all felt a bit rushed, and was particularly disappointing given the restaurant’s good reputation.

After Gary Danko I had several other restaurants to visit on my trip. I ate excellent dinners at Zushi Puzzle, Trattoria Contadina, and Nectar, and a decent one at Tacolicious, a restaurant on Chestnut Street that opened after I moved away. I also enjoyed delicious lunches at Ocean Taqueria, Tartine Bakery, and Pacific Catch, and some great wines at Press Club, a new wine tasting venue near Union Square that doubles as a wine bar.

Most importantly, on the final day of my trip, I made a pilgrimage to the Ferry Plaza Farmers’ Market. There the late summer was personified in the most delicious organic strawberries I’ve ever tasted, as well as fresh citrus fruits, plums, pluots, and more. Fresh ripe figs, plump red pomegranates, and a rainbow of bell peppers all took their places next to amazing local cheeses, freshly baked breads, and cheerful cut flowers.

After getting coffee at the famous Blue Bottle Coffee Co, I headed to the back of the market to stand in the obligatory line for chilaquiles from Primavera. Eating my breakfast by the Bay Bridge in the morning sun, I couldn’t think of a better way to start my Saturday.

Well, until I got inside the Ferry Building, that is. Miette’s cupcakes were so picture perfect that I couldn’t resist buying one for my mother, who has a birthday coming up. Far West Fungi’s mushroom collection had me wishing I had $175 to spend on a white truffle, and the olive oil and chocolate shops smelled so good that I could have lingered all day.

Alas, I couldn’t. It was time to travel back to London, and it was just as well. After a week of eating my way through San Francisco, I was going to need to get to the gym if I didn’t want to outgrow my clothes. This was not least because I was invited on a press trip to Paris later this week, and if there’s any city aside from San Francisco that makes me want to eat, it is the City of Light.

In the most recent case it was the wedding of two friends of mine, which happened to be the day before Easter, which happened to be somewhat close to my birthday, which happened to be six months from my last visit.

My boyfriend and I flew out to San Francisco last Friday for a whirlwind week with family, friends, and—this being me and this being San Francisco—food.

We’ll start with food if for no other reason than that I ate so much of it that I almost agreed to my boyfriend’s idea of a 2-for-1 gastric bypass. Our culinary adventure began on Saturday morning with a trip to the farmers’ market at the Ferry Building, one of my favorite places in San Francisco.

From old favorites like the fantastic Blue Bottle Coffee, the adorable Miette patisserie, the yummy St. Benoit yogurt, the earthy Far West Fungi, and the excellent Primavera, to new shops like Il Cane Rosso and Mariposa, we had ourselves a breakfast feast.

The market set the tone for the rest of the week, during which we roamed the city grazing on the unfathomably delicious sushi at Zushi Puzzle, the ahi poke Wasabi Bowl at Pacific Catch, the heart-warming mac and cheese at Nectar, the mouthwatering quesadillas at Ocean Taqueria, the great gourmet take-out from Gregoire in Berkeley, the delicious small plates at Terzo, and the perennial crowd pleaser cheeseburgers at the oh-so-Californian In-N-Out Burger.

Growing increasingly aware of our narrowing arteries, we also focused on red wine. The devastating lack of good California wines in the UK made us all the more excited to take a trip up to Russian River for some of our beloved Pinot Noirs.

Starting at Merry Edwards, one of my favorite wine producers, we sipped our way to Iron Horse, then back down to Lynmar, by which time we had purchased twelve bottles of wine and needed to stop ourselves before we needed to find a wine storage unit.

Speaking of stopping, I’ll stop talking about food and say that I was happy that between meals we were able to spend time in San Francisco with a lot of friends, family, and former coworkers and classmates. The wedding we attended was of a former coworker of mine at Goldman who married a former coworker of my boyfriend’s at Google, so we both got to catch up with friends and colleagues we hadn’t seen in years.

In addition to the wedding, we enjoyed several nights of drinks with friends at Nectar and the Tipsy Pig in the Marina, CAV Wine Bar on Market Street, and La Bodeguita del Medio in Mountain View. Mayor Gavin Newsom even showed up to one happy hour. Well, he showed up to give a speech to a group that was meeting in the same wine bar, but I think it still counts.

Then came the marathon Easter brunch at my mother’s house in Silicon Valley. My brother flew up from San Diego, my cousins came in from various parts of the Bay Area, and we all enjoyed a six hour brunch complete with three cakes, innumerable cocoa Easter bunnies, a giant box of chocolates, and an Easter egg hunt (nope, we weren’t too old).

We also caught up with family in several unique locations, including the Giants vs. A’s baseball game on our first night back in San Francisco. My mom, brother, boyfriend and I wrapped ourselves in blankets and braved the freezing San Francisco weather to watch what was my first Giants game in years. We only made it to the 5th inning before we couldn’t feel our faces or our feet, but it was still nice to be back at the stadium.

On a much warmer day my mother took me to Filoli, a mansion house near where I grew up that I had somehow never managed to visit before. The extensive gardens were in full bloom and the stately home was so European that for a minute I couldn’t remember whether I was in California or back in Britain.

After a week of catching up with our favorite family, friends, and foods in San Francisco, my boyfriend and I parted ways for the weekend to see more friends, family, and food. He flew off to Washington, D.C. to see his parents and eat BBQ in Maryland while I traveled to New York City to spend the weekend with my cousin and enjoy the famous fries at Shake Shack.

My mother, who could easily eat her weight in chocolate (and has probably tried), has always been a bit disappointed in my lack of interest in the sugary things in life. However, she is indefatigably supportive of my love of ham. So much so that the other week she threw a big family birthday party for me, complete with a giant honey baked ham.

Sure, there were two sinfully chocolaty cakes from Miette at the end, but the ham was the main event. Well, not the only main event. The birthday weekend kicked off on Friday night when my brother and his wife flew up from San Diego. We all met for dinner at The Oasis, a Silicon Valley dive bar that is popular with Stanford students, t-ball teams, and everyone in between. A few beers and a giant pizza later, we were well on our way to food coma.

The next day I worked on my wine coma while spending a day in Sonoma. Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather (85 degrees in April!), we all headed up north to taste some wine and have a picnic lunch under the oak trees at Ledson, a stunning castle-like tasting room with great wines and a generous staff member who kept pouring from the reserve bottles. By the time I got home, I was in desperate need of a nap, but somehow managed to power through an evening of dinner with my family and drinking with friends.

Sunday the weather in San Francisco was well into the 90’s, an occurrence that anyone who has ever lived in San Francisco will know is rarer than finding a Republican within the city limits. I woke up early to take a long walk on Crissy Field, where the water in the Bay was a glassy reflecting pool for the Golden Gate Bridge. I had never seen that before. It was stunning.

After running a few errands and picking up cakes and cupcakes at Miette’s new Chestnut St. store (why did they have to wait until I moved away to open a store in my neighborhood?), I drove to my mother’s house, where it was 96 degrees outside. We took a long walk with the dog, admiring the trillium and irises and having to constantly remind ourselves that it was April, not August.

That evening my cousins and aunt and uncle came over for my birthday dinner, which featured the aforementioned ham. I helped myself to two giant servings of sweet honeyed ham, after which it was time for cake and ice cream. My mother made everyone sing “Happy Birthday” twice, once for each cake, and reminded me that on my very first birthday I stuck my hands in the cake instead of blowing out the candle. This birthday I didn’t stick my hands in the cake, but I hardly stuck my fork in it either, full as I was of delicious ham.

While I’ve done my fair share of traveling in the interim, there’s nothing quite like landing at SFO. That’s not least because the runway goes right out into the water and I always feel like the 747 is going to magically grow pontoons and glide right into the bay. But more than that, I love landing at SFO because it’s home. The golden hills in the distance, the beautiful and highly underrated Bay Bridge to the east, and the city skyline all start to pull at my heart, reminding me that all this time I had left it in San Francisco.

As the plane descends, I realize that I even miss the ugly “South San Francisco the Industrial City” sign that’s so big it can be seen from ten thousand feet up. And the B of A building, where I spent two long years chained to a desk on the 44th floor. And the Port of Oakland, that ugly mass of buildings on the other side of the bay that makes driving across the Bay Bridge less inspiring than driving across its International Orange rival to the north. It’s good to be home.

The purpose of my journey home was to attend a wedding of two friends from my boyfriend’s kickball team (yes, you read that right), but I was lucky enough to stay in San Francisco for a week. Before I tell my tale, though, I have to make a quick digression in order to honor my current home city, London. I have to talk about the weather.

I always thought that San Francisco’s terrible weather was the city’s worst kept secret. The torrential rains in winter, the thick fog in summer, and Autumn, that terrible tease, with its few short weeks of warmth that give way to chilly November nights. Speaking of nights, no matter how warm it gets during the day, the temperature drops 20 degrees every night, such that tank-top-and-skirt weather becomes snow-boot-and-North-Face-parka weather in the span of about 15 minutes. Worse yet, the temperature a mile in any direction from our little peninsula is guaranteed to be 20 degrees warmer on any given day. It’s so extreme that my mother, who lives just 30 minutes south of the city, has to call me to ask what kind of clothing she should wear when she comes to visit.

But I was wrong about non-San Franciscans knowing this strange quirk about my city. Despite the famous claim that “the coldest winter I ever spent was a summer in San Francisco,” Londoners always seem to think that I was crazy to leave “sunny” San Francisco to move to rainy London. Not so.

Well, not until this week. Maybe the fates were doing me a favor after making me endure the coldest weather London has seen in centuries the day before I left. Or maybe it was just pure luck. But whatever it was, I was fortunate enough to enjoy 75+ degree weather (non-Fahrenheit people, that’s 24+ C) every day that I was there. Now that’s what I call a nice welcome home.

Ok, enough with the weather talk.

This being my first trip to San Francisco in nine months, everything in the city seemed new to me. And not just in the sense of seeing it for the first time. I really mean new. New restaurants, new shops, new friends, new buildings downtown.

The night I arrived I stayed true to a vow I made to eat Mexican food or sushi for every meal that I was home. My friend picked me up from the airport and we had fish tacos at Pacific Catch, my favorite hole-in-the-wall in the Marina. Afterwards, we went to The Grove, my favorite coffee shop. I walked inside to discover that they had completely remodeled the interior. It was all new.

The next morning I discovered that it wasn’t just I that saw new things. My family dog—the giant 90 lb beast that he is—sniffed at me disinterestedly as if I were a new acquaintance instead of an old friend. I need to come home more often.

Later that day I went to the dentist. (Yes, I wait until I go home to go to the dentist. You don’t have to watch Austin Powers to know why.) My dentist is the most high-tech human being on the planet, and there’s always something new in his office. The first time I laid eyes on a CD was in his office, and the first time I experienced the thrill of a new electronic plaque-removal device was in that same place. Good-bye old scraper thing; hello whizzing, screeching, water-gushing, teeth cleaning gizmo!

The new device was thankfully the only new thing I discovered at the dentist (no cavities for this lady!), but he still made sure to tell me I was staining my teeth from drinking too much tea. And to think I barely even drink a fifth of the “moderate” five cups a day recommended on the PG Tips box!

That evening I went to a party at a family friend’s house to watch the Florida v. Oklahoma game. I love American football, but I haven’t watched a single game since I moved to London. The whole season was almost over, and the rankings and players were all new to me. Luckily, the fresh Dungeness crab we had for dinner was my old favorite. Love that California crab.

The next day my boyfriend and I set out for wine country. We just can’t go home without making a trip up to that beautiful region. We skipped uber-touristy Napa and grabbed some tacos al pastor for lunch at a taqueria in Sonoma (so far I had eaten Mexican food for all but one meal!) on our way up to Healdsburg. We didn’t really have a plan, so we drove around and found three new wineries to try.

Our first stop was Twomey, where the friendly staff gave us extra tastes of all the wines. We then went to De La Montanya, where we decided that the owner, who photographs female members of his wine club (as well as his wife) in boudoir attire for the labels of many of the bottles, was most definitely an amateur pornographer.

After that we headed up to Jordan, a huge fortress-like estate on the top of a hill overlooking the valley. The staff looked at us like we were day laborers when we showed up without an appointment. However, as the tasting room was all but deserted (January isn’t exactly the high season, especially in a recession), they were more than happy to take our money and give us a sip of two of their wines. We loved the Cab, and got a bottle to take home with us.

Dinner that night was nothing new, but as Zushi Puzzle serves up the best sushi on the planet, I have to mention it anyway. From live scallop to Kobe beef, from the giant Sales Force Roll to the butterfish-smothered Butterface Roll, we reveled in the amazing fruits of Chef Roger’s labor and wondered why we even bother eating sushi in London.

Saturday was wedding day. When normal people know that they have to fit into a dress later in the day, they usually don’t eat much earlier in the day. My plan to act accordingly was foiled when I went on a sample-binge at the Ferry Plaza Famers’ Market, met a friend for orange cinnamon French toast at Ella’s, then subsequently ran into my boyfriend, who was on his way to Ocean Taqueria, our favorite Mexican place in San Francisco.

My regular stomach was stuffed to the gills, so I found some spare capacity in my “dessert stomach” and devoured half of my boyfriend’s giant taco. Good thing my dress had a loose-fitting waist. Too bad I had a terrible stomach ache for the rest of the afternoon. I think I have a serious gluttony problem. Living in London—a city not known for having the best food—is probably the best thing I’ve ever done for my health.

The wedding was another new experience for me. I had driven by St. Dominic’s church a million times before, but had never been inside. It was a beautiful church for an equally beautiful wedding. Afterwards, we went to the Irish Cultural Center out in the Sunset for the reception. Another new place. It was great to catch up with old friends, make some new ones, and dance until jet lag wouldn’t let me dance any longer.

On Sunday my boyfriend left town, so I had some new found free time on my hands. I went to a post-wedding brunch, had lemonade (too hot for tea!) with a former co-worker at the Grove in Pac Heights, and then had girls’ night with a childhood friend.

Monday morning my mother came to visit and we went to the newly re-opened Academy of Sciences, where we saw everything from an albino alligator named Claude to a mock-rainforest to the new planetarium. It was definitely an improvement on the old aquarium they had there when I was a kid.

I met another former co-worker for lunch at Mixt Greens in the Financial District (they don’t have any of my favorite salads anymore!), who told me that there are so many new people, teams, and procedures in our group at Goldman that I would barely recognize the place. It was hard to believe that so much had changed in two and a half years.

For dinner I got back on track with my Mexican food vow, and met a friend at Mamacita in the Marina for margaritas, guacamole, and some good chilaquiles. She told me lots of new news about friends of ours from childhood and caught me up on her new job.

Tuesday I met a friend from Brown for lunch at Zuni Cafe, one of my favorite San Francisco establishments. We caught up on alumni news and I found out that he’s working at a startup with a friend of mine. Small world. After lunch I took a quick stroll through Hayes Valley—nothing too new there—before heading to the de Young Museum to see the new Yves Saint Laurent exhibition.

That night I went to the third general meeting of the year of the Spinsters of San Francisco, an organization that I’m an inactive member of but still try to stay connected to. I was surprised to see how few faces I recognized, but had a great time meeting new people and going out for drinks at Le Club and Laiola afterwards.

On Wednesday I had an early-ish lunch with two of my former co-workers from my hedge fund days. We caught up over sandwiches at Blue Barn Gourmet, a little restaurant that was new right when I left San Francisco last year. We discussed the future (or lack thereof) of the hedge fund industry and they filled me in on all the funds that had either blown up, wound down, or just outright closed their San Francisco offices. Thanks, credit crunch.

Wednesday afternoon my mother came up again and we went to the San Francisco Zoo, a place that I overdosed on as a child and refused to go back to for about fifteen years. But I couldn’t refuse a trip to the zoo with weather as warm as it was. To explain: the zoo is in the Antarctic micro-climate zone of San Francisco, which means that it’s foggy and freezing there even when the rest of the city gets its rare day of warmth.

The grounds and buildings had been completely re-done since I was last at the zoo, such that the whole thing seemed new. It was fun to see a lot of the animals I had just seen in Namibia and South Africa, as well as some lemurs from Madagascar and tigers from India (minus the one that was killed last year after it mauled a visitor that was suspected of antagonizing it).

In the late afternoon I headed over to Berkeley to have bubble tea with another friend from Brown who recently moved back from London and started a new job that week. Our lives have been strangely intertwined since we graduated from college, and we somehow manage to meet up serendipitously whenever we travel through one another’s home cities.

Back in San Francisco, I met up with another friend for dinner. This time we were trying a truly new place: La Mar Cebicheria Peruana. I had read in Conde Nast Traveller that it was just opened by an up-and-coming Peruvian chef and that the food was world-class. I had to try it.

My friend and I spent so much time talking that the waiter had to come back three times before we even ordered wine, which was a Monterey Pinot that was surprisingly good. The server said it was their sommelier’s own blend.

When we finally ordered food, we got two cebiche dishes to start, one halibut with onions and pepper, the other tuna with avocado and cucumber. Both were excellent. We were less impressed with our main courses. My friend ordered lamb at the suggestion of our server and didn’t care for the giant mass of meat they brought to the table. I ordered Alaskan Halibut on a bed of yucca. The fish was dry and the yucca bland. We should have stuck with the cebiches.

Thursday morning I packed my bags and headed to my mother’s house to drop off her car, go for a walk, and have one last bite of Mexican food before returning to London. As my plane lifted off, I waved good-bye to San Francisco, to the golden hills and green waters of the Bay, to my friends and family, and to my home. Hopefully it won’t take another nine months for me to make my way back for a visit; if it does, I’m afraid the city will seem so new that I’ll have trouble recognizing it.

Being back in California this week made me want to see some of that beautiful land outside of San Francisco. Yesterday my boyfriend and I drove across the Golden Gate Bridge and headed up to wine country to take in the scenery and taste some of our state’s famous Pinot Noirs.

While I had been to Napa and Sonoma plenty of times, I had never made it up to the Russian River Valley. Known for its great Pinot Noirs, beautiful landscape and quiet atmosphere, the area is surprisingly free of tourists. We started out at the tasting room of Dutton-Goldfield Winery and were pleased to find ourselves almost alone at the counter. Compared to the five-deep throngs at most Napa wineries, this was a welcome change.

After tasting Pinots, Chards, Zins, and Cabs, we headed north again to Rochioli Winery. On the way we drove by beautiful vineyards, sun-kissed hills full of grazing cows and lazy horses, and the slowly drifting river for which the area is named. My heart gave a little squeeze of homesickness as we made our way up the road to the winery.

We sipped more Pinots and chatted for awhile with our friendly host at Rochioli, then drove a few minutes down the way to Arista Winery. There we tasted more wines and took a nice stroll through their Japanese garden. We drove south from Arista for a quick stop at Martinelli Winery, then ended the day with a tasting at DeLoach before heading back to San Francisco.

Looking out the window on the way home, I decided that I am from one of the most beautiful places in the world. While the English countryside and spring flowers never cease to awe me in London, I will always be biased towards the land where I grew up.

Does this mean that I’m ready to move home to California? Not yet.