Ladies (and Nick) who lunch.

After our visit to DeLoach, Miriam, Nick, Louisa and I took a drive up the road to the ridiculously adorable town of Healdsburg. Nestled in between Dry Creek and the Russian River, Healdsburg is a great jumping off point for exploring the eastern side of Sonoma. It's full of delicious restaurants, and we've already decided we want to give the Hotel Healdsburg a try.

But we hadn't come to Healdsburg looking for a place to sleep - we were hungry, and in search of good food. We poked around my guide book a bit, but it was a Tuesday afternoon and lots of places listed were closed. We decided to just park the car downtown and wander a bit. A block or two into our walk, we stumbled onto the Healdsburg Bar & Grill (listed in the book, but noted for its child-friendliness, something we'd specifically avoided) and decided its outdoor seating and salad- and sandwich-heavy menu was just the thing.

We sat in the sun (though we were still a bit chilly; it was incredibly windy that day) and ordered a bucket of pickles to share, along with macaroni and cheese (me), a BLT (Louisa), tomato and fig salad (Miriam) and the portobello burger (Nick).

Like pretty much everywhere else I ate in California (save the taqueria truck), Healdsburg Bar & Grill is obsessed with the origin of its food; almost every item on the menu listed the provenance of the primary ingredients. While this convention can get a bit trying, it did telegraph a level of care and attention for the food that boded well for the meal.

The pickles came first, in all their salty, briny glory. Nick and I both loved the bread & butter pickles; the other items on offer (dill spears, pickled peppers, green beans) were good, but not great. Of course, they were still pickles, so I liked them fine.

Next up, our mains. Louisa loved her sandwich - so much so that I couldn't get a picture of it before she got started on it. Ditto on Nick's portobello burger. Miriam, though, is family, so I had no qualms ordering her to hold off for a photo of her beautiful salad. Figs, tomatoes and creamy (not crumbly) feta made for a delicious combination, rich and sweet and salty all at once.

My macaroni and cheese was good, but not great. More of a creamy pasta with a sprinkling of panko on top, it was dotted with bacon and rich with stinky cheeses, as opposed to mild, kid-friendly cheddar. That said, it could have used a bit more tang, and the bites I enjoyed most were those I supplemented with teeny dots of mustard.

Overall, though, I'd highly recommend Healdsburg Bar & Grill as a lunch destination. The food was really well-done, and the menu is small enough to ensure that every item is given the care and attention it deserves. I can't speak for dessert, though - we went down the street for that. And, oh boy, was it good.

Healdsburg Bar & Grill
245 Healdsburg Avenue
Healdsburg, CA
707.433.3333

Our first stop.

On our first real day in Sonoma (we spent Monday getting massages and consuming too much Mexican food), Jeremy & Mom went off to play golf in Bodega Bay, and Nick, Louisa, Miriam and I headed off to DeLoach Vineyards, just a mile or so down the road in Santa Rosa.

A friend of Jeremy's had (very generously) set us up with a tour in addition to our tasting, so when we arrived we were greeted by the hospitality manager, Lisa Vasse. Lisa was a great tour guide; like so many other people I've met in Napa and Sonoma, the wine industry is her second career (her first was in wine packaging, so not too far off the mark), and she's just downright psyched to be part of that world. It's really inspiring, actually, to spend a week meeting only people who are deeply engaged in and stimulated by their work.

Lisa took us on a tour of the winery, starting with the vineyards. The vineyards are all organic and biodynamic, meaning that they are farmed not only without pesticides, but also treats the farm as a living, breathing organism, capable of sustaining itself (but not capable of being pushed beyond its limits through chemical or artificial processes). This means that in addition tot he vineyards themselves, DeLoach also boasts an on-site organic garden, chickens, bees and sheep!

The garden and animals are reached by a path that winds past the winery's gorgeous guesthouse, which is reserved strictly for trade use. The wine industry is, by and large, about hospitality, and the guesthouses (most wineries have them) are where the winemakers entertain their clients.

The garden itself is rambling and windblown; the gardeners let things run their course here, so we saw not only perfectly ripe Sungolds (Lisa invited us to sample as many tomatoes as we liked; we were happy to oblige), but also late-season, flowering artichokes. It's pretty cool to see fruits and vegetables actually live out their life cycles; you don't get that opportunity too often here in Manhattan.

After a peek into the winery itself, where grapes were being moved out of the barrels after the first pressing, we moved on to the (epic) tasting. Lisa poured a dizying series of De Loach wines (Exhibit A: Miriam double-fisting below.), including a Sauvignon Blanc, a rosé, and some Pinot Noirs, Zinfandels and Chardonnays. Our favorites were the rosé (gorgeously dry but with a hint of fruit) and the OFS Chardonnay, a big, creamy wine completely devoid of the notorious California oakiness.

At the end, Lisa brought out a special treat: tawny port. She guessed right; she was working with a group of dessert wine fanatics, and we couldn't get enough. Rich and smooth but with a kick at the end, DeLoach port is fantastic. Three bottles made it into the case we took home, along with six bottles of rose and three of the chardonnay.

And, yes, I know you're wondering: we finished it all, save one bottle of port. We'll be drinking that at Christmas with our Christmas pudding (Miriam) and sticky toffee puddings (everyone).

It's tradition.

My family has a few food-related traditions. We always have creamed onions at Thanksgiving. We observe cocktail hour, religiously. And, when we're in San Francisco, we visit Nanking.

We first stopped in at The House of Nanking about nine years ago, just before my mother moved to Fresno, California. Born and bred East Coasters that we are, Mom believed Jeremy and I needed to be convinced of the wisdom of a westward migration, and treated us to a whirlwind tour of California (With Fresno last, so as to soften the blow.).

The first stop on said migration was San Francisco, and one of our first meals (and Jeremy's favorite) was at Nanking. On a slightly dodgy block just south of most of Chinatown, it used to be a wildly popular hole-in-the-wall. Now it's a wildly popular double-storefront restaurant with souvenir t-shirts and nice paneling, and the food is still delicious.

My colleagues YaeRi and Mary were kind enough to indulge my Nanking craving (once I'd realized how close it was to our San Francisco office - you can see it from the window, just across from that copper-lined building), so we headed there for lunch on Tuesday afternoon.

It was as good as I'd remembered - the sesame chicken, unlike most, was just lightly breaded, and coated with a sauce as spicy as it was sweet. Served with sweet potatoes and a green melon, it was downright delicious. YaeRi's crispy noodles with vegetables cam with the same melon, and we were both taken with it. It was like cucumber crossed with honeydew, and all I know is I must have some.

Now.

House of Nanking
919 Kearny Street (at Jackson)
San Francisco
(415) 421-1429

Tacos and tostadas and burritos - oh, my!

Have you ever stumbled on something so delicious, so fantastic, and so wonderful that you can't quite believe your luck? That's pretty much how our whole houseful of people felt about Angelina's Taqueria in Santa Rosa. Jeremy, Miriam and I passed the truck on our grocery expedition the day we arrived, so when we needed a quick, delicious lunch the next day, we were prepared.

Mom, Louisa and I drove five minutes towards Healdsburg and pulled into the small parking lot. The taqueria itself (and Angelina along with it) were housed in an old Airstream trailer. Angelina spoke only Spanish - Mom and I speak French (totally useless), but, luckily, Louisa was a Romance Languages major at Bryn Mawr and speaks Spanish.

We ordered an obscene amount of food (Si, seis tacos de chorizo.) and waited patiently while Angelina cooked up a storm. Every few minutes the sizzling sounds would cease and she'd appear at the window, holding out another box of piping hot tacos. These stacked up rather quickly.

After paying inside, we made our way back to the house with our treasure: tacos de pollo (chicken), al pastor (pork with a rich, garlicky sauce) and de chorizo (self-explanatory); burritos (supreme - meaning with queso and crema) with carne asada (grilled beef), and some tiny containers of salsa verde. It may not sound like a lot of food; trust me, it was.

We ate blissfully, enjoying the food in a way that only Easterners deprived of decent Mexican for months on end can. The burrito was well-balanced and full of flavors: rice, beans, sinfully creamy crema, all of which cried out for a touch of salsa verde to cut the richness. The tacos were double-tortilla, topped with salsa and chopped cilantro, and full of flavor. The burrito carne asada and the chorizo tacos proved to be early favorites - but don't worry, we couldn't in all good conscience leave it there.

Over the next week, we visited Angelina's not one but two more times; we tried the tostadas, the quesadillas, every kind of taco - I even had a real Coke with my second burrito (pollo this time). Yes, Angelina's was the site of much debauchery and merriment. I can't wait to go back.

Angelina's Taqueria
Old Redwood Highway in Santa Rosa
North of Mark Springs West
No phone number - you'll see why

Do not pass go.

Upon landing in California, it is simply imperative that you head to the nearest In-N-Out Burger for a fix. This is particularly true if you've been up since 1 AM California time and haven't eaten in thirteen hours.

After picking up my rental car at the San Francisco airport (I was given a snappy little mustard-yellow Ford Focus), I swung into the city to collect Jeremy and Miriam from their friend's place, and we headed across the Golden Gate bridge and up 101 toward Sonoma.

I thought I would have to wait till Petaluma for my fix, but Jeremy spied an outpost in Marin City, and we made quick work of pulling off the freeway and into a parking spot. We had excellent timing, too - the line was out the door by the time we put our order in: a double, no cheese, animal style for me, fries and a shake for Miriam, and a cheeseburger for Jeremy.

My burger was, of course, delicious. "Animal style" (one of In-N-Out's many secret menu options) means that your patties have been fried in mustard and onions, and that extra sauce has been added to your sandwich. (You can also order fries this way, in which case they come topped with special sauce and mustardy onions.) The shake was thick and creamy and delightfully pink (a good thing, as it was strawberry), and the fries were, as usual, ok - but not great.

Who cares? When they can make a burger this damn tasty, I don't need no stinkin' fries.

Home is where the hot tub is.

As a creature of habit and routine (generously peppered with adventure, of course), I'm not altogether sad to be headed back across the country today, toward my bed, my closet and my kitchen. That said, I wouldn't mind a few more days at Rancho Wikiup, the house we rented in Sonoma last week.

"We" was a group of my family and closest friends, most of whom you can find in earlier Queenie entries, including my mom, my brother and sister-in-law, Nick and Louisa, and my friend Faith. We spent the week talking, drinking, cooking, sampling wines, touring wineries, eating out and playing a couple of particularly feisty games of Charades.

We did all of that in a truly unique spot. Rancho Wikiup is a converted stable in Santa Rosa, nestled up against the ridge that divides Napa from Sonoma. Built by John Rosseter in 1915, the stables were converted into living quarters about thirty years ago. The house is quirky; after our first tour, I still didn't know where the fifth bedroom was, or where the fourth bathroom might be hiding. It rambles and wanders; luckily, though, it's built around a central courtyard, so you can always stand there and yell for help.

The kitchen is a bit awkward in configuration but well-equipped, with two refrigerators, a dishwasher, gas stove and oven, and a zillion plates and bowls. We cooked up a storm, including a pot of Julia Child's boeuf bourgignon, a killer guacamole, and more than one batch of bacon.

Yes, I'm happy to be headed back to my home, my heart: New York. But I wouldn't say no to a few more days at Rancho Wikiup, particularly if they included a few more dips in the hot tub and an afternoon or two of courtyard relaxation.

Where do I buy mourning clothes in San Francisco?

I'm back from vacation and working in San Francisco for a few days. This means I'm three hours behind the East Coast news cycle, and so this morning my email and Twitter feed were positively packed with messages about one tragic thing: the closing of Gourmet magazine.

To put it simply, I'm crushed. I've read Gourmet religiously for the past five years or so, and have fallen completely in love with its open-minded approach to food, its passion for travel domestic and foreign, and its gorgeous writing and photography. The current incarnation of Gourmet owes most of its soul and much of its aesthetic to the wild-haired, obscenely-talented Ruth Reichl, who left her job as the New York Times' restaurant critic to take up the helm at the (soon-to-be) late magazine.

Under her guidance, Gourmet became a publication for those truly passionate about creating and consuming food. Less chef-obsessed than Food & Wine, but more worldly than Bon Appetit, Gourmet emphasized home cooking but never forgot about the restaurant world.

Many people have criticized the magazine's photography as cold or hard; I disagree, and heartily. The simple, spare aesthetic on show at Gourmet far outpaced most food magazines in its sophistication and pure illustration of good, homemade food.

This blackberry brown sugar cake is one of my favorite Gourmet recipes of all time. I shall be making it in the weeks to come, as a sort of remembrance. While I can't wait to follow the next steps of Gourmet's immensely talented staff, that anticipation hardly softens the blow.

Now, excuse me while I go sniffle in the corner for a bit.