Although this is not a tale about food necessarily, it is a tale about the beds that were fallen into after a two-week whirlwind of eating, drinking and being merry.
And so I give you, A Tale Of Eight Beds…
The Inn at Union Square: a boutique hotel in the heart of downtown SF, loaded with funky, elegant character.
You know that feeling of returning home; perhaps there’s hugs at the door, the distribution of gifts, a hot shower, food delivery, tales of the travels, and finally, the familiarity and comfort of your own bed. Nestled in, reunited with your own pillow, alone within a moment of reflection about the (in this case eight) beds which made up the cast of main characters in the tale of an adventure.
This story begins with a bed at the Inn at Union Square. A boutique hotel resurrected from the 1980’s and redressed in its original vintage, carrying an updated yet seasoned, elegant vibe. The bed, spread in a fluffy white comforter draped over a perfectly smooshy nest of crisp white sheets and alllllll the pillows awaits a woman traveling alone to her favorite city where she Ubers from the airport, checks in, runs into two of the friends she is in town to rendezvous with before heading upstairs from the tiny lobby to a one bedroom suite, a steaming hot shower followed by a steaming hot tofu soup delivery from Cocobang, savored while wrapped up in the room’s soft, palest of pinks robe.
Finally the time comes to crawl into Bed Number One, alone and well aware of the sacred space between this moment and the two weeks that would follow, where she will soon be surrounded by a stream of loved ones and revelry. But first this: this time, alone, in this bed. Sinking into the luxury of this moment and happily drifting off to sleep.
When she rises, the sun will be shining and warming Union Square to a perfect 77 degrees and it will be day one of an adventure. The eating, drinking and being merry would commence under the indigo sky on this uncharacteristically warm San Francisco day.
After two nights, she would move on to a hotel she had recently become a regular at when in town. Bed Number Two sat on the 11th floor of the Donatello, just a couple of blocks away in a sparsely elegant hotel with a fantastic restaurant and nightly jazz bar called Zingari, which has become the perfect meeting place for the travel partners who go by the aliases “Kilany San Francisco and Elvira Jones”. There would only be one night slept in this bed, which happens to be the type where one finds a chocolate placed on a tiny white doily and left on the pillow at night.
The Donatello in Union Square, a perfect starting point when visiting the city by the bay.
And yet, she moved on to Bed Number Three. This bed lives in a victorian home in Portrero Hill. Its owners are two stylish men who have infused this Air B&B space with eclectic, vibrant choices of paint, art, furniture and artifacts from their travels. The fuchsia wall in the dining room holds up a giant, floor to ceiling mirror, framed in thick wood which reflects an image of her in a denim trench coat lined with rabbit fir. The two gold cast peacocks hanging on either side of the mirror, the retro white table and swivel chairs, gold fabric upholstered bar stools lining up behind her are the background as she prepares to head out to her first two-Michelin Starred restaurant experience at Aquerello.
The most beautiful, eclectically designed Air B&B and home to bed # 3.
The green face of the Wicked Witch Of The West smirks from a painting which hangs above a bed. It is a bed, but it’s not Bed Number Three, however it does a good job of separating the dining room from the living room with its brick fireplace full of plants and bright pink Japanese cabinet holding a giant pair of tusks and a flat screen TV and will sleep one of the friends who will be joining the group later.
Bed Number Three awaits behind a door with a glass knob. It sits in a room with three windows that curve to frame a view of the magnolia tree blooming across the quiet street. She would stay in this bed for three nights while two new friends who have known each other since childhood slept on the other bed and on the couch after nights sitting in amazing seats at the Warriors/Lakers game and savoring great dinners in the City by the Bay. It would be a most memorable time of joy and celebration all the way to Valentine’s Day.
Bed Number Four was a familiar one that wouldn’t be laid upon until after a breakfast of oysters, razor clam ceviche, seafood stew, an oyster po’boy, a bottle of bubbles and plenty of fresh bread and butter in the late morning sun on a clear and chilly Valentine’s Day at Hog Island Oyster Co. at the Ferry Building, followed by an afternoon of Netflix on the light green couch bathed in the setting sunlight streaming through the tall arched windows in San Jose, and then dinner at a French bistro at Santana Row. And then finally, the return to Bed Number Four, in the loft overlooking the green couch and the arched windows.
Bed Number 4 comes with a lovely view of the San Jose skies.
Bed Number Five is tucked into the upstairs guest bedroom at her Aunty’s house in Salinas, California. It is incredibly soft, the air is incredibly cold and she is incredibly tired. It’s warmth coaxes out a dream-laden sweat that covers her body under layers of blankets that warm her chill after waking up mid-sob from a dream about her dead father. It heals her and after three nights she moves next door to make way for visiting cousins.
Aunty’s Paella recipe, which delightfully includes instructions for a white wine & saffron JACUZZI.
Bed number six is a firm and tall blow up mattress set up in the middle of the office. It is comfortable enough to allow her two nights of rest between hosting a private Sexy Food dinner event and soaking up family time.
Bed 6 May have just been a blow up mattress but these trails right out the backdoor were worth it.
Bed Number Seven was next to the window in a room at the Courtyard Marriot in Vacaville, CA. There were two queen beds in this room, One she shared with her aunty, and one for her mother and step-dad. It was a restless night of sleep and a glimpse into her mother’s new role of caring for an aging husband.
Mom & Aunty on Bed Number 7 enjoying some brief sister time
You would think Bed Number Eight would be next, but first Bed Number Four was revisited for one more night before flying across the ocean to be reunited with the one and only, Bed Number Eight.
Her own bed, under the window in her bedroom/office. Only a sheet and a lite fuzzy blanket are needed at night because the tropical air is always warm, even when the trade winds are blowing. She is back home, in her little nest in her little place in the world, right there in Bed Number Eight, taking in all the of the dreams of travel and adventure that were collected in a tale of eight beds, where she can begin to dream of the beds in her future…
