If I meet you, I will look for the soonest opportunity to tell (or yell, as the case may be) at you that I am from San Francisco and that I love this city. First, let’s look beyond the fact that I’ve never actually held a San Francisco address. Okay! My childhood was spent at its many museums and parks, in my teen years I was the youngest patron at its music venues, and now I’m trying to get to know better its neighborhoods beyond the BART line. My dad, a Russian Hill resident in the eighties, was overjoyed to show me around his old haunts. Stops included Ocean Beach (via Sutro Heights), Russian Hill (where I insisted on a snack at La Boulange) and West Portal.
The best forty-nine square miles I know. And I haven’t even discovered all of it yet!