Sheri Baer, Author at Punch Magazine

Diary of a Dog: Romeo

I’m Romeo, and while I may be named after Shakespeare’s star-crossed lover, my life in Menlo Park is anything but tragic. This labradoodle’s got a very good thing going with Carolyn and her three kids, Maxwell, Madeline and Curtis, who brought me home on Valentine’s Day 10 years ago. We go on frequent trips to Town & Country and Stanford shopping centers, where I collect goodies from all the businesses. Sunny days often find us at the beach in Half Moon Bay, where I like to bury balls in the sand to dig up and play with later. And in the evenings, we go visit my favorite dogs and their treat-sharing humans at La Entrada School. I haven’t romanced any Capulets but I’m a little like my namesake in some ways—I love giving kisses! I just can’t get enough petting and snuggling, and I hate to sleep alone. I have so much love to give that Carolyn signed me up with Furry Friends as a trained therapy dog. You might find me at local schools during finals week, helping stressed-out students relax, or hanging out with residents at the Vi’s skilled nursing center and the Ronald McDonald House. If ol’ Will had only had an affectionate dog like me, maybe he would have been inspired to write Romeo and Juliet a happier ending.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Q&A: Jeff Clark

Half Moon Bay’s famous big-wave surfer and co-founder of the Mavericks Surf Contest spills about daring feats, close calls and being in tune with the ocean.

How would you describe Mavericks?
Mavericks is a surf spot, located a half-mile out, off Pillar Point in Half Moon Bay. The reef structure underwater shapes large ocean swells into a very large, rideable wave. Mavericks is known throughout the world as one of the biggest surfable waves on the planet.

Tell us about the first time you surfed there?
On that winter day in 1975, I caught five waves. After the first successful attempt, all I could think was, “I want another one of those!”

What was a close call you’ve had at Mavericks?
In 2004, there was a giant swell. I was pulled into a monster only to find out that there was no way I could make it. I turned up the face of the wave and punched through the roof and out the back. My tow partner and driver missed the pickup and a 60-foot wave caught all of us … One of the worst situations I’ve ever been in.

Any advice you’d give to novice surfers?
Start small and work your way up in wave size in a very calculated way. Just remember that one man’s ceiling is another man’s floor.

What was your first job and what did you learn from it?
At nine years old, I was scraping floor tiles in a commercial building remodel in Oakland, and I got a dollar a day. I learned how to work, and I learned it was something that I didn’t want to do for the rest of my life.

How do you make your living these days?
I started shaping surfboards in my early teens, and now I build and design my own line of surfboards. They are all made specific to whatever is needed for the water conditions and tailored to the rider.

What can you tell us about your experience as a camera boat driver for Chasing Mavericks?
It’s a film about Jay Moriarty, whom I helped teach how to surf Mavericks. I am not sure that anyone else could do the job they were asking. I was able to put that boat in places that many thought were impossible because I know Mavericks like the back of my hand.

How do you get the confidence to take on such big waves?
When people run from the ocean is when I am interested in going in it. Being in the moment, with a power that is constantly trying to kill you, is key to your survival. Being so immersed in the ocean that you become a part of it. Feeling every small movement and all the nuances and energy. I pray before I go in.

Growing up, what was your favorite book?
Jonathan Livingston Seagull. The only limits are the ones you create.

Star Struck

Words by Jennifer Jory

Andrew Fraknoi is a man on a mission—a space mission, that is. For decades, he’s inspired and educated both students and the public on the wonders of astronomy, from Foothill and Cañada colleges to San Francisco State University. “This is the golden age of astronomy,” Andrew declares. From radio stations and local TV to The Today Show, he’s become the Bay Area’s go-to astronomer for explaining celestial phenomena in down-to-earth terms. “My focus right now is to interpret the complex and abstract things we are learning about the universe so that people can understand them,” he says.

Born in Hungary, Andrew and his family fled during the 1956 revolution against communist rule, and ended up in an Austrian refugee camp. From there, they ultimately made their way to New York. “I didn’t speak a word of English,” Andrew recalls. “My mother had the idea of using comic books to teach English to me, and I particularly loved space comics.” He soon graduated to science fiction, and when it came time to choose what to study in college, astronomy was his first choice. “Eventually, I realized I could do space stuff for a living,” he beams.

Andrew’s excitement builds as he discusses the latest astronomical discoveries. “It looks like Star Trek was right,” he says with a smile. “There really are planets around other stars.” In 1995, the common perception was that there were just a few planets outside of our own solar system, Andrew explains. “Now we know there are other suns and 5,000 planets orbiting those suns or stars.” Recent breakthroughs and advances in astronomy are thanks to the James Webb Space Telescope.

“This is the biggest telescope we have ever had in space, allowing us to look back to the beginning of time,” he marvels. While light travels swiftly, the incredible distances mean that the images show galaxies as they appeared a very long time ago. “We are now seeing things 13.4 billion years old that are very close to the big bang,” Andrew adds, referring to the theory of the universe’s origin 13.8 billion years ago. “The earliest galaxies and structures are so far away and so long ago, they are amazing.”

Educated at Harvard University and UC Berkeley, Andrew’s career as an astronomer took off in 1978 when he was hired as the executive director of the Astronomical Society of the Pacific. Fourteen years later, working 80 hours a week at his job and newly married to his wife Lola, he realized the pace was unsustainable. In search of a less intense job, he applied for a teaching position at Foothill College in Los Altos Hills, where he was quickly hired and began a new devotion to teaching about space full time. “It was a very good fit,” he notes. “They have a lovely observatory run by a group of astronomy hobbyists and it was a job where I could have a life. I was there for 25 years and we grew the program significantly.”

Andrew also taught at Cañada College in Woodside, where the enthusiastic public affairs officer connected him with KGO radio. He soon became a regular, and could also be found sharing his astronomical insights on KQED TV. “I was a cheap imitation of Carl Sagan,” Andrew says humbly. The scientific community thought otherwise and the International Astronomical Union recognized his achievements by naming Asteroid 4859 “Asteroid Fraknoi.”

While teaching at Foothill, Andrew saw an opportunity to make astronomy education more widely available by creating a lecture series in the college’s 950-seat theater. Called Silicon Valley Astronomy Lectures, it featured Nobel Prize winners and best-selling authors. NASA took an interest in the program and offered to sponsor it. “Foothill College administrators were so enthusiastic they allowed us to use the theater for free,” Andrew recounts. Soon Andrew began making the scientific talks available on YouTube so that anyone interested in space could hear from experts. “These nerdy lectures have received 4.1 million views,” he grins. “The astronomer Alex Filippenko’s videos explain the James Webb telescope, and it is like watching Columbus get his ships ready.”

Andrew’s other focus centers on the search for life on other planets, which he pursues enthusiastically as a board member of the non-profit SETI Institute, headquartered in Mountain View. “This is the most exciting unsolved mystery in the universe,” he says. “Before I die, I would love to find out if there are other life-forms out there with whom we might talk about philosophy. Being involved with the search for life has been a gratifying part of my career.” He also wants to set the record straight when it comes to unidentified flying objects. “There is not a shred of evidence that UFOs are alien space ships.”

In the search for intelligent life on other planets, Andrew cites Artificial Intelligence as a game-changing technology when it comes to listening for messages. “You have to look through many stars, through many channels, over a long period of time,” he describes. “With AI, computers and telescopes can work together, while the astronomer sleeps. AI can search for pattern recognition, which is key to searching for messages from space.”

Andrew’s passion to teach the marvels of the universe keeps him on the lecture circuit promoting space education for all. He currently teaches at San Francisco State University’s Osher Lifelong Learning Institute and offers classes like “If There Are Planets Everywhere, Where Are the Aliens?” and one on simplifying the theory of relativity without math called “Einstein Without Tears.” His commitment to communicating scientific concepts in layman’s terms has culminated in his free, online astronomy textbook that has become the most widely used volume on the subject.

Andrew doesn’t just write textbooks, he’s also tried his hand at science fiction. His childhood passion for the genre of the fantastic and intergalactic is still burning bright all these years later. “I have been keeping a notebook of ideas for decades,” he confesses. Despite what he calls “rejection slips from all over,” eight of his sci-fi stories have been published. Andrew now pays it forward to the next generation of future astronomers by writing the kinds of stories that captured his imagination as a young immigrant—a little inspiration for anyone else who wants to reach for the stars.

Editor’s note: This story corrects errors that appeared in the February 2025 print edition.

Essay: Vacation Uplift

Words by Sloane Citron

Recently, as we have for the past decade, my family made a holiday trip to San José del Cabo, Mexico. I’m lucky to have three daughters who take care of each and every detail, from my plane ticket to meals to resort reservations. At the airport check-in, I’m like a 10-year-old boy, raising my hand when the airline counter agent calls out my name, with my passport in hand.

It took some time for me to accept my non-leadership role on these trips since that burden was mine for many decades. But what a joy to simply show up. I used to care about making decisions, but that bravado has long been silenced.

There are 16 of us, our immediate family, with seven little kids ages six and under (and two more on their way) and the fewer opinions put forth, the better. Though I might desperately want to go to a certain restaurant in downtown Cabo, I keep my mouth shut. And when the bickering starts, I walk away. I just don’t have the patience for it anymore. My children seem to do just fine without my opinions.

We always go to the same place, a name that my brain simply refuses to remember, but is one of a multitude of lovely resorts on the water, with multiple swimming pools, several restaurants and hundreds of beach cabanas facing the ocean. Whoever gets up earliest goes down to commandeer enough space for our family.

On this trip, like others, once we are comfortably ensconced in our cabanas and looking out at the ocean, one of the more difficult challenges of the trip stares me in the face: men and women—outside of the resort’s boundaries—trying to sell us something. This year, the selection included horses to ride, tropical wide-brimmed hats, jewelry, 10 feet away more tropical wide-brimmed hats, hair-braiding, bracelets, NFL-painted mini surfboards, shirts, ponchos and massages.

These earnest people are working hard and long hours, and they’re almost certainly not getting the support available in the United States if you are low-income. What they make is likely what they eat. I feel for these men and women as I lounge in my luxurious beachfront resort cabana. I sit there hoping for fellow resort guests to go over and buy something from them.
I’m optimistic when a woman draped in a wrap approaches one of the hat guys, and I’m thrilled when I see that she actually buys one. But then I feel bad for the other guy selling the exact same hats and I think to myself that he should try selling sunglasses. And so, some of my vacation is spent watching to see how these peddlers do.

Besides partaking in this rather useless activity, several times a day I take some of the little kids hunting for shells. We find plenty. I don’t think any of them ever make it home, but it’s the search that makes this fun. One day, as we are walking toward the ocean, we see a man gathering just-hatched turtles. This is a grand highlight. We slowly walk alongside two of the hatchlings working their way toward the ocean and don’t stop urging them on until the little guys finally make it into the surf.

We spend a good amount of time and energy finding and eating food. Sixteen of us times three meals a day is 48 meals a day. It adds up, but between the grocery store, the resort restaurants and a few dining trips to the OUTSIDE, no one complains. Waiters traverse the sand to our cabanas and bring us drinks, french fries (tons of french fries), so many fish tacos that I start to hate them, kids’ meals and so on. We stay satiated and are full before every regular meal.

Much of our time on this trip was spent in the various bodies of water since several of the little grandkids can now swim. The pattern goes something like this: pool 1; jacuzzi; pool 2; jacuzzi; kiddie pool (and its slide!); back to pool 1; beach chairs. Repeat until the kids are worn out, which is never.

Finally, to my delight, my kids went on several buying sprees at our oceanside tiendas. The grandkids went on the 10-minute horse rides; several bracelets were bought; granddaughters got their hair braided; and a few of the mini-surfboards were purchased just to quiet down the boys. As for the vendors who missed out on our largesse, I took some cash to them before we left and wished them a Feliz Navidad. Hopefully, it brought them some holiday cheer; I know it brought me some.

The Scenic Route

Words by Jennifer Jory

When it comes to watercolors, new art needs to be nurtured. “With this medium, it’s challenging and there is no undo button,” explains Belmont artist Bruce Washburn, who brings Peninsula and coastal landscapes to life with his precise brushstrokes. “I have to think ahead and plan the work. You have to let watercolors dry while in process and it forces you to take time to consider your options.” He adds with a smile, “I should do this more in life—wait for things to dry, and pause.”

Through his art, Bruce brings brilliant landscapes right to our doorstep. “We get to live in such a magical place,” he marvels. From San Mateo County to Yosemite and beyond, Bruce paints with a realistic and detailed style uncharacteristic of many watercolor artists. “I want to be a witness to history and I am painting natural sites that might be under pressure,” he says.

Bruce records Bay Area treasures in his growing collection of local scenes. Recently, his work caught the attention of the San Mateo County Parks Foundation, which commissioned him and two other artists to create a commemorative poster for its 25th anniversary and the 100th anniversary of the county park system. Bruce’s poster features Redwood City’s Edgewood Park and draws viewers into an idyllic scene of native lupine, poppies, butterflies and deer. Bruce generously employs rich colors to illuminate the trails, flora and fauna from every season in a single composition. “This is a key location for me on the Peninsula,” confides Bruce. “My routine was to come home from work and go running in Edgewood Park.”

Coastal sites that capture Bruce’s imagination include Pigeon Point Lighthouse in Pescadero and a 19th-century stagecoach stop in San Gregorio that, according to oral history, served as a roadhouse and music venue in the 1930s and ‘40s. “It captivates me,” he says. “I am drawn to structures that might deserve some more recognition.” Bruce also paints scenes from Big Basin National Park, Stage Road near Pescadero and Red’s Coffee House in San Francisco, to name a few. “I want to honor the places that are significant to all of us who live here and to the people who inhabited these places before,” he says.

As a student at UCLA, Bruce majored in atmospheric physics. But his artistic side prevailed over the sciences and he transferred to Humboldt State University, where he earned a fine arts degree with an emphasis in painting. “I realized I had to give the arts a serious try and see how far I could go with it,” he says. From Humboldt’s instructors, who were often working artists, he learned the lifestyle compromises he would need to make as a painter and pivoted to a career in library systems and then technology. “As a software engineer, you have all kinds of tools to measure your work, and they are mostly objective,” he reasons. “With painting, a lot of the reaction is subjective or emotional and depends on the chord you strike with the viewer.”

Now retired from his technology career, painting is Bruce’s full-time occupation. Though he previously worked with oil paints, currently he exclusively uses watercolor, occasionally adding details in pen and ink. The medium opened up for him when he encountered an exhibit at the De Young Museum: J. M. W. Turner: Painting Set Free. Turner’s work inspired Bruce to experiment and realize the potential of watercolor. It “opened a door for me and all I had to do was walk through it,” Bruce says. Other influences include artist-illustrators Beatrix Potter, N.C. Wyeth and Chris Van Alsburg.
When Bruce begins a piece, he makes a meticulously detailed graphite pencil sketch, which he often draws plein air. “I let the watercolor be a collaborator,” he describes. “If you let it, the watercolor will take your intentions further.”

A painting of the Brooklyn skyline provides a window into Bruce’s artistic lens. This scene, which he captured in a photo while walking across the Brooklyn Bridge, so captivates his imagination that he has painted it nine times. “I envision it in different kinds of lighting,” he explains. “At nighttime, for instance, with the water towers, fire escapes and brickwork lit up. It has become so familiar it almost feels like my neighborhood.”
When reflecting on the difference between painting urban and natural landscapes, Bruce finds that urban subjects require accurately rendered details of the built environment, whereas nature calls for careful consideration of spatial depth like distance and foreground. “When I am painting Yosemite Valley, I think about the epochal-scale forces that shaped that remarkable space over time,” Bruce says. He cites memories of a place playing a strong role in his paintings as well. “It’s a kind of time travel,” he reflects.

As Bruce paints meaningful and historic sites on the Peninsula and beyond, he strives to tell a story. “Something I am working on is adding more narrative associated with a painting,” he notes. Take his depiction of a ship passing beneath the Bay Bridge in the 1930s, a scene similar to what his father might have experienced when returning home from World War II. “I try to come up with a pictorial vocabulary,” Bruce says. “I am striving to make a meaningful connection between my world and the viewer. I want people to see themselves in a location or get a sense of who lives there and bring this to life.”

Bruce Washburn’s artwork has been featured in shows at the Coastal Arts League in Half Moon Bay and Art Guild of Pacifica and will be displayed during Silicon Valley Open Studios this spring. brucewashburnart.com

Coastal Contemporary

Words by Loureen Murphy

You could call Greg Barsh and Carolyn Russo designing types. Seeing their full-on engagement in their new home’s development and flair for detail, Katkin Architecture’s Rebecca Katkin says she wanted to hire her clients.
When this highly intentional pair of doctors returned to California after years in Alabama, they craved easy coastal access, a smaller place and a sense of community. Settling on El Granada, the Coastside town designed by a famed city planner, they enlisted local architect Rebecca, who helped them choose the ideal 5,000-square-foot lot. At an intersection where much of the traffic consists of dog walkers, the trapezoidal property also offers mature eucalyptus and cypress trees and coveted Half Moon Bay views.

At the outset, crafting the jewel for this perfect setting required abundant discussion and much perusing of images. The couple’s key ask was for indoor-outdoor living in a guest-friendly, modern design. Leveraging Greg’s passion for interior spaces, they developed an unusual floor plan where the common areas reside on the upper two floors. The ground floor houses the garage and two bedrooms, one used as a gym and one for guests, affectionately called “the kids’ room” for visits by their grown children and new grandbaby.

Both Rebecca and her clients consider the luminous entryway a stellar feature. The multipaned double doors open to blond-wood stairs. The washed wood flooring lends a beachy feel to the area, and by day it’s bathed in natural light through doors, windows and the sun-drenched great room. In the evening, a flush-mount light fixture near the door and a series of playful orbs suspended from the second-floor ceiling welcome guests and illuminate the great room as well. In the two-row array, one cascades down, matching the staircase angle. The other varies in height but keeps a more stable level over the hall. Considering Greg’s love of jazz, Rebecca says, “I was thinking about musical notes there, and playing the line against the variation.”

Thick glass encloses the stairway on the open side, turns at the top and flanks the great room. It then extends in a straight line beyond the outer wall to the deck, visually lengthening the space and keeping the view unobstructed. Glass doors, one of Rebecca’s favorite features, create a clear wall, opening to the deck. “Even though it’s usually 60 degrees and foggy, you can live indoor-outdoor here,” she says.

The great room comprises the kitchen, dining and sitting areas, and piano nook. Custom cherry cabinets by Millbrae’s K & B Cabinets warm the kitchen space, along with squared tongue-and-groove cedar on the ceiling. Carolyn finds the thoughtfully arranged kitchen not only beautiful but also highly functional. Tucked away on the same floor are a powder room for guests and the primary suite.

The partial third floor houses an office and sitting room, opening to a spa terrace with a hot tub and outdoor shower. The beauty of the final plan unfolded as work progressed. During construction, Rebecca observed that the window over the stairs to the upper level provided the clearest ocean vista, but a wall hid it from the main area.

Her solution? “We cut the wall off at three and a half feet so the room includes the stairwell,” explains Rebecca. Originally intended as a home gym, the third floor transformed into an office and sitting area. In doing so, it “became one of the gems of the space,” says the architect. Unexpectly, nature lent a hand in further opening the panorama during construction when a winter storm toppled some trees.

The homeowners themselves helped push through some of the typical red tape and permit delays. “Greg’s a good project manager,” says Rebecca, calling him thorough, organized and a really good advocate. “He wrote a couple of letters that made things move,” she recalls.

To honor the whole crew, an appreciative Greg and Carolyn held a barbecue party. This open-handed gesture echoed the warm, collaborative nature of the entire project. Rebecca’s firm partnered with Verdura Construction of Half Moon Bay for the first time, and for the 17-hour photo shoot with Jonathan Mitchell, she reconnected with Colleen Smith of Belmont’s Location Staging and floral designer Tanya Slye of Half Moon Bay. Rebecca already knew both from a group of coastal creatives.

The architect, who lives just three blocks away, says the new El Granada residents have consulted her on non-architectural matters regarding life there. Happy to help, Rebecca notes, “They’re not just clients—they’re neighbors.”

coast home – katkinarchitecture.com

A Lens on the World

Words by Andrea Gemmet

You never know where in the world you’ll find Menlo Park photographer Jennifer Fraser, but chances are good that she’ll be packing rain gear. While she loves to capture beautiful scenes on the Peninsula, her annual travels find her training her lens on everything from wild horses and camel trains to sulfurous mountains and underground religious shrines. But there is one pattern to her travels, from Iceland to Ladakh to the Lofoten Islands. “My kids ask why I go to so many wet, rainy places,” she says with a smile. “My grandfather was from the Shetland Islands, so it’s in my blood, I guess.”
Jennifer’s large-scale prints have found fans among local homeowners. There’s not much interest in small prints lately, she observes. People want something large enough to hang in the living room behind their sofa. Her dramatic black-and-white image of Death Valley sand dunes, which was exhibited at Praxis Photo Arts Gallery in Minneapolis, is a perfect example of what fellow photographers refer to as a “couch shot.”

Honing her craft over the years, Jennifer has developed a vocabulary of gestures for communicating with people despite a language barrier. Like most photographers, she uses a digital camera, but in her early years, she learned to develop film in the darkroom that her grandfather built. Patience and preparation are key to her process. On at least one occasion, that meant standing in a swamp with horses running at her, swatting mosquitoes with one hand and holding her camera with the other. “So much of photography involves waiting,” Jennifer says. Usually that means getting up very, very early to capture the light. “You get there in the dark and just hope that the sunrise is nice.”

ABOVE: In Cuba’s capital, Jennifer poked her head into what she thought was an abandoned building. Her first instinct was to warn the boy that the spiral staircase wasn’t safe. Then a couple walked past him on the stairs carrying grocery bags, and she realized that this was just part of daily life for the people who call it home.

ABOVE: “It has beautiful architecture, but half of Havana is falling down,” says Jennifer of her experience in Cuba. Having weathered decades of embargoes, the city’s faded grandeur reveals evocative layers of color and texture.

ABOVE: A pair of surfers walk on Pismo Beach

BELOW: A young monk at Lamayuru Buddhist monastery in northern India demonstrates his yoga pose.

chasing light – jenniferfraser.zenfolio.com

The Beat on Your Eats: New Restaurants

New year, new restaurants to explore.

portola bistro

Portola Valley

There’s a new neighborhood restaurant nestled within the Ladera Country Shopper. Portola Bistro, a charming addition to the plaza, offers dishes with a French and Italian influence in a farmhouse chic interior. It’s received praise for both the pizza with burrata and aged prosciutto and the fried artichokes with rosemary aioli, but those seeking the ultimate wintertime dish should opt for a steaming bowl of beef bourguignon with red wine-braised prime rib. If you can still move after your meal, take a lazy lap around the plaza for fresh fruit at Bianchi’s Market or an armful of flowers at Ladera Garden & Gifts. 3130 Alpine Road. Open daily.

elia

San Carlos

Time to go Greek with Elia. You’ll find this new restaurant and its genial staff in the heart of downtown San Carlos. A stylish destination, Elia’s interior includes niches displaying intriguing artifacts, wicker-backed chairs and rattan fixtures bathing the room in warm light. Elia offers all the Mediterranean classics you know and love—from grilled octopus, tzatziki dip and spanakopita to branzino and saganaki (that crowd-pleasing cheese dish cooked tableside in a flaming skillet)—and gotten glowing early reviews. Branch out from the faithful standbys with lachanika (vegetable stew in a clay pot) or the filet mignon souvlaki (skewers paired with scalloped potato gratin and Brussels sprouts). Before you go, ward off bad luck with the Evil Eye cocktail. The drink combines curaçao, peach and orange blossom vodka, passion fruit puree, coconut syrup and a splash of lemon juice, served with that iconic blue eyeball floating on top. 727 Laurel Street. Open daily.

nagai edomae sushi

Redwood City

You won’t find California rolls at chef-owner Tomonori Nagai’s new omakase restaurant in downtown Redwood City. Serving only Edomae-style sushi, “the simplest and purest form of sushi, with the most superior quality ingredients,” the emphasis is on simplicity and expert preparation. The seasonal prix-fixe menu hews to traditional methods of marinating and preserving sushi developed during Japan’s Edo period, which ended in the 1860s. Featuring beautifully executed nigiri, all of the fish is sourced from the Tokyo Bay Fish Market, the wasabi is freshly grated and the rice is a custom blend imported from Japan. The menu draws on the chef’s 25-plus years of experience at top sushi restaurants, including Sushi Kanesaka in Tokyo and Michelin-starred Shinji in Singapore. 2074 Broadway. Open Wednesday through Sunday.

Empanada Innovator

Words by Elaine Wu

To Marianne Despres, empanadas are an expression of love wrapped in delicate dough. They’re a connection to her South American heritage and to Paris, where her career in food was realized. As the owner of El Sur, a Redwood City cafe that specializes in Argentinian empanadas, Marianne is embarking on a new chapter on the Peninsula, one that brings her full circle to her childhood home.

In September 2024, Marianne opened her cafe in the same storefront where her parents used to run a grocery store. It’s the place where she first learned about the enormous amount of work that goes into operating a business. And it’s where she learned about the importance of community. “I was upstairs doing homework all the time and watched my parents work a lot, especially my dad. He was at the store from 7AM to 10PM every day,” Marianne reflects. “The store was an integral part of the neighborhood. Today, we have customers who were kids when their parents shopped here. They remember my mom and dad.”

When the old grocery store site came on the market a few years back, she jumped at the chance to relocate after running a cafe in San Francisco’s Design District. “When the city’s shelter-in-place mandate was announced, business abruptly stopped for us,” she says. “We lost all of our sales overnight.” With their freezers stocked with 8,000 empanadas, the seismic shift required a quick pivot, says Rodrigo Araya, who heads up operations. Within 24 hours, the team opened an online ordering portal that kept them operating without cutting any staff positions. In December 2022, Marianne and Rodrigo closed the San Francisco location and moved to their current one on Middlefield Road in Redwood City. For almost two years, catering, pick-up and delivery orders kept the business running while they completed renovations in the cafe portion of the space.

“It’s so important for us to have a place for people to come and see and smell the food we make,” Marianne says. It’s why she insisted on opening a cafe, rather than just relying on catering and deliveries.
Marianne was very intentional with the shop’s design, and her father’s Argentinian heritage is evident in the mementos and ephemera that fill the bright and welcoming dining area. “I wanted it to feel really homey and that’s why we added all the wood wainscotting,” she explains. The space also features an antique map of Argentina and photos of gaucho festivals celebrating the Argentinian cowboys by San Jose photographer Nick Price. Marianne’s most precious piece of memorabilia is her parents’ original business permit that hangs on the wall.

After college and working in the corporate sphere, Marianne decided to pursue a career in the culinary field. She spent several years in Paris, first at Le Cordon Bleu and then at bakeries around the city. Spending time overseas reminded her that food is always more enjoyable when shared with others. “In France, food is connection,” she declares.

Though she got the idea for turning empanadas into a business in 2010, it wasn’t until 2017 that Marianne opened her first cafe. “Empanadas are the perfect food: they’re handheld so they’re easy to eat, and the varieties of fillings are endless. You can have them for any meal, day or night, or as a snack,” says Marianne.

This handy meal cloaked in pastry, or empanar in Spanish, originated in Portugal and Spain’s Galicia region in the 1500s. Like many other foods from this part of Europe, it made its way to South America. Marianne’s version is rooted in Argentina but her fillings reflect her life’s journey and those she is closest to. “Each filling is either a person, place or memory I have,” she shares.

The dough for these tasty half-moons is made with either butter or rendered beef fat and is light and tender while still being sturdy enough to hold savory and sweet fillings. El Sur’s savory Traditional is filled with hand-cut beef, onion, oregano, pimentón, olives and egg, and it represents Marianne’s Argentinian roots. The Pollo Saltado with chicken, onion, serrano peppers, olives and egg is inspired by her mom’s Peruvian heritage.

The Parisien is filled with French ham, prosciutto, green onion, cheese and chives, paying homage to the jambon-beurre sandwich that is found all over Paris. El Sur also offers empanadas with vegetarian fillings and the sweet Manzana, stuffed with braised apples.

Empanadas are ubiquitous in South America, Rodrigo explains. “There’s an empanada shop on every street corner in Buenos Aires and people have them delivered to their homes like we order pizza.”

Feeding families with busy households is a priority for Marianne. “Being a kid in the ‘80s in Menlo Park was magical,” she says, recalling fond memories of playing in San Francisquito Creek, getting soft serve at Fosters Freeze and enjoying deli sandwiches at Luttiken’s on the Alameda. Her kids, now grown, frequent the cafe and help out when they can. Her parents still live in Menlo Park and visit almost daily. They marvel at how the old grocery store has changed and love to chat with the customers. “I have such a deep respect for my parents, for their grit and determination to make a life for all of us here,” Marianne says fondly. “I owe everything to them.”

flavor filled – elsursf.com

Star Power

Words by Johanna Harlow

It takes five minutes for Anthony Secviar, chef and co-owner of Protégé, to describe the meticulous process behind the Michelin-starred restaurant’s beloved brick chicken. It starts with simmering Koshihikari rice in saffron stock, and cooking shallots and garlic for four hours to create the piperade sauce that forms the dish’s base. Then there’s the process of deboning the Cornish game hen, brushing it with a roasted garlic puree with Aleppo pepper, olive oil and lemon zest, and aging it for three to seven days to concentrate flavors. That’s followed by sautéing the meat on a stainless steel press for crispy skin, then baking in the oven. “Then we take a dark chicken stock that we roast overnight, reduced down for about 14 hours, and finish that with a French-inspired Grenobloise so you bring some acidity as well as some unctuous, rich umami to the chicken sauce,” Anthony describes. “We grill some romaine ribs, which kind of brings in some texture and a little bit of a palate refresher.” The result is a masterful paella-esque dish with a California twist. “Point being, there’s a ton of work that goes into what’s ultimately chicken and rice,” Anthony concludes when he finally comes up for air.

Though Protégé’s dishes change with the seasons, this painstakingly prepared poultry has been on the menu since day one—now nearly seven years ago. “It’s the most common and comfortable and soul-driven flavor profile on the planet,” Anthony explains. “We wanted to be a neighborhood restaurant—and I think a neighborhood restaurant needs a great chicken dish.”

ABOVE: Dennis Kelly (left) and Anthony Secviar (right) are the co-owners of Protégé.

Despite achieving a Michelin star just nine months after opening, Anthony emphasizes its concept as “casual” several times. “Refined, elegant, but still casual and comfortable,” he elaborates. “Without all the hoopla.” At Protégé, the intention isn’t to treat food like an abstract. It’s about familiar dishes done divinely. “Most things you should recognize and have an idea of, ‘Am I going to like that?’”

Take the familiar pear and goat cheese salad. “We’re creating dishes that people have a reference to and they’re comfortable with, but maybe there’s some sort of element in there that either surprises or sets the new standard for what that pear and goat cheese salad should be,” says Anthony. “So when you go and see it on another menu, you ultimately think of Protégé.” In this particular instance, Anthony and his chef de cuisine Jeremy Wayne came up with a pear tartlet: shingled fruit atop a pressed layer of Cambozola blue cheese on a buttery shell with walnut praline filling. “There’s no smoke and mirrors,” Anthony says. “It’s all based on product, a balancing of flavors and techniques.”

When Anthony and co-owner Dennis Kelly originally sat down to brainstorm the concept for Protégé, their goal was building it to last. “There’s a lot of flash-in-the-pans,” Anthony reflects. “There are restaurants you go to that people rave about the service, or the food, or the ambiance, but you rarely get all three … We tried to create Protégé where all three of those things were very even-keeled, where none of them outshined each other.” Dennis also ensures a standout beverage program, lending his expertise as the 191st person in the world to earn a master sommelier diploma.

As for ambiance, the two settled on a woodsy and warm interior with rich walnut accents and a patio bordered with planters of young redwood trees. The a la carte lounge is anchored by a backlit bar for that neighborly feel, while the prix fixe dining room displays a large image of a foggy forest. “It’s a timeless affair,” Anthony says.

The staff is equally inviting and knowledgeable on any detail you care to ask about—from the artist behind the knotted rope installation that separates the lounge from the tasting room (San Francisco local Windy Chien) to that one ingredient you can’t quite pinpoint in a sauce. “No egos. It’s very collaborative,” Anthony asserts.

If Anthony wanted to boast, he certainly could. He’s honed his craft in a series of prestigious three-star kitchens. In Spain, he worked at Akelaré (“very formula-driven, almost like chemistry” with a “militaristic style of kitchen”), then world-famous El Bulli (“incredibly meticulous … the most technical cuisine and kitchen on the planet”). His next job brought him to the Bay Area. “French Laundry reset everything … I learned how to cook again,” he says, describing the new nine-course tasting menu the team developed every day. “Very intellectual … challenging for the sake of being challenging.” Later, Anthony became the chef de cuisine at Addison by William Bradley. “Everything for William is flavor and that was when I think it started to click,” Anthony says. “He taught me how to taste … The importance of when you put something down, you have to think of someone bringing it back up into their mouth.”

Just as readily, Anthony discusses his unassuming origins. “I got into cooking because I love to eat,” he says simply, recalling the cooking shows he used to watch by Julia Child, Emeril Lagasse and Graham Kerr, The Galloping Gourmet. He credits his mom for nudging him towards a culinary career. “At the time, I was a jock kid, so I didn’t think it was macho enough,” he says with a chuckle.

For those looking to see Anthony and the Protégé team flex their culinary muscles, opt for the seven-course tasting menu. Each dish delights, from the delicately sweet and tender Wolfe Ranch quail brightened by pomegranate sauce and shallot jam to the silky, umami-rich nine-layer lasagna bolstered by the tang of aged parmesan and the earthiness of truffle. Even the freshly-baked sourdough is elevated by a frilly, gravity-defying butter sculpture.

Recent diners ended their meal on a playful note. As they stabbed the cherry atop their chocolate gâteau, the tines of their fork sank through like butter. On further investigation, they found this fruit to be a ruse—a replica composed of cherry mousse and a chocolate stem.

As Anthony prepares to return to the kitchen, one question remains: Are the folks at Protégé hungry for a second star? Anthony cracks a smile. “Two would be an absolute nightmare for us … We’re incredibly happy, humbled and proud to have one.”

michelin moves – protegepaloalto.com

Carmel Explored

Words by Sharon McDonnell

Carmel-by-the-Sea has always been noticed. A century ago, it drew the attention of poets Robinson Jeffers and George Sterling (who dubbed San Francisco the “cool grey city of love”), authors Jack London and Sinclair Lewis, photographer Ansel Adams and an abundance of other artists. It caught the eye of Brad Pitt, who bought the castle-like Seaward House in 2022 for $40 million. Monaco billionaire Patrice Pastor spent the past decade buying $100 million of property in and near the town, including Frank Lloyd Wright’s only oceanfront home, the Clinton Walker House.

Famed for its storybook-style cottages, dozens of galleries and manicured beauty, the chic former bohemian art colony just experienced its biggest hotel renaissance in the past two years, with several new hotels and some major lodging facelifts, plus six new restaurants, including Michelin-starred Chez Noir. But well-known Carmel still has treasures yet to be discovered.

“I’m courtyard-crazy,” says Gael Gallagher of Carmel Walks, who enjoys pointing out “beauty bursts” on our walking tour, from the town’s 41 charming courtyards and hidden passageways to Spanish-style tiles that lend pops of color and pattern. The oldest, Der Ling Lane, is a wood-arched, cobblestoned and brick-paved alley and courtyard we entered from Ocean Avenue, the town’s main street that’s lined with galleries and shops. It’s home to the first of the town’s 18 wine-tasting rooms, Galante Vineyards. It’s also the only one whose owner’s great-grandfather, James Devendorf, co-founded Carmel-by-the-Sea. Jack Galante makes mostly Bordeaux-style red blends at his winery. The wine labels feature nuggets of cowboy philosophy, and the rug in its tiny tasting room depicts cowboys holding lassoes aloft, reflecting his childhood on a ranch in the Carmel Valley. Jack also leads wine trips around the world, from fishing trips to Alaska to jaunts to Sardinia and Corsica to adventure weekends in Montana.

The lane is also home to Xocolatl Garden, a shop for single-origin chocolate bars from 66 countries, with daily tasting of four samples (perhaps a jerk-seasoned 70% dark chocolate from Jamaica or the shop’s own Choquiero brand, spiced with chipotle, cayenne and coconut sugar), for just $5.

In contrast, Dawn’s Dream Winery is known mostly for chardonnay and pinot noir from the Santa Lucia Highlands and for its philanthropy. “My dream was to tie this brand to nonprofits to keep women and children reaching for the stars,” says Dawn Galante, Jack’s wife, who partners with a local nonprofit each year, like a women’s shelter or Jacob’s Heart for children with cancer, and also donates money and wine to nonprofits. “I grew up with a single mother in Detroit who was always giving back.” Another winery, Caraccioli Cellars, has gold medals to show for its sparkling methode champenoise wines.

Nicolas Cocina de Herencia, the grandest-looking new restaurant that opened in 2023, offers high-end Mexican food with creative twists amid a dozen chandeliers in a cavernous 5,000-square-foot space. I was enchanted by its lamb chile relleno, a pepper filled with apples, pears, raisins and ground lamb, in a sauce composed of white chocolate, pomegranate arils, macadamia nuts and spices—apparently an inspired riff on my all-time favorite Mexican dish, chiles en nogada, a specialty of Puebla state.

Another surprise: superb Korean food at Jeju Kitchen, which opened in 2024. My jajangmyeon, chewy buckwheat noodles with fermented black bean sauce, sliced zucchini, diced carrots and pork belly, were sheer delight. “Korean kids grew up with this the way American kids do with mac and cheese,” notes owner Ashley Wolff, who uses her Korean mother’s recipes. Her take on the beloved American comfort food adds kimchi and scallions. “The acidic taste cuts into the cheese and cream (and adds a satisfying crunch),” she adds.

Both restaurants are in Carmel Plaza, a shopping center packed with eateries. Toro, opened in late 2020, offers top-quality sushi, including specialty rolls lightly-seared to meld the flavors and others topped by unagi (eel) sauce as well as sake cocktails, flights and a global wine list (thanks to its sommelier co-owner) that I didn’t expect.

Called the town’s “grande dame,” La Playa Hotel, the 1905 mansion of chocolate heiress Angela Ghirardelli and her painter husband, emerged from a stylish $20 million refresh of all 75 rooms and public areas in late 2023. The luxury Spanish Revival-style lodging features an outdoor pool, beautiful gardens, rooms with “barmoires” (an armoire stocked with ingredients and recipes for craft cocktail-making) plus ocean, garden or village views and a Champagne buffet breakfast. It also boasts the best deal in pricy Carmel-by-the-Sea: at Bud’s Bar cocktails cost only a dime during a daily 10-minute time slot, chosen at whim by the bartender.

A classic since opening in 1952, the whitewashed Tally Ho Inn charms with wall tapestries, gas fireplaces and suites with private decks that offer ocean views, just off Ocean Avenue. I sipped wine next to the outdoor fireplace in the small public patio, which also has a Pacific view. Newcomer Stilwell Hotel, a boutique hotel opened in May 2024, features two levels of patios with fire pits, waterfall features and a pizza oven, plus 42 guest rooms in serene neutrals with marble baths.

I made a beeline to Tor House, poet Robinson Jeffers’ home, a small stone cottage and a four-story stone tower in a jaw-dropping setting on Carmel Point, right above the ocean. Jeffers and his wife came here because friends compared the rugged coastal scenery to the cliffs of Cornwall, England. He constructed the cottage with a contractor, but built the tower himself. Inspired by those in rural Ireland, he hauled over boulders from Carmel Beach. A docent recited his poems on my tour, many inspired by the region’s idyllic nature. The poet lived in the home from 1919 to his death in 1962, and packed it with treasures, from an ancient Roman statue of a boy on a dolphin to a carved stone head from Cambodia.

“Carmel is not so much an art colony as it is a work of art,” wrote historian Carey McWilliams back in 1930. But far from being preserved in amber, it’s a living artwork still in the making, one whose beauty only grows with time.

poet’s paradise – carmelcalifornia.com

Q&A: Lisa Sten

The CEO of Mountain View’s Harrell Design + Build talks about her top travel treasures, the motto that keeps her motivated and the laundry room feature you didn’t know you needed.

What’s most rewarding about working in the design, build and home remodeling field?
Seeing how the smallest tweaks and clever space planning can have the biggest impact on how one lives in a home.

What are some highlights from your early career?
My mom and I had a design studio together for 12 years prior to my move to California in 2000. We had the pleasure of working with Target Corporation, and worked with the “starchitect” Michael Graves on the restoration of the Washington Monument in D.C.

Is there a movie you can watch over and over?
The Way. Although the movie is about the Camino de Santiago, the movie partly inspired my goal to walk the entire Via Francigena in Italy. This is another pilgrimage walk from Canterbury to the Vatican. I’ve completed 60 miles of it, north of Rome.

Do you have a personal motto?
Produce or die! A friend’s father told her and her seven siblings this every morning. I find it hilarious, yet meaningful, but I have yet to say this out loud at work!

What’s a unique feature you’ve added to a home?
Adding a jetted laundry sink for gentle washing is great!

What’s one thing you’ve brought back from a trip abroad?
One? I love finding local art and bringing it home. Best souvenirs ever.

Is there something people are surprised to learn about you?
As a kid, I was in a Mr. Bubble commercial, and a commercial with John Denver. I also skied with Billy Kidd for a Hart Skis ad.

Have you always been in this line of work?
My first post-college “career” was in film production: I worked with the author/playwright David Mamet and William H. Macy as well as on a number of national commercials.

How did you get into Chinese calligraphy?
My daughter took Mandarin lessons for seven years, and the only adult class held at that same time was Chinese Calligraphy. I have always been fascinated with font design, and the characters are intriguing as a visual art form. It is meditative and calming—and learning the brush techniques and control takes years of practice.

What’s your biggest home-related pet peeve?
Poor consideration for sight lines. (Can we not see the toilet first thing, please?) And not treating the ceiling well.

What’s the best part of your weekend routine?
Not making plans! I hesitate to make weekend plans as my week is fairly structured. It’s my “unstructured play time.”

What do you collect?
Many things, but the oddest of them are probably my oil can collection from the London Eastern Railway and my plumb bob collection!

Landmark: San Francisquito Creek

Words by Margaret Koenig

Believe it or not, the last free-flowing urban creek in the southern Peninsula might be right in your backyard. If you follow San Francisquito Creek from its mouth in the eastern Santa Cruz mountains to where it flows into the San Francisco Bay, your trek would take you through Portola Valley, Woodside, Palo Alto, East Palo Alto and Menlo Park, through nature preserves and residential neighborhoods alike. With an estimated length of 12.5 miles, the creek is the largest on the western margin of the San Francisco Bay and has no fewer than 22 tributaries. Though it’s little more than a dry creek bed during the summer, San Francisquito roars back to life in the rainy season.

Long before the San Francisquito was “discovered” by Spaniards in 1769, the area was home to the indigenous Ohlone population for roughly 15,000 years. The Lamchin tribe, a branch of the Ohlone, once lived along its banks, though this changed with the arrival of a Spanish exploration party led by Don Gaspar de Portolá in 1769. Portolá’s party camped alongside the creek for five nights, and in the period of Spanish colonialism that followed, the San Francisquito came to mark the territorial divide between the missions of San Francisco and Santa Clara. Today, the creek still serves as a geographical border, separating Palo Alto from East Palo Alto and Menlo Park, along with their respective counties of Santa Clara and San Mateo. After disastrous flooding in 1998 damaged more than 1,700 properties, the San Francisquito Creek Joint Powers Authority was formed to oversee the waterway, which is home to California Central Coast steelhead trout, a threatened species. Try to catch a glimpse of them via online images from the city of Palo Alto’s creek monitor cameras, or in-person by strolling across one of its pedestrian bridges, like the one at El Palo Alto Park.

Diary of a Dog: Aki

I’m so pleased to meet you! I’m Aki, a friendly mutt sporting white freckled “socks” and a white-tipped tail. Let me tell you about my family. Mike and Mia’s three girls had been begging for a dog, so they decided to check out some local shelters. Their first stop was Pets In Need in Palo Alto. I was only five months old, but I knew right away that these were my people. After spending a little time together, I made my intentions clear by resting my head on each of their laps. They understood that I had chosen them, so they took me home to San Mateo. Mike and Mia quickly realized that I didn’t like my shelter name of Autumn. (Go ahead, try calling me Autumn. I’ll act like I don’t even hear you.) They renamed me Aki, which means autumn in Japanese, and now I happily come when they call. Another thing about me is that I look out for my friends. At the park, I protect my little buddy, a Jack Russell terrier, from any aggressive advances. I play hide and seek with the girls and cover them in affectionate, slobbery kisses. My family describes me as fiercely intelligent, playful and a tiny bit mischievous. They have to make sure I don’t see where they hide my treats, because I will remember that location forever and do my best to get at them when nobody’s looking.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Perfect Shot: Sea and Sky

This mesmerizing moment was captured by photographer Tony Corso off Linda Mar Beach during the unprecedented number of humpback whale sightings around Pacifica from July through September. The surge, caused by larger-than-usual schools of anchovies, drew diving birds and lunging whales alike that feasted on the tiny silver fish. “On this particular morning, the fog was out in full force, creating a surreal backdrop,” Tony describes. “With the rising sun at my back breaking through the morning clouds, the final result was breathtaking.”

@TonyCorsoImages / tonycorsoimages.com

Calling all Shutterbugs: If you’ve captured a unique perspective of the Peninsula, we’d love to see your Perfect Shot. Email us at hello@punchmonthly.com to be considered for publication.

Buzzy Mazra

Words by Elaine Wu

For brothers Saif and Jordan Makableh, the success of Mazra, their wildly popular fast-casual Mediterranean restaurant, has been quite the surprise. After being ranked No. 2 on Yelp’s Top 100 Places to Eat in the U.S. in 2021, less than a year after opening, the duo had no idea what they were in for. “We were panicking because we were so busy,” Saif remembers. “The line would wrap around the building and we were still getting good reviews!” Despite Mazra’s popularity, he still saw room for improvement. “We thought our chances of surviving were low,” Saif admitted.

But after four years and a move to a larger space in Redwood City earlier this year—the original San Bruno location is undergoing major renovations and set to reopen in 2025—Mazra is going stronger than ever. “I’m always telling Jordan that I can’t believe our success,” Saif says. “We’re at about 80 percent of where I want our food to be. You always want things to be better.”

Mazra got its start after Jordan and Saif’s father decided to close his small neighborhood grocery store in San Bruno. Saif convinced his dad to let him try opening a restaurant in the space. As a young adult, he had spent three years in Australia working for an uncle and Saif missed the barbecue culture there. “They barbecue a lot in Australia and you learn a lot about it,” he shares. “We use the charcoal grill at the restaurant because the char is something you can’t get from a gas grill. I hate when you can’t taste the char. It’s so simple and so good.”

Saif also loved how food from the Levant region of the Middle East, which includes Lebanon, Jordan and Iran, was more prevalent in Australia than it is in the Bay Area, thanks to the large Lebanese population. “I was used to Middle Eastern eateries being little falafel shops here in the States,” he says. “But over there, Middle Eastern restaurants are about quality food served in a vibrant yet casual setting. Everything, from the food to the décor, was more vibrant. I thought people would enjoy that in the Bay Area as well.”

As a self-taught cook who has always loved to eat, Saif has manned Mazra’s kitchen from day one, developing, researching and, to this day, tinkering with the most finite details of a dish to make it better. “Our obsession is with the simplest things,” he says. “It’s about how you treat every ingredient in the process of making it. With so many people waiting in line, I can’t just give them tabbouleh that was made hours ago. I just can’t. We will throw things away before we serve it to a customer if it’s not good enough.”

Younger brother Jordan enjoys interacting with customers and making sure they take care of everyone who walks through the door. “For me, my passion is with the front of the house,” he says. “My brother and I like to make sure that our customers are comfortable. It’s so much more than just breaking bread together but making sure everyone’s having a good time.”

To get their hands on popular dishes—like Mazra’s famous six-hour lamb shank with roasted pepper sauce, the brined garlic-and-herb rotisserie chicken and the whole roasted heirloom cauliflower coated in lemon and tahini dressing—customers are willing to stand in a line that extends down the block during peak dinner hours on most nights. But their patience doesn’t go unrewarded. “We have to set you up for success as a customer,” Saif declares. “Garlic sauce and chili sauce doesn’t need to be asked for. It comes with your food here. And for to-go orders, we never serve our main dishes in a three-compartment box. Our salads are packaged separately so the steam from the meat doesn’t affect the salad. We used to take the food home as if we were a customer and open it up to test how things tasted and looked.”

Meticulously crafted food and welcoming vibes have become a winning combination for Mazra. But throughout their journey, the brothers remain grateful for all the success they’ve enjoyed. “Everything about this is love,” Jordan says proudly. “Love for the food, love for the staff, love for the customers. Every single aspect of this place, I absolutely love.”

This popular side dish at Mazra serves as a great palate cleanser between bites of your favorite meats and seafood. Serves four.

ARABIC SALAD

Ingredients
4 cucumbers
3 tomatoes
½ red onion
3 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil 
juice of 1-2 lemons
salt

+ Dice the unpeeled cucumbers into bite-size pieces. To keep them crispy and fresh, refrigerate them until just before serving.
+ Dice the tomatoes and keep them at room temperature for maximum flavor and texture.
+ Dice the red onion into small, uniform pieces.
+ In a large bowl, combine the diced cucumbers, tomatoes and onions. Drizzle them with olive oil and lemon juice to taste. Add salt to taste and gently toss the ingredients until evenly coated.
+ Serve salad immediately. Garnish with fresh herbs like parsley or mint for added color and aroma.

delicious details – eatmazra.com

Crushing It

Words by Johanna Harlow

In small-town San Carlos, tucked between auto repair shops, expect the unexpected. On Industrial Road, in a pair of converted warehouses, you’ll find Domenico Winery and Osteria, an Italian restaurant, winery and event venue rolled into one. “This was not the way it looks today,” chuckles owner Dominick Chirichillo, who runs the business alongside his wife Gloria. “It was just a big, yellow, ugly building.” But while others underestimated the property, Dominick saw a space large enough to stretch his imagination and realize his big dreams. Today, the store front beckons passersby with an inviting stonework façade and a sprawling patio where patrons sit and sip petite sirah.

“Let the grapes express themselves,” Dominick advises from the back room as he twists the spigot on a 3,400-gallon stainless steel tank, releasing a stream of beautiful burgundy. He has been around wine his entire life thanks to his beloved Nonno. His grandfather Domenico Giovinazzo used to make wine in the basement of his New York home back in the 1950s. Dominick fondly recalls squabbling with his cousins over who would help Nonno with the press. “Every Sunday, we would spend at my grandparents—all the cousins and uncles and aunts,” Dominick recalls, describing the big family dinners. “My grandfather would have his gallon of wine. He’d pour and the kids would have wine in their soda.”

Cover Photo and Above Photo Courtesy of: Johanna Harlow

As Dominick gives a tour, the restaurant, event venue and winemaking spaces feel like their own distinct worlds. The industrial-chic event venue is spruced up with funky light fixtures and lined with oak barrels stacked four high. The Osteria charms diners with hanging plants and lights, while a sculpture of Bacchus, the Roman god of wine, watches over guests. Meanwhile, the winemaking warehouse in the back brims with gleaming industrial-grade equipment.

Dominick passes his great-nephew Max, busy crushing three Jacuzzi-sized tubs of grapes with a stainless-steel punch down. “He will be the fifth generation of winemakers in our family,” Dominick says, adding that his oldest son and wife Gloria run the catering side of the business, while his younger son is considering joining the financial side. Gloria has overseen everything from designing wine labels to accounting and interior design. “It can be challenging and rewarding,” says Dominick of working with family. “You run the emotional gamut… It’s no different than any other family.” Adding, “We love each other a lot, and I guess that’s the glue that keeps us going.”

Photo Courtesy of: Paulette Phlipot

It’s hard to imagine that such a massive operation started with just two barrels of wine back in the ‘80s. “I needed something to take the worry that I was going through in my business, set it aside and have some fun,” Dominick reflects, explaining that in his youth, he pursued a career in real estate. That first batch took him six hours to make by hand. “The wine came out well,” he smiles.

Two barrels became 20. Then 60. Soon, Dominick’s basement was practically buried with barrels and he could barely wedge himself between the rows. Ready to take things to the next level, Dominick and his wife Gloria progressed to a 3,000-square-foot space in New Jersey, which let them reach nearly 300 barrels. The couple also founded The Bacchus School of Wine, which they expanded to five locations across the state before they moved to the Bay Area. Dominick’s real estate background helped him hunt down their current warehouse as well as purchase land in Amador County for vineyards.

Photo Courtesy of: Paulette Phlipot

The land’s granite and limestone give the wine a minerality and vibrancy in flavor, Dominick explains. “Grapes and limestone is a real nice story.” After initially planting five acres of syrah and three of primitivo, Dominick continues to expand with other Cal-Italia varietals including aglianico, Montepulciano, nero d’Avola and cabernet sauvignon. “We’re planting 14 more acres of vineyards over the next three years,” he says, which will include sangiovese, nebbiolo, Fiano di Avellino, barbera and others. His favorite to drink? “I would say the wine in my glass!” Domenick jokes, before adding he’s partial to primitivo. It’s the Italian zinfandel, with a velvety bouquet of blackberry and plum and a subtle spiciness that hits at the back of the throat.

To sip and savor, pair food with wine over at the Osteria. This latest addition was designed by Gloria with Chef Gary DiDominick presiding over the kitchen. (“We didn’t hire him for his name,” Dominick laughs). With obvious care taken to acquire quality ingredients, expect excellence in everything from the focaccia studded with tangy tomatoes to the rigatoni with generous chunks of housemade fennel sausage cloaked in a creamy vodka sauce. The flickering flames of a stone hearth pizza oven promise great pies, from the Regina (topped with creamy dollops of burrata, big basil leaves and grape tomatoes) to Dom’s Godfather (calabrese salami and peppadew peppers drizzled in Calabrian chili oil and local honey). If you want a taste of Dominick’s childhood home in Jersey, go topsy-turvy with the Boardwalk Pizza that tucks the cheese beneath the sauce.

Photo Courtesy of: Johanna Harlow

There are more ways to experience Domenico. For team-building seminars, people are split into “winery” teams and everyone competes to design the best label, come up with a marketing plan for their fictitious business and blend wine from several varietals in beakers. “Then everybody goes home with a bottle, of course,” Dominick winks.

They also host Grapes and Giggles, a monthly comedy night, as well as private events—a recent one was his own son’s wedding. “We pretty much run the gamut,” Dominick says, adding that sometimes the festivities even include fire dancers and aerialists. What’s more, people who belong to the Bacchus Winemaking Club can learn the entire winemaking process with Dominick from de-stemming, crushing and pressing grapes to racking and bottling.

While it sounds like more than enough to keep him busy, Dominick is also opening a second tasting room/event venue in the Amador area. When commended for his chutzpah, Domenico’s owner quotes Field of Dreams: “If you build it, they will come!” Wine and big vision are two things Dominick will never have in short supply.

vine life – domenicowinery.com

Heirloom Allure

Words by Sheryl Nonnenberg

The old adage “beauty is in the eyes of the beholder” can apply to just about anything, from art to cars, but anyone who has inherited jewelry knows it to be especially true. Perhaps you love the timeless quality of Grandma’s pearl necklace but will you ever wear that 1970s-era emerald and diamond dinner ring? Maybe not.

Fortunately, there are alternatives to just relegating those items to the back of the drawer. Some jewelry stores specialize in vintage and estate pieces and can guide customers through the process of consigning or refurbishing their unwanted treasures. On the Peninsula, two of the most established and reputable firms, Gleim the Jeweler and Stephen Silver Fine Jewelry, are happy to help.

Gleim the Jeweler is a family-owned firm founded in 1931 with locations in Palo Alto and Los Altos. It has been a mainstay at Stanford Shopping Center since the mall first opened in 1956. The store has always dealt in vintage and antique jewelry, which now accounts for about 50 percent of its business.

Georgie Gleim, owner and president, shares that her grandfather, Frederick Wilhelm Gleim, borrowed $500 in order to start the business. “I have the original logbooks from that time,” says Georgie, “and on his first day, he did not take in a penny.”

Cover Photo and Above Photo Courtesy of: Onysko

Despite its slow start, the store became successful and by the time Georgie was thinking of a career, joining the family firm seemed like the best course of action. “I got to know people in the industry and it was fun,” she explains. At the time, the best way to learn was on the job, but she also obtained a gemology degree from the Gemologist Institute of America. She now holds a certified gemologist title from the American Gem Society that she renews each year.

When a customer decides to clear out their jewelry box, unwanted pieces can be brought to Georgie to examine. The free service offers expert advice about consigning the jewelry for sale or remodeling into something that better fits the owner’s taste. (This is not the same as appraisal for insurance purposes, which entails a fee and a printed document.) If it definitely won’t be worn again, Georgie can measure gemstones, estimate their weight and quality and give an idea of how much it might bring in resale. Gleim is willing to take on items long-term. “Jewelry doesn’t sell quickly,” Georgie says, “but if it’s a fine, beautiful gem, it will find a home someplace.”

However, if items are “poorly made, badly worn or unattractive,” you might be out of luck. Having seen so much estate jewelry over the years, Georgie can educate clients about the pieces they own. “Oftentimes, people will bring something in with the idea of taking it apart but I will tell them, ‘Don’t do it!’ because it is too nice of an antique.”

Photography Courtesy of: Onysko

With the price of gold so high, some customers might just want to have their items melted down, but Georgie takes a firm stance in these cases. “If it is beautiful and well-crafted, I cannot bear to scrap it,” she says. “Lots of beautiful things have been melted because people have taken jewelry to someone who was not educated.”

An example of fine vintage jewelry that eventually found a good home is an exquisite tourmaline piece that a client brought in. “It was from mines discovered in the 1980s,” says Georgie. The piece needed some restoration work and was then placed on consignment for almost two years before finding an appreciative new owner. “It was sold to a woman who loves beautiful gems,” she recalls.

Georgie says that, like most people she knows in the jewelry business, she does it because she really enjoys it. “You deal with beautiful things and often there is a history to it,” she explains, adding, “The fun part about the business is that you never know what is coming through the front door.”
Stephen Silver Fine Jewelry began as an estate jewelry firm in 1980 and is also family-owned and -run. They have two locations, a boutique in Menlo Park and a private salon in Redwood City. Stephen explains why vintage and antique jewelry make up the cornerstone of the business.

“My father fell in love with estate jewelry early in his career, recognizing the superior quality and unique character these pieces offer—qualities that can be rare in the contemporary fine jewelry landscape,” Stephen says. His company obtains vintage jewelry from individuals, estates and a “global network of suppliers, international trade shows and private clientele.”

Photography Courtesy of: Gleim the Jeweler

Like Gleim, Stephen Silver offers complimentary evaluations and redesign consultations. When asked about the allure that makes vintage pieces so sought-after, Stephen has a ready answer. “Vintage jewelry collectors want to purchase and wear a piece of history,” he says. “They love a good story and the more you can tell them about a piece’s provenance, stylistic context and material qualities, the more they appreciate it. These pieces were made to last, often painstakingly fabricated by master goldsmiths using heritage techniques passed down through the generations.”

Stephen says that there is a special appeal to acquiring this type of jewelry. “Collecting vintage and estate jewelry is like embarking on a treasure hunt. Each piece is a time capsule waiting to be opened and understood.”

Heirloom Eras

Before collecting estate jewelry, you’ll want to familiarize yourself with the defining characteristics of different styles. While every era has its devotees—from Georgian and Edwardian to mid-century modern—the most popular periods include Victorian, Art Nouveau and Art Deco. Here is a cheat sheet, with information from Stephen Silver Fine Jewelry. 
Victorian jewelry is known for its rich ornamentation and romantic symbolism, often featuring lockets, charms, signet rings, garnets, crosses and mourning jewelry, crafted in yellow or rose gold. Despite the era’s cultural conservatism, these 19th-century pieces were often whimsical and deeply personal.
Art Nouveau jewelry, from the early part of the 20th century, introduced flowing forms, whiplash swirls, elongated proportions and organic patterns. Chic jewelry makers like Lalique often used colored gemstones, pearls and enamel to bring designs to life.
Art Deco emerged in the 1920s and 1930s, using geometric forms, Egyptian revival motifs and Jazz Age opulence. Great houses like Cartier crafted bold pieces in platinum, often pairing diamonds, rubies, sapphires and emeralds with exotic materials like onyx. This era is known for wide, gem-paved bracelets and opera-length necklaces.

Gleim the Jeweler: gleimjewelers.com
Stephen Silver Fine Jewelry: shsilver.com

Living Large

Words by Sophia Markoulakis

When interior designer Amy Fischer was young, she learned to draw scaled bedroom floor plans from her engineer father. “I fell in love with interior design in third grade and never looked back,” she says of her lifelong passion. “I would draw these floor plans before moving my furniture around and always asked for design accents for my bedroom for birthdays and holidays.”

As the founder and principal designer of Spectrum Interior Design, Amy is now drawing scaled floor plans for her clients, whose projects average between 8,000 and 25,000 square feet. As the name suggests, her firm encompasses the full range of home design services. Silicon Valley, the land of high-end properties, is her niche. The full-service luxury estate design business isn’t for the faint of heart—conceptualizing, managing and implementing projects of this scale requires immense attention to detail and plenty of patience. It’s something that Amy’s worked toward her whole life. And now, after being in the industry for 27 years, the designer knows that being hyper-prepared is a valuable asset for busy clients. “I can cover progress on a 25,000-square-foot home in an hour-long meeting,” she says.

Cover Photo Courtesy of: Dreamside Design / Portrait Photo Courtesy of: Vivian Johnson

Amy’s 4,000-square-foot Mountain View headquarters functions as an open studio, a library of construction and finishing materials, and a home accents showroom for her bespoke offerings, which include seasonal decor services for her existing clients. Though most of her business is referral-based, Amy still looks for additional ways to make her services compelling, providing options for efficient decision-making that resonate with her clientele. “With the Silicon Valley mindset, these clients require facts and vetted variables instead of artistic concepts. During our meetings, I will hand-draw options and then provide pros and cons for each,” she explains.
The Los Altos native started her career working for a custom builder while earning her interior design degree. “I really pay tribute to working 15 years with that luxury custom home builder, because it was there that I learned the value of a talented team and collaborating with the architect and builder for the most successful outcome,” Amy says.

Photo Courtesy of: Dreamside Design

Those lessons helped launch Spectrum in 2012. “Having a team in place and looking at a project from the architectural and construction lens early on really streamlines the process,” Amy shares. “And with the mindset of this being completed as an interior design space, it creates a streamlined and better client experience.” For the majority of her design projects, she acts as the liaison advocate on behalf of the client and coordinates with the builder, architect and landscape designer.

Many of Amy’s clients work with her long after the dust has settled and they’ve moved in. She offers a la carte services such as holiday decorating (plus storing the items and keeping an inventory) and has even decorated a yacht or two. “We have clients who need consulting on large-scale events at their homes and we coordinate with event planners,” she says. “We build strong relationships with clients over four years and we hate to say goodbye, so whatever helps to support their lifestyle from the perspective of design, we do.”

Photo Courtesy of: Dreamside Design

Since the pandemic, Amy notes that her clients are looking to incorporate the elevated experiences that they encounter during their travels into their houses. She finds that local executives tend to work very hard and want their homes to be a refuge. “They want the spa experience at home with things like an infra-red dry sauna, steam baths and cold plunges,” Amy says, adding that pretty much every project she’s currently working on includes a cold plunge.

Other trends Amy’s seeing? Technologically enhanced lighting for wine displays and cellars, home theaters with fiber optic ceilings mimicking a starry night sky, two laundry rooms and multiple outdoor dining rooms for specific types of entertaining.

Photography Courtesy of: Vivian Johnson

Though she’s savvy about including trending experiences, Amy’s own design aesthetic trends toward the timeless and is focused on implementing what the client finds beautiful and calming. “Our clients have an appreciation for beauty and are looking for opportunities to experience it in the home,” she stresses.

When Amy isn’t working on other people’s houses, she enjoys spending time on the coast with her husband and two dogs. She also enjoys painting and detailed still-life drawings. Her two children, both in college in Southern California, have helped with the business, and her husband, a project manager in the construction industry, was instrumental in launching Spectrum’s home accessories and seasonal decor division.

As a busy entrepreneur herself, Amy understands her clients. “The Silicon Valley growth mindset is inherent in what we do,” she says. “Tech’s innovation and the commitment to excellence is so rooted in the area and its culture, and is very specific to who we serve.”

estate plans – spectruminteriordesign.com

Landmark: Baylands Vignette

Words by Margaret Koenig

Ahundred feet above the marshes of Baylands Nature Preserve, Mary Lucking’s “Baylands Vignette” renders the landscape in aluminum and steel. The art installation, which was commissioned by the city of Palo Alto in 2021, sits on the bike bridge that spans Highway 101 and reaches over the preserve itself. In creating the piece, Mary sought to emphasize the minutiae of the natural setting, giving viewers a sense of the Baylands below. The three central aluminum sculptures are embellished with shapes that recall the marshes’ features: delicate insects, tall grass, ripples of water. Around the sculptures, steely blades of grass replicate the sensation of being nestled down in the marsh. “Up in the air and overlooking this beautiful view, you have one sort of experience,” Mary describes, “but it’s a different experience when you’re down in it, where you get to see all these little details … when you’re in the Baylands, the scale of what’s really interesting is so minute. So you’ll see the texture of the grasses, and the way the water rushes over the rocks, and the little tiny bugs and birds. My thought was to bring some of that up onto this resting point.” Deliberate in every aspect, Mary put careful thought into her unconventional choice of materials. “I wanted to make something that was really touchable, that you wanted to run your hands over,” she says of her handcrafted artwork. “One of the inspirations for the way it looks is old silver tableware from the 1900s, where it’s kind of smooth and worn, but it just feels good under your fingers.” The aluminum sculptures are thoughtfully shaped so viewers can sit comfortably on them while taking in the surrounding landscape.

The Beat on Your Eats: International Soups

Soup’s on! Brothy bowls from around the globe.

la fonda restaurant

Redwood City

La Fonda Restaurant—a cheery, approachable space decorated in splashy colors—is just the place to banish those winter blahs. To pep you up, try a spicy bowl of pozole. Made hearty with hominy, pork, chiles and onions, and garnished with thin slices of radish and cabbage, this soup is served alongside tostadas with sour cream and fresh cheese. While you’re there, you might as well splurge on the mole poblano—chicken cloaked in a rich and savory chile-chocolate sauce and accompanied by rice, beans and handmade tortillas. 820 Veterans Boulevard. Closed Sundays.

pho ha noi

Palo Alto

Vietnamese pho, like American comfort soups tomato and chicken noodle, is good for the soul. At Pho Ha Noi, beef pho is the favorite, arriving at your table studded with fresh green onion and cilantro. Blow the savory steam until it’s safe to start slurping up rice noodles and spoonfuls of fragrant broth. Consider pairing it with grilled pork served on a bed of vermicelli noodles or roasted kui fei chicken with sticky rice. The restaurant is walking distance from the Stanford Theatre so if you’re seeking another cozy indoor activity, pop over to watch classic films like Casablanca or Singing in the Rain in this 1920s-era movie palace. 185 University Avenue. Open daily.

max’s of burlingame

Burlingame

As the trademarked warning on Max’s menu notes, this decades-old restaurant is a bad place for a diet. Well-known for its ample (some might say over-the-top) portions, even the soups come in generous servings. Sharing the menu with deli classics—matzoh balls in chicken broth, clam chowder (only on Fridays) and Russian cabbage soup with diced brisket—is the très continental French onion soup. Served in a traditional crock and overflowing with gooey cheese, the rich broth concentrates the sweet and savory flavors of slow-cooked onions, just the thing to soothe away the chill of a winter’s day. 1250 Old Bayshore Highway. Open daily.

Soak and Sip

Words by Sophia Markoulakis

Having grown up in Sacramento, it’s no surprise that I never met a pool I didn’t want to plunge into, feet first. But as I’ve gotten older, I’ve become allergic to pool water below 85 degrees. Seeking warm water to soothe my joints, I recently headed to Napa Valley’s Calistoga for hydrotherapy and relaxation. Often referred to as the “end of the road,” it’s the last Napa County city as you travel north on Highway 29.

While California’s first millionaire Sam Brannan put Calistoga on the map in the 1860s, prior settlers and indigenous people had long benefited from its geysers and underground springs. In 1905, a historic electric train carried affluent San Franciscans to Calistoga where they could soak in pools at properties like the Mountain View Hotel and Indian Springs Resort. Today, the electric train has been replaced by electric vehicles that transport people like me who are eager to enjoy both the area’s spas and its wine industry.

I checked into the Calistoga Springs Resort and immediately sensed that I had found a local gem, where hotel guests and locals alike make themselves at home at the property’s outdoor pool area. My spacious room with a sitting area and kitchenette had a separate bedroom and large bath. As soon as I unpacked, I donned my robe and headed out the door to explore the first of four pools. The largest and coolest of the bunch was a tepid 85 degrees, perfect for some laps. The other two pools were heated to temperatures between 90 and 100 degrees. The giant whirlpool, situated under a massive gazebo, registered a toasty 104. After a couple of hours submerged in various pools, I felt relaxed yet refreshed.

The hotel’s no-frills charm is a bonus for families and large groups. Outdoor barbecues and plenty of patio furniture provide the perfect setup for dining and socializing on-premises. People were friendly, and the large fire pit situated between the pools kept me and my fellow guests cozy late into the evening.

Tectonic activity is common in this part of Northern California as the earth lets off a little steam. A small jolt in the middle of the night woke me up, a reminder that the therapeutic waters I was enjoying wouldn’t be accessible without contractions between rock and steam, linked to past volcanic activity and a fault zone.

Most say that Calistoga wouldn’t be what it is today without Brannan commercializing the area’s most prized natural resource—mineral-rich water originating 4,000 feet below the earth’s surface near one of the world’s largest geothermal fields. Indian Springs Resort, which Brannan founded in 1862, has four geysers on its 17 acres. There’s a large one that releases steam behind the Olympic-size pool, and watching it mesmerized me while I floated the next morning away.

I fueled up on poke at the poolside grill and bar, The Chaise Lounge, and maintained my elevated internal temperature by sitting next to the large fire. With a full belly and an Aperol spritz, I was back in the pool until late in the day.

The resort’s spa utilizes water from the geysers and volcanic ash mined on-site in many of its treatments. I was intrigued by the Himalayan Salt Therapy Room, which is purported to help with respiratory conditions, and the Binaural Beats Therapy that delivers synchronized sound therapy and is said to aid sleep and harmony. Anyone booked for a treatment can experience the Buddha Pond, a refuge with palm trees and greenery surrounding the geyser-fed pond.

Other hotels that tap into local geysers include Dr. Wilkinson’s Backyard Resort and Mineral Springs, Calistoga Motor Lodge and Spa and Roman Spa Hot Springs Resort. Each property has its own retro vibe and exemplifies the laid-back Calistoga mineral pool experience.

Dine & Drink Downtown

Several decades of architecture are on view within six blocks of downtown along and around Lincoln Avenue. From the post-Gold Rush era Mission-style buildings to ornate Victorian structures and stately Neo-Classical commercial buildings, walking around offered me a lesson in California history.

Housed in many of these historic buildings are restaurants, wine tasting rooms and breweries. Dining and drinking options include Evangeline, Bricco Osteria and Calistoga Brewery. Sam’s Social Club, part of Indian Springs Resort, has a lively outdoor scene and an eclectic menu. Head to the Four Seasons Resort and Residences Napa Valley for amazing views of the surrounding vineyards. Top Chef alum and rising star Rogelio Garcia helms the property’s Michelin-star restaurant, Auro. If you can’t snag a reservation there, you’ll still be well fed at the property’s all-day restaurant, Truss. Pop into Calistoga Roastery or Sam’s General Store for morning coffee and a pastry.

I couldn’t leave without tasting some legendary Napa Valley wine and there are several in-town tasting rooms, each with its own flair. Maria Concetto Winery is known for RobinoVino, the robotic sommelier that assists with your tasting experiences. But the wine doesn’t need gimmicks. Owner Maria Reznikova is sourcing impeccable grapes and employs veteran winemakers like Patrick Saboe to craft delicious pinots and sparklings.

For an old-world experience, Romeo Vineyards’ tasting room is located at one of Calistoga’s oldest buildings—an 1880s-era carriage house. Tastings take place outdoors surrounded by greenery and roses. Other noteworthy tasting rooms include Picayune Vineyards, Calistoga Depot and Tank Garage Winery. Whether sipping or splashing, you’re sure to leave Calistoga feeling renewed.

Wine Country Winter 

The Christmas season is a special time in Calistoga. The downtown district gets into the spirit with its annual Lighted Tractor Parade the first weekend of December, plus a Christmas Faire and post-parade celebration in Pioneer Park. If you can’t make it out for the parade, celebrate the season with wine. Visit Calistoga hosts Winter in the Wineries Passport every year from early December through the first week of February. For $75, it covers free tastings at over two dozen Calistoga-area wineries and offers discounts at resorts and retailers.

take the plunge – visitcalistoga.com

Perfect Shot: Ice Caps

On a chilly day, photographer friends Robb Most and Bob Siegel were hiking on the Brook Trail in Pescadero Creek Park. Robb was captivated by a plucky little patch of mushrooms poking up from the trailside weeds and glittering with ice crystals. Using a tripod, he used his camera’s “focus shift” to achieve depth of field by taking many shots, each with a different focus, and then combined the images using software.

Calling all Shutterbugs: If you’ve captured a unique perspective of the Peninsula, we’d love to see your Perfect Shot. Email us at hello@punchmonthly.com to be considered for publication.

Pursuit of Beauty

Words by Andrea Gemmet

If you ask Alisa Eagleston-Cieslewicz to name her favorite painting at The Foster Museum in Palo Alto, there’s no hesitation. It’s Fall Colour, part of British artist Tony Foster’s series of watercolor works called Exploring Beauty. “I love how it captures the beautiful colors of fall. I think that autumn trees are exceptionally beautiful,” she says. When the California native was earning a master’s degree in art history at New York University, she was stunned by the sheer magnitude of the East Coast’s fall display. “One of my favorite things about living in New York was how Central Park became this amazing wash of different reds and oranges and yellows.”

The vibrant landscape, like many of Tony’s plein air watercolor paintings, includes a bit of bonus material at the bottom—in this case a color-coded row of detailed paintings of different leaves. “I think Tony captures that variety of color and the intensity of it so well,” says Alisa, who admits to being “one of those people” who love autumn. “I also really love the individual leaves at the bottom of the work, because I think the larger landscape at the top … captures the overall feel of the season and of the color. But those individual leaves show you the building blocks for that overall impression.”

Alisa, the new executive director of The Foster, has been drawn to art since she was a precocious preschooler fascinated by the expressive works of the Rodin Sculpture Garden at Stanford University. Alisa traces her career path back to Stanford’s Cantor Art Center, which she often explored with her alumni parents. Later, as a Stanford undergraduate, Alisa joined the museum crew and helped maintain that same collection of Rodin statues.

Fast-forward to internships at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and the De Young Museum in San Francisco, a contract job with the SF Fine Arts Museums, an MBA from UC Berkeley. Most recently, Alisa served as the acting director of the SFO Museum, where she held various roles for 16 years, before landing at The Foster in October.

The peaceful vibe of The Foster Museum couldn’t be more different from San Francisco International, which has the nation’s only accredited museum in an airport. There, the luggage-toting visitors are more likely to be rushing past the museum exhibits than to pause in quiet reflection while waiting for their planes. From weather delays to construction work, “something is always happening at the airport,” Alisa laughs. The Foster, a large, vine-covered building incongruously located off of busy San Antonio Road, is an oasis of contemplative calm by comparison.

Solely dedicated to the work of Tony Foster, the eponymous museum houses a beautifully displayed collection of his watercolor landscapes that celebrate some of earth’s most wild, beautiful—and usually hard-to-reach—locations. Tony documents his artistic journeys, some taking years to complete, in a series of paintings large and small, accompanied by handwritten journal entries, sketches made in the field and small “souvenirs” (like dried leaves, shells, rocks) from the site.

The Foster Museum boasts a broad overview of Tony’s artistic output, called “Journeys,” from his first one in 1982, following Robert Louis Stevenson’s 1879 path through France, called Travels without a Donkey in the Cévennes. The collection includes Rainforest Diaries from Costa Rica and views of volcanoes with Ice and Fire in the 1990s to more recent journeys: Secret Sites in Idaho, Sacred Places in the American Southwest and the globe-spanning Exploring Beauty.

“I think one of the really wonderful things is that The Foster Museum has free admission. This is for everyone,” says Alisa. “It’s a resource for anybody who wants to come experience it, enjoy it, learn from it.” She walks through a gallery of works from the Exploring Beauty series and exclaims, “Oh, I have to show you the fish!” She explains that Tony solicited recommendations for the most beautiful places from notable scientists, explorers, writers and environmentalists. Sir David Attenborough’s chosen location sent Tony to a reef in the Cayman Islands.

An underwater photo shows the artist at work, suited up in scuba gear and sketching with pencils on a sheet of plastic instead of his usual sketchpad. While he normally makes his watercolors in situ, Tony relied on those waterproof sketches to recreate the multicolored wonderland of fish and corals he witnessed in a large-scale painting done on dry land. “That’s so challenging, because watercolors are obviously not going to work underwater,” Alisa notes.

At The Foster, Tony’s lovely pictures serve as an invitation for viewers to connect with nature and think about the need to protect these wonderful wild places. Opposite his luminous reef painting is a table set with coloring sheets on clipboards, a tray of seashells, colored pencils, a magnifying glass and laminated photos of sea creatures, an opportunity for young viewers to create underwater scenes of their own. Community outreach is a priority at The Foster, Alisa says, serving both its mission of environmental stewardship and acknowledging its out-of-the-way location.

Alisa has long been interested in conservation of a different kind. She started out as a conservator, with a vital behind-the-scenes role caring for objects in museum collections, doing everything from polishing antique silver to repainting damaged porcelain. Over the years, she’s worked on Greek and Roman antiquities and restored a damaged 1950s scale model of a United Airlines DC-8, fabricating replacements for a slew of missing hands, feet and accessories for the plane’s diminutive passengers and crew. She says conservators might spend an entire day up close and personal with a single object. “It allowed me to interact with artworks in a way I really love,” Alisa shares.

For someone with a conservation background, having ready access to the artist for questions about how to preserve their work is a boon. Not only is Tony transparent about his materials and methods—his palm-sized paint box, hiking boots and collection of paintbrushes are on display in The Foster—there’s no need to speculate when he’s just a phone call away. Alisa notes that a few of his paintings include marginalia, like an image of Chaco Canyon in New Mexico from Sacred Places. “These works are just so beautiful,” Alisa says, and then points out a series of small, quick brushstrokes outside the picture’s margins where Tony tested various colors in search of the right one.

It’s clear Alisa relishes being part of her hometown community, where she’s also the chair of Palo Alto’s Historic Resources Board. “It’s a really wonderful time to be coming to this museum because the museum is so new,” she says of The Foster, which opened in 2016. After a pandemic closure, it’s definitely starting to hit its stride, she adds. “Being from Palo Alto, it’s a very special thing to be able to be a part of an institution like this, that can really reach out to the community, and can serve as a place of education and as a gathering place.”

She notes the positive messages transmitted by Tony’s work: slowing down, taking a closer look at beautiful places around the world and cultivating the desire to preserve them. “I think those are really powerful concepts,” Alisa reflects, “and I’m really looking forward to helping people engage with them.”

The Foster Museum in Palo Alto hosts children’s story times, public lectures and events like nature journaling and art making. Go to thefoster.org for more information or a free reservation.

Diary of a Dog: Fallon

If you think that Jimmy Fallon is the friendliest late-night host, then I’m just like my namesake. Actually, I’m #jimmyfallon (it’s a long story), but I answer to Fallon and I firmly believe that every stranger is just a friend I haven’t met yet. I was the runt of a litter of ShiPorkis (Shi Tzu, poodle and Yorkshire terrier mix) when I was brought to the Stanford Faculty Club and adopted by Diane just before Christmas 2015. She says that my eyelashes go on for days and make women jealous. She used to fret about my “lack of boundaries” when meeting new people, but if everyone adores me, what is there to worry about? On Christmas Eve last year, I had an accident that left my hind legs paralyzed, but thanks to a great surgeon at UC Davis and intensive rehab at Scout’s House, I’m back on all four feet. I still wake up every day happy and ready to befriend anyone who will give me a scratch behind the ears in exchange for a little kiss. Diane wants me to take it easy, so she got a stroller for our longer daily walks around San Mateo. When I’m not hopping in and out, I sit like a captain on the prow of his ship, offering a friendly greeting to everyone we meet.

Calling All Dogs: If you've got quirky habits or a funny tale (or tail) to share, email your story to hello@punchmonthly.com for a chance to share a page from your Diary of a Dog in PUNCH.

Backyard Bounty

Words by Andrea Gemmet

After Denise Shackleton replaced the magnolia trees along her front fence with persimmons, she was surprised by how enthusiastic her neighbors and friends were about the transformed landscape. “When they ripen, I’m everybody’s best friend,” Denise laughs.

By the time she reinvented her front yard as an edible garden, Denise had long dreamed of being able to grow her own produce. Now, it doesn’t faze her when people stop by to ask if she needs help picking all those firm-fleshed Fuyu persimmons or wants someone to take them off her hands. Thanks to her garden’s designer and her own prowess in the kitchen, Denise is well-equipped to handle the harvest. She dries slices of the fruit to enjoy all year, makes a persimmon-habanero jam to spoon over cream cheese and she still has plenty of fruit to share. “I’m a big fan of Fuyus,” she admits.

Denise and her husband Woody moved to Atherton in 2006 after raising their children in the Belmont hills, where her gardening aspirations never really came to fruition. “I thought you could grow anything in California, but that’s not the case,” she says of her old home. But just a little farther south down the Peninsula, it’s a different story. “We moved 10 miles and got a 15-degree difference in weather,” Denise says. In Atherton, it was possible to raise fruits and vegetables, just like she’d enjoyed on her grandparents’ farm in Northern California. Then, at a home and garden show in San Mateo, she discovered landscape designer Leslie Bennett, whose display artfully incorporated edible plants. Denise knew she’d found the perfect partner.

Leslie is the visionary behind Pine House Edible Gardens, which not only specializes in creating gardens that are fruitful as well as beautiful, but also offers ongoing gardening and harvesting services to keep clients’ landscapes flourishing in every season. Denise brought in Leslie to reimagine first one corner of her yard, and then another, and still another.

Off and on for over 10 years, the stately home’s grounds evolved into a series of garden vignettes that are as delicious as they are decorative.
On a sunny day in October, when the cool breeze signals the shift from summer to fall, Denise’s inviting front yard is bursting with color and texture. It’s only when you look a little closer that the garden reveals its secrets. Tucked behind an heirloom wine press, a tempting array of vegetables beckons from raised planters: plump tomatoes, deep green padron peppers, floppy yellow zucchini blossoms, glossy eggplants. Denise steps past the tall serrated fronds of an artichoke and ruddy stalks of rhubarb, and skirts the two beehives, explaining that they’re still abuzz from the beekeeper’s visit the day before.

Graceful trees hide figs and bumpy green avocados among their leaves, while a stately row of pomegranate trees flanks the swimming pool. Chinotto sour orange blossoms perfume the air, and patches of herbs and lacy alyssum attract pollinators. Leslie describes her style as “plant-heavy, layered and lush,” and delights in designing gardens that have a soft, romantic feel. “A big part of my work is growing food and flowers for harvest, creating beautiful spaces and creating gardens that are meaningful, that reflect your family story, your heritage and culture,” Leslie says. Denise wanted a tangible way to share the cultural traditions she’d learned from her Italian immigrant grandparents and pass them down to her grandkids. “That has been really inspiring as a design mission for the property,” Leslie shares. “I love the idea that gardens can be spaces where we can literally grow our family stories.”

“I wanted to see Denise’s grandchildren frolicking through there, picking fresh figs—that was her dream—and I think it’s come to be a reality,” says Leslie. “She’s had a lot of pure enjoyment from the garden. Those grandkids know every fruit tree, when they’re ripe, their seasons, and they know where their food comes from. That’s so awesome.”

Walk out the back door and you’ll see a gracious, spacious backyard, pleasing to the eye and perfect for family gatherings— including the wedding of Denise and Woody’s son in 2022. Dig a little deeper, and you’ll find every corner is cleverly used to its best advantage: heat-loving tomato varieties line the fence along the tennis court, which absorbs sunshine and reflects warmth. A cutting garden of lanky flowers is half-hidden by glossy fig trees. A narrow gravel path between two planting beds is lined with arching trellises that support cheerful cherry tomatoes in summer. Every fall, a crew from Pine House replaces the tomato, pepper, cucumber and basil plants with winter vegetables like beets, broccoli and Swiss chard.

Every two years, Denise has Pine House do a “freshen up” to replace any plants that are past their prime. “They’re so on top of stuff, they know all the new plants and new styles,” she says admiringly. Every other week during peak season, the crew comes out to do a heavy harvest, which keeps the plants producing. Denise finds ways to use or preserve it all—she is the kind of person who cannot stand to see food go to waste. “I do a lot of canning and dehydrating,” she says, and her artwork decorates the labels of her canning jars. Leslie has been the recipient of everything from fried zucchini blossoms to Denise’s “excellent” jams.

While Woody wasn’t terribly interested in their home’s edible garden at first, his appreciation has blossomed. Denise recalls her husband being wowed by the intense flavor of the first tomato they harvested, so unlike anything from a grocery store. “He said, ‘Oh my God, that’s the best tomato I’ve ever tasted!’” she laughs. “I said, ‘It’s also the most expensive!’”

Early Starts
Here are landscape designer Leslie Bennett’s top picks to plant in Peninsula gardens this winter: 
+ Striped fig: Also called a panache or tiger fig. “It’s a small, pretty garden tree, and the fruit is super delicious.”
+ Meyer lemon: A hardworking evergreen that thrives in large pots as well as in the ground, and produces fruit year-round. “We’re in California, everyone should have one.” 
+ Roses: Instead of a formal rose garden, sprinkle them throughout your landscaping. “There aren’t many other flowers that have such a big bloom with such a long bloom season.” Leslie sources unusual varieties from Regan Nursery in Fremont. 
+ Aeonium canariense: A great border-edging plant, this evergreen and cold-hardy succulent thrives on the Peninsula. “It adds a young, cool, updated look to the garden.”
+ Leucadendron ‘Ebony’: This hardy, winter-blooming plant has dark burgundy leaves that appear almost black. “It’s beautiful in all seasons, and it’s dark, so it makes a great contrast in the landscape.”

The Shackletons’ yard is featured in Garden Wonderland, Leslie Bennett (pictured above) and Julie Chai’s 2024 book, published by Ten Speed Press. pinehouseediblegardens.com

Essay: Teddy’s Big Hit

Words by Sloane Citron

The Citron family group text was rife with stories of the T-Ball heroics of one of our youngest members, Theodore Solomon Leonard, or Teddy. Home runs of unimaginable distances, T-Ball coaches telling their players to “back up, back up” and parents beaming with pride.

Since he lives a bit of distance from me, getting to one of his games was not as easy as with my other grandkids. It had to be planned. My daughter told me that Teddy’s last game was scheduled for a Sunday in mid-November, and I put it, underlined twice, into my appointment book.

In the meantime, I was undergoing a procedure on my kidneys and was waiting patiently for the doctor to tell me when he was going to operate. Kidney stones run in our family, with one daughter and one son both needing surgery to deal with them.

Over the past few years, I’ve noticed intermittent kidney pain, a slight dull ache in my lower sides and back. But I didn’t bother with it. At my physical this year, they found some “invisible” blood in my urine. After some other testing, a CAT scan showed two large stones, a 12-centimeter one in my left kidney and a 11-centimeter one in the right kidney.

My doctor told me that if it were him, he would get them removed to avoid the problems of stones that size trying to leave my body. I went with that.

After I awoke from my operation, my doctor told me that, unfortunately, my left ureter was twisted and that while they were able to successfully remove the other stone, they had to put in a stent to straighten the tube to allow the instruments to go up into my kidney. The next surgery would be several weeks out. Frankly, the horribleness of those weeks with two stents (one was in there for the other kidney, which normally would have come out after a few days) was something I would not opt to go through again.

Finally, the clinic called and said my surgery date was on a Thursday, just two days before Teddy’s last game. I decided to just go with the flow, and I kept my airline reservation for Friday morning. I got up the next morning after the surgery and Ubered to the airport, determined to watch Teddy play ball. I made it just fine.

Finally, it was time for the last game and Teddy was ready to swing. The location was magnificent, with permanent T-Ball and coach-pitch fields, and real fences in the outfield, not that temporary stuff. Teddy’s team took the field first and then batted in the bottom of the inning. Up seventh (everyone bats) Teddy geared up and smashed a line drive that settled at the bottom of the left field fence. No home run but a great swing that cleared the bases.

The next inning, Teddy approached the plate with the goal of knocking it out of the park. Opposing coaches yelled, “Get back! Get back! He can hit it!” This alone filled me with pride. Teddy again punished the ball, but it landed at the bottom of the right field fence without going over. A minute later, the game was over. “What?” I said. “Only two innings?”

Yes, that was it, two innings and done. Teddy looked a bit dejected, but he has a good attitude, and no one said a word except “Great game!” and “Great hitting!” Of course, we didn’t care if he hit a home run or not. But after everyone had left, Teddy’s dad asked his boy if he wanted to practice hitting some balls. So, Teddy got up and crushed a few balls, again with none going over the fence.

Finally, on the last ball, Teddy smashed it high and far. All eyes were on that ball. It flew into the blue sky, and we were all urging it on. Would it make it? We held our breath, waiting. Finally, the ball started descending and landed about four feet short of the fence but then (!) bounced over. Technically, it was a ground rule double and it wasn’t even hit in an actual game. But it made no difference.

“Home run! Home run!” Teddy screamed as he went around the bases. We cheered. “I hit it out for you, Saba!” he called to me. Hand in hand, we crowded back to the car, happy faces filled with pride, and headed straight to the local ice cream shop to celebrate.

Essay: Amarillo by Evening

Words by Sloane Citron

Each year, I go to my hometown of Amarillo, Texas, so that I can see regular life in these United States. On my recent trip, gas was $2.79 per gallon, and if you signed up for the gas card you could get it down to $2.59. There’s a start for you.

I flew into Denver to spend the night at my brother Dan’s (he is a doctor there). Next morning, we got up early and started our road trip south, driving through Colorado Springs with the Rockies as the backdrop, then into New Mexico with its Southwest pines and rough terrain, before the final stretch into Big A. It’s an easy seven hours with a couple of stops to use the bathroom and get some bad food. We bring CDs but mostly keep the sound off so we can talk—that’s the true beauty of being on the road together.

We have a dear, lifelong family friend, Trudy Klingensmith, who has a simple, ramshackle cabin that her parents built 70 years ago in the Palo Duro Club, just south of Amarillo. The views change throughout the day but are always captivating. The club is in an offshoot of the Palo Duro Canyon, the second largest canyon in the United States, spectacular to traverse and fascinating to read about. You probably haven’t heard of it, but it’s worth the trip.

We sit on Trudy’s large porch overlooking a gently flowing creek, high above golden fields with hills beyond. We watch for green herons, turkey vultures and assorted ducks. We walk along dusty roads hunting for arrowheads and fire-cracked rocks from the Comanches and Cheyenne who roamed this canyon for thousands of years. Life takes on its own flavor here, wonderfully free from the world’s distractions.

I take a break from the cabin and spend a day with one of my oldest, dearest friends, Mike, who stayed in Amarillo to run the printing company his parents established. Mike has the beginnings of early dementia, and I wanted to reassure him that I was there for him. We always play golf, both having grown up with the sport. In Amarillo, it’s easy to belong to a country club and Mike still does.

For many years, we had been playing the “new course” at Tascosa Country Club since it’s easier to get a starting time there than at the old course. But what I really wanted was to play the original course, the one that I had played hundreds of times since I was about five years old. This time we got lucky: the night before it had rained heavily, and it was overcast when we showed up the next morning. I pleaded my case to the starter (my father was one of the original founders of the club since Amarillo Country Club did not allow Catholics, Jews or Blacks) and he got us right on.

Mike might be forgetting some names and thoughts, but he is all there on the fairways. As I like to do, we played scramble golf where we work as a team rather than against each other. The course, while still mostly as I had recalled it, had been changed.

They cut down about half the trees and made the course easier. And the fairways and greens were in much better shape than I remembered. The most significant thing was that there were now homes lining every hole, displacing the challenging rough that was once was filled with yucca plants, rocks and foot-high tumbleweeds. I felt as if I was playing down a street of some new suburban home development.

We played well, Mike outdriving me down the middle of the fairways on most holes and I putting it on the green in regulation. My putter (borrowed, of course) was on fire and I made about six putts over 15 feet. Together, we played a solid round.

After we played, we headed to the club’s fine restaurant and sat down for conversation and food. We have lots to say to each other, though much goes unsaid because neither of us are big talkers. But being side by side, like we have been since about 1968, was all that mattered. I love the guy.

Mike kept telling me how important it was that we spend the day together since he’s not been getting out with friends as often. But he’s still at it: he’s helping run the ranch he and his wife own; still doing his part at the shop; and still buying old cars (barn finds) that he encounters. He’s moving straight forward, though with changes looming.

The next day, Dan, Trudy and I enjoyed some spectacular views from the porch, with wonderful conversations about all our old Amarillo friends. (“Now didn’t his son go to UT? I believe he’s a vet in Dallas now.”) The next day, reluctantly, Dan and I packed it up and drove to Denver, back into the reality of our worlds.

Amarillo is important to me. It’s a unique, somewhat beautiful small city of 200,000 where everyone seems to be connected. I like tracing my childhood life while I am there, by way of my old schools, homes and people. There is a continuity in my old hometown. But, of course, nothing stays the same.

The golf course is changing. Mike’s changing. I’m changing. Together.

Essay: Brightly Burning

Words by Sloane Citron

Growing up in Amarillo, Texas, my family’s Hanukkah celebrations were subdued and uneventful. We would light the candles without much fanfare, and I was given one gift from my grandmother and one from my parents. Usually, my grandmother gave me something of substance, like a bicycle or a musical instrument. She was always good for something up to $75, which would be a large number in today’s money. She was a generous woman, not just with her family but with everyone, and I learned from her.

When I had my own family of four children, I felt compelled to give them the full treatment. There are several prayers and songs that accompany the lighting of the eight candles (one candle the first night leading to eight on the last night), so doing the liturgy and songs every night is the best way for children to learn them.

Besides the poetic experience of lighting the candles, I felt compelled to provide plenty of materialistic things for my children. In what would seem an effort to make up for the muted holidays of my youth, I decided to shower my kids with delight. So, I took on the responsibility of finding eight presents for each child, a total of 32 gifts.

On the face of it, this seems like a ridiculous idea. But I was committed and so I set about doing the best job that I possibly could—these were my kids after all.

The first step was to get each of them things I knew that they wanted, from a telescope to a party dress to flying lessons. Each child was unique with very different interests and desires. Finding four such presents made a good start.

But that hardly covered the goal of getting them each eight gifts. I would wander the aisles of Target and the stores at Stanford Shopping Center looking for presents I thought they might like. I would usually find a few choice things this way, narrowing down the number left to find.

Some of the gifts were truly small gestures, though not quite as bad as giving them an orange, like in days past. I would go to local bookstores and buy up a dozen books, maybe head over to Big 5 for some baseballs or hats or sunglasses. Eventually, the job got done.

Each night of Hanukkah we would summon all the kids (and often their friends) into our kitchen. We would gather around the large island where we had placed all of our Hanukkiahs (eight-branched menorahs), a collection that continually grew as we found new ones that we liked. We would place tin foil below each of them to keep the wax from spilling all over the granite surface. Then we would turn off all the lights and, in the darkness, we would find the magic of the holiday.

As the prayers and songs were recited, we slowly lit the candle the first night, adding one more each night. By the fourth day, the Hanukkiahs shone brightly, and the room was filled with the flickering light of the candles. It was wondrous to watch my children open their gifts each night, the quiet light illuminating their efforts to unwrap them.

A book didn’t get the same response as a new baseball glove, but the kids were always grateful and happy. After the gifts were opened and the wrapping paper lay strewn across our kitchen floor, we would have a delicious family dinner with latkes, applesauce and sour cream. After the meal, the kids would play dreidel with golden foil-covered chocolate coins.

Today, life is different. My children now have children of their own, blossoming into a group of 14, with more little ones expected to join our tribe in 2025. And, of course, these grown-up kids have their own homes and are eager to celebrate Hanukkah there, diligently teaching their children the prayers and songs we taught them.

There is no way to get them all eight gifts each, since that would be 112 presents. I think I’d need to hire an assistant for that chore. Instead, I do my best to find one gift for each of them.

We all get together in our family home for at least one of the nights, and it is a true joy to see the new additions singing the prayers and songs with a gusto that I certainly didn’t have at that age. And, with the lights out and the room dark, there’s happiness in my heart as I watch them, just as I had watched their parents, open their gifts against the dim light of the briskly burning candles.

Happy Christmas and Hanukkah to you and your family.

Essay: Three Days of Adventure

Words by Sloane Citron

I’ve learned to grab any chance at family, memories and happiness. So when my son Josh and his wife Adara asked if I could possibly pick up my grandson, Evan, from golf camp and entertain him for a few days, I jumped at the opportunity.

At five years old, Evan is the eldest of my seven grandchildren and we’re good pals. Like all the other kids, he calls me Saba, Hebrew for grandfather.
Evan had golf camp every day for a week, starting at 8:30 in the morning and ending at 12:30. My job for three consecutive days was to pick him up, feed him lunch, entertain him and get him home safely by 5:30. My little guy loves golf and for a five-year-old, he’s pretty good. Josh and I take him to play—either at the driving range or on a course—and he hangs in there.

On our first day, I picked him up at 12:30 sharp. With no real plan in mind, we headed over the hill straight for Half Moon Bay’s Main Street. We landed at Johnny’s, a friendly local restaurant, where we got egg salad sandwiches and fries. Always fries.

We wandered along the street and went into some interesting shops. In one of them, Evan found small ceramic turtles that he pined for, but I wrangled him out of the shop while promising him that I’d consider coming back for them.

Then we headed to the Pillar Point Harbor, where we wandered down the pier. Though the fishing boats were done for the day, we still meandered about, and I explained to Evan about the anchors, nets, cages and other stuff generally found on these boats. We also caught sight of several seals, and, of course, Evan wanted to feed them.

We ran into a grizzly old fisherman with unkempt hair carrying a 12-pack of beer and I stopped him. The three of us had a good conversation about the world of commercial fishing. I tried to insinuate that we would like to see his boat, but no invitation was forthcoming. I kicked myself afterward for not asking him directly, because I think he would have said yes.

Afterward, we returned to downtown Half Moon Bay to buy the small ceramic turtles that Evan had coveted (also, he insisted, for his sister Mara). It’s hard for me to say no to his sweet requests. After that, I returned him home and got back to my house, a bit worn out from our full afternoon.

The next day, we decided to have lunch at the golf course restaurant, a somewhat run-down place that has seen better times. Evan had his favorite rice with teriyaki sauce. Afterward, we headed south for 30 minutes to Hidden Villa to see what we could see. We wandered through the ramshackle place, petting goats and sheep and trying to catch lizards. We had great fun and Evan sat down on one of the benches to share some of his favorite riddles.

When he tells them with his lisp (as I, “Thloane Thitron,” once had), he’s just so darn cute. The best one was, “What is wobbly and in the sky?” I asked Evan for the answer. He quietly said, “A jellycopter” and we both laughed. He kept telling jokes until he had run out and started making up ones that made no sense. Finally, it was time to head for home, another wonderful adventure down.

Friday was our last day. Despite my efforts to convince him otherwise, he wanted to have lunch again at the golf course restaurant. We ordered a repeat of the day before, but the waitress came out and told us they were out of rice. It’s that kind of place. In exchange, the cook said that he would serve us scrambled eggs, hashbrowns and toast, which I had tried to order the day before but was refused since it was after noon. Evan is a good eater and never needs cajoling into finishing a meal. But he is not quick, so we were there a good hour while my little grandson finished off his entire plate.

From there we headed up north, following a route that only Waze could create, to the Fitzgerald Marine Preserve. Though I knew it was the wrong time to visit because the tide would be high, we still had a great time. We played in the small streams, jumped rocks, looked at far-off seals and studied shells. Evan is cautious but did great at navigating the rocks in the streams of water. “Saba, slow and steady wins the race,” he told me more than once.

We saw hiking trails, so we headed up into the forested area next to the tidepools. It was inspiring being within the canopy of the large, beautiful trees. With no one else there, it was our magic forest, and Evan kept exclaiming, “Saba, this is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been.” And he might have been correct.

My three afternoons with Evan were a singular treat, adventures that we’ll remember. And they solidly met my criteria of family, memories and happiness. When I dropped Evan off after the last of our three days of hanging out, neither of us wanted it to end. Evan kept saying, “Saba, don’t leave.” But with a heart filled with joy, I climbed into my car, knowing our next playdate was just around the corner.

Essay: Rough, Ruff

Words by Sloane Citron

One of my favorite memories was of my family dog. I’ve written before about Tamby (the Lord of Timberline was his self-important AKC name), a mostly black, medium-sized German Shepherd with a fast gait and a never-ending desire to run and pursue. A loving, friendly dog, he was known for chasing cars down the street for several blocks, nipping at the tires until, finally, worn out, he would limp back home and lie down next to us, panting loudly, his long tongue hanging from his mouth.

During the summers while I was growing up in Amarillo, I made the four-hour trip to Chandler, Oklahoma, where I was a regular at Chandler Baseball Camp. Under the dusty, blazing-hot sky, we played ball for eight hours a day. We focused on baseball and baseball only—hitting drills, bunting practices, running the bases. To a boy like me, crazy about baseball, it was heaven on earth. Though I didn’t realize it at the time, one of the best parts of camp was its complete divorce from the rest of my life.

In the summer after sixth grade, my father drove me to camp as usual, and I entrusted Tamby to him, since there was no one else at home. A month later, after another wonderful summer playing ball, while on the last leg of our return trip home, my Dad said that he had something to tell me. The story he shared was that Tamby had bitten a neighbor child—on our front lawn where he had no business being—when the boy brought his dog over and the two dogs got into a fight.

The boy’s family was going to sue us and to settle the situation, Tamby had been sent to live with a “wonderful family on a big ranch not far from Amarillo,” my Dad told me. I had tears in my eyes but didn’t say a word. I had become accustomed to loss. My brother and sister had gone away to prep school and college (I was the youngest by five years) and my mother had moved away to further her career as a concert violinist. The loss of Tamby was just one more slice of sadness in my young life.

I never asked any questions of my father and never discussed the incident or Tamby’s well-being with anyone. I think I was afraid of learning something worse than the story I’d been told.

Recently, I was in Chicago visiting with my sister Shelley and my brother Dan. We meet regularly just to be together, catch up and share some new adventures. My sister lives in the heart of the city in a beautiful condominium overlooking Lake Michigan.

Chicago is my favorite big city. Despite all the negative press, it’s simply a wonderful place. The streets are immaculate; there are beautifully landscaped planters on every block; the people are friendly and helpful. Not to mention that there are countless places to discover. Though I go there at least once a year, there’s always more to see and do.

Of course, Shelley, Dan and I talk endlessly about current events, our families and our long history together. We remember the people we grew up with, our neighbors, and the family and friends we have lost. Often, we’ll crack open an old photo album and look at ourselves as children. That always gets a smile touched with feelings of loss. I love hearing their memories of our childhood, since much of it happened before I was really on the scene.

Toward the end of our last visit, we talked about our family cat, Tiger. When I was just an infant, Dan found a cat in the alley that ran behind our home, a young tabby with a sweet meow and a friendly, affectionate nature. My brother brought him home and talked our parents into keeping him. My brother, sister and I discussed the small, quiet cat, and the recollections we each had of him.

I thought about asking Shelley and Dan about Tamby, about the story that our father had told me, that after the biting incident he was taken to a large cattle ranch to join a wonderful family. But then, I thought better. I didn’t want to disturb the truth that I had held onto my entire life, of our dog out there on that ranch, happy and content. I wanted to forever imagine him running along the Texas plains, racing after a ranch truck, nipping at its tires and never giving up the chase.

Essay: Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Awhile back, my daughter Tali suggested that she and I should do something together, just the two of us. We couldn’t remember the last time we had done such a thing, giving greater resonance to the idea.

Tali is the third of my four children and has always lived at home in Menlo Park or nearby (her family now lives in San Carlos, which they have come to love) and our lives are very much intertwined. She married her high school sweetheart, Sam (also from Menlo Park), works as an excellent real estate agent and is the caring mother of three small children (5, 4 and 2) who are always on the go. She’s a busy woman, as you can imagine. My daughter has a spunky nature, always laughing, joking and happy. She’s youthful-looking, and many do a double-take when they learn her age.

When Tali was a small girl, I wrote an essay about how she reminded me of my long-gone grandmother, Beulah. That glimmer in her eye and her sweet smile still make me recall my grandmother, with whom I had a loving, special relationship. When I’m with Tali, I often think of the sweet, old woman who taught me to play cribbage.

Tali found a concert for us at the spectacular Mountain Winery in Saratoga, and so we secured tickets and put it on the calendar, which happened to be on the Saturday before Father’s Day. While I’m a bit underwhelmed by holidays celebrating me, I did like the idea that we would enjoy the evening together before the day.

I’m an anxious guy when it comes to getting to events—or anything—on time, so I was a bit concerned when Tali told me that her family would be at a birthday party until late afternoon and that she could be home and ready to leave at 6:30 for the 7:30 show. I arrived early and as soon as she pulled up, she jumped in my car, and we headed off to Saratoga.

If you haven’t attended a show at the Mountain Winery, you’re missing out. I’ve gone to dozens of shows there and it’s my favorite venue for seeing a live act. It’s up on a luscious green mountain surrounded by vineyards, and the setting is simply dazzling. You can see for miles. It’s perfectly laid out, intimate and unique, with the original winery building from 1852 serving as the backdrop for the stage.

Tali and I made quick work of the trip there and, even though we were later than most arrivals, were fortunately given a close-in parking space. Outside of the seating area, they offer a variety of delicious dinner options and after promptly receiving our food, we sat down in the patio to enjoy our meals.
We were just finishing our last bites (in between chatting with different people we knew) when we heard “She Loves You,” the iconic Beatles’ song.

This was not a recording but what we had come to see: The Fab Four, perhaps the preeminent Beatles cover band. We finished up and found our seats, which were in a great spot with a clear view of the stage.

The first half of the show featured the band’s early songs, and we fought the urge to get up and dance. We didn’t want to block the people behind us, so we just sang the songs together and rocked in our seats. To her credit, Tali knew them all. She did, as she reminded me, grow up in my home, where ‘60s music was always playing as we swam, barbecued and played sports in our backyard.

The night was brisk, but soon the band encouraged everyone to stand, and we moved to the familiar music, the quality and poetry of which has not diminished after 60 years. That warmed us up and got our energy flowing. It was a happy, lively evening, the stars shining above us.

Since Tali’s normal wake-up time is 2AM, 4AM and then up for good around 5AM, we didn’t want to get stuck in the traffic going down the mountain, so when we felt like The Fab Four was closing in on its finale, we dashed out to beat the crowd. Thirty minutes later, I was depositing my sweet girl at her home, the lights still on, waiting for mom to come back.

It was a perfect night with a perfect daughter. We had a splendid time together, reminiscing, joking, laughing and singing our hearts out to the songs of the ages. “Dad,” Tali said after giving me a hug and a kiss when she was about to get out of my car, “We’ve got to make this an annual thing.” And so, we will. I teared up a bit on my solo drive home, nostalgic for my life when my children were small, but feeling blessed that they all still like to hang with their dad.

Essay: Pretty, Pretty Good Friends

Words by Sloane Citron

I’m a grandfather to seven young kids, so you might assume that I have learned what I will learn, know who I know and am done building friendships. But you’d be wrong.

While my brother, Dan, and my sons, Josh and Coby, are my truly devoted friends, and I have five other close friendships that stretch back 30-plus years, something fascinating has happened. I call it the Larry David syndrome—being comfortable enough in your own skin to talk openly and honestly without caring too much about what others think.

I have found that speaking genuinely and openly is liberating. I find myself speaking my mind when I’m out and about in daily life, whether at a car repair shop that did shoddy work or with the vendor at the Giants game who offered a smile. Whether a confrontational situation or a pleasant encounter, I work hard to interact in a direct and thoughtful way with anyone I encounter. But I find that I no longer fear frank confrontation, something I could never say about my younger self.

These days, my close friends and I are able to talk about all the crap in our lives with impunity. Instead of having to prove ourselves (as we used to), we are now competing to see who has the most nonsense and annoyances in their lives. It’s a race to the bottom.

I will say, especially in these polarizing times, that most of my friends and I share the same background and political opinions, though not all do. One of my newest friends, with whom I could talk for hours, is a rather pious Catholic and on the moderate side of the opposing party. We end up agreeing on most things and we never argue. I like hearing his views and learning from them. We are a metaphor for what government should be like.

I have one friend whom I’ve known for decades. In those many years spent at dinners and events, I don’t think we ever met without our wives being present. Since he leads a more outgoing life and is involved in so many things, I always felt that he wouldn’t want to have a meal just with me. His sweet wife once causally suggested, as we were leaving their home, that her husband and I should have lunch, so we did. And we had a great time. I discovered that though he is this amazing guy, he puts up with as much nonsense in life as the rest of us. Sharing our intimate details was cathartic for us both and now we regularly get together.

In another instance, an old client of mine, with whom I share many opinions and experiences, suggested we go have lunch on his large, beautiful boat in Redwood City’s incredible new Westpoint Harbor. Outside of an office setting, sitting on the shining wooden dock, we discovered the basis of true friendship. We talked from our souls with no encumbrances. Again, it’s the Larry David effect.

With some of my oldest friends, I have found the same. They know I trust them, and they trust me. Plus, none of us cares if we are called out on something. We all have been successful, the kids are grown, and the dog has passed, so we have the joyful freedom of seeing it as we see it.

Just recently, someone I knew moderately well at my prep school, Andover, reached out and we discovered that our lives are very much in sync. Though he is now a rather famous director, and our lives took somewhat different paths, right now, we are bonding in a great way. He is working on the same projects as I am, and our lives are dedicated to furthering those aims.

There is the cliché that “a friend is someone you can tell everything to and they still like you.” It’s great to sit with one of these friends and say whatever is on our minds. We find that the more we open up, the more in depth we go, the more we end up talking about intimate things that I thought I’d never share with anyone. By doing so, we connect in meaningful ways that is certainly good for our mental health.

Developing deep friendships at this point in life is liberating and invigorating. One thing that I have learned, whether on these pages as an essayist, in the public or talking with my friends, is the importance of being earnest and vulnerable—telling it like is, and not caring what people think.

It’s all thanks to my inner Larry David.

Essay: Our Sycamore

Words by Sloane Citron

When we started PUNCH some six years ago, the first task on my list was finding office space. We didn’t need much room, but it needed to feel bright and cheerful and be in Menlo Park, since that’s where I live. Hunting for office space—and with it, the overall thrill of a new launch—is invigorating.

I’ve had an office in Menlo Park since 1993, so I know the town well. I’m acquainted with its buildings, alleyways and office complexes. I decided that it made sense to roam the city, so I walked the downtown streets and when something looked interesting, I went inside and checked it out. By walking the halls and talking to tenants, I could get a good idea if I might be interested.

I’m picky about my office since that’s where I spend a good third of my time. While I prefer more unique spaces, most of what is available is in typical office buildings. But each space has its nuances: brightness, lighting, layout and overall vibe. The bottom line is that I wanted a space that lifted us up as we walked through its doors and made us feel inspired and creative as we spent our days there.

If something seemed interesting, I made the effort to find out who was in charge and then I rang them up to see if there was a space available, the rate and when it might become vacant. Some had “For Lease” on the side of the building, but many small spaces and offices don’t post anything.

If my memory is correct, I believe I saw the office on Craigslist, despite my hours of wandering around the town.

At the small building on El Camino Real, I met the landlord, and we walked up to the second floor to the office, which was occupied by a fledgling tech startup. Between their mess and the white walls, dirty carpet and the somewhat tired building, I had my doubts. But the layout was perfect, with a larger room in front with a giant skylight and a separate secondary space with large windows looking out over the street.

What really sold me on the office was the wonderful sycamore tree just outside the windows. It brought nature and beauty into the rooms and gave it a unique and positive feel.

Though there was no elevator (ugh, since we always have boxes of magazines to move), there was a perfect niche for storing our issues. The price was right, the location perfect and there was plenty of potential, so I made an offer.

Once the old tenants were gone, we set about making it ours. I asked my designer daughter, Arielle Citron Leonard, what to do and she told me the colors to paint the walls and trim, which carpets to get and what the furniture should look like. In a matter of weeks, it was perfect.

But one of the defining aspects of our office is the tree, what I now think of as our tree. The sycamore is a result of the efforts of a local organization that worked tirelessly to plant them throughout Menlo Park’s El Camino corridor 20+ years ago. We delight in following our tree’s journey though the course of the year. In autumn, the leaves slowly drift away until, suddenly, it is bare. Then in spring, it gradually gains its greenery back until it is once again full.

For the past eight months, there has been a small dead branch that broke off and intertwined with another limb, arresting its descent. It’s dangling by what seems like the tiniest of twigs, in defiance of gravity. Time and the laws of nature will eventually cause it to fall, but every morning we gather to see if the small limb has finally dropped. As I write this, it’s still there.

While I have many issues with the city for ignoring our tired, sad downtown, I’m grateful for the tree. Without question, Menlo Park has the most attractive stretch of El Camino on the Peninsula, all due to the efforts of the “tree people” having the vision to know how these towering gems would make a difference in our lives.

Trees speak to us in a way that man can’t. They give us a sense of comfort and permanence. A sense of protection and endurance. And our solitary tree, brushing up against our office window, swaying with wind, always reliable, comforts us. And we wonder just when that small branch will finally yield to natural forces, as all things must, and flutter to the ground.

Essay: The Cabbin

Words by Sloane Citron

One of the great joys I had growing up in Amarillo was our family’s cabin in the “canyon,” which I’ve previously written about here. We’d pack up the Chrysler station wagon with our stuff and our big, black German Shepherd Tamby and head out. As a child, I thought the trip was a long one. Only later in life did I understand that it was only 30 minutes away. Still, its remote uniqueness from our suburban home always made it feel like an adventure.

The cabin came to be because several Amarillo doctors decided to build weekend homes in a beautiful small canyon, known always as simply the Canyon. Nestled within its walls was a small creek that ran through the middle, filled with belching bullfrogs and big, slimy catfish. At night, the sky was bright with stars and fireflies darted through the air.

While the other doctors constructed typical, basic cabins and rustic homes, my father, influenced by the time he spent in Japan as a surgeon during the Korean War, decided to build a true Japanese home out there in the Panhandle dust and weeds. Probably sketched out on a scrap of paper, the design was simple and straightforward, though it was clear that the details were thoughtfully considered.

The home was small, I’d guess under 1,000 square feet, and comprised two parts: one for living and one for sleeping. The location, on the eighth hole of a rudimentary golf course, was one reason that my father, a forever golf-duffer, wanted to have a cabin out there. Rising behind our small cabin were rugged cliffs that, when breached, led to the forever flat plains that defined the region.

The cabin, though thoroughly Japanese in style, was simple. The living area was one room with a small kitchen on one end and an attached screened-in porch to keep the multitude of grasshoppers, snakes and mosquitoes outside. The living area had small chairs and tables and a sweet built-in couch that was perfect for wrestling with my brother Danny or hunkering down with a Mad magazine. We kids ate our meals on a high counter-bar when we could be cajoled into coming back from wherever we were playing, summoned by the striking of a huge gong in our front yard that reverberated throughout the entire canyon.

A very distinct orange bridge, about 15 feet across, connected the living area to the smaller sleeping section, divided into two halves, a kids’ room with two bunk beds, and my parents’ room. In between the bedrooms was a narrow hallway with a wall phone, where we had a party line, which meant that all the families in the canyon shared one line. If I was bored, I’d carefully lift off the handle from the receiver and listen in on conversations.

For us kids, the cabin was a place of freedom, exploration and discovery, often about ourselves. Teens were allowed to drive on the dusty, rocky roads, often ending up in ditches, from which we had to be extracted. We blew things up with M-80s and Cherry Bombs and captured lizards, turtles and frogs for weekend pets. Sometimes we used old bamboo fishing rods to pull up slimy catfish.

At some point, the unique cabin caught the attention of someone in the publishing world, and a well-known photographer, John Rogers, did a photo shoot of the cabin and our family. I was seven but remember it well. Some months later, LIVING magazine published an article about the cabin and featured some of those photos.

Recently, an archivist at the University of North Texas contacted me for more details about the cabin and our family to accompany the photos that are now in their possession. The best part was that she had access to the original images from the shoot, many that we had not seen before. There was Shelley with her horse Tuscan and the three of us lying on the floor playing board games. There was a great picture of the large gong. Through the images, I could touch the time at the cabin, full of innocence and adventure.

Our father, much to the great displeasure of me and my brother, sold our cabin a couple of years before his death. I guess he thought we wouldn’t have come back often enough to make it worthwhile. But we would have, and I wish I could take my kids and grandkids back to that special place. We’d hit the gong, look for arrowheads, chase lizards and blow stuff up. And when it got dark, we’d watch the stars and try to capture the fireflies that danced through the night.

Essay: Sunday Mornings

Words by Sloane Citron

Most Sunday mornings, my daughter Tali brings her kids, Liav, Levi and Noah, over to our home for a playdate. Since they get up at 6AM and head over soon after, I’m still sleeping when they arrive. Sometimes they let me sleep a bit, it being Sunday and all, but sometimes they come flooding into our bedroom like an unexpected hurricane. From deep sleep to kids pounding on you is an otherworldly experience.

Downstairs, while I’m getting ready for the day, there is a whirlwind of activity in the kitchen, with everything from pancakes (with whipped cream and sprinkles, of course) to scrambled eggs to store-bought doughnuts or other pastries being made ready for breakfast. The smell is always enticing.

Tali is my child with boundless energy and a vibrant personality. While a young girl she was famous for singing “opera” (as we called it) while sitting underneath our large dining table on Friday nights during our weekly Shabbat dinners, hitting high notes that made everyone laugh. Her children have even more energy than their mother.

While breakfast is prepared, the kids are usually engaged in their favorite activity, jumping from one couch to another, each time pulling the furniture a bit farther apart until you’d swear there’d be no way for them to make it. Though they always seem to land safely, I anticipate the day that I’m rushing one of them to the emergency room for some stitches.

We have cabinets full of toys, dress-up clothes and books, and most get used during their visits. It’s hard to get any of them to read a book with me, though Noah, who’s about 20 months old, will sometimes sit and let me look at a picture book with him, as balls and toys are being hurled across the room. I love the bedlam, as it reminds me of the frenzy and chaos of raising my own four children, who all were born within seven years of each other.

We are able to get them seated, for a moment or so, at the breakfast room table to eat. Inevitably, there is someone crawling across the table to get someone else’s whipped cream, sprinkles or milk. You know they’re done eating by the smears of maple syrup on the table, with paper napkins stuck to the wood.

These are outside children and so after breakfast and a roomful of displaced furniture, toys, balls and dolls, we plan our escape. Depending on our mood, we go to Burgess Park or to Sharon Park, both in Menlo Park.

Burgess Park has many activities, with baseball fields, a skate park, a busy playground, tennis courts and a small pond with a plethora of ducks and usually a turtle or two. The kids enjoy watching the quacking birds, especially the ducklings that chase after their mothers.

More often, we go to Sharon Park, where the pond is much larger, with a paved path encircling it. There are rarely ducks there, but we can usually spot a huge carp (probably a goldfish someone let loose 15 years ago), an occasional turtle and schools of tiny fish. There is also a good playground that is usually empty. The kids bring their scooters or bikes and love to zip around the pond at speeds that startle and amaze. I have to yell at them to slow down so that they avoid hitting the slowly walking seniors in their way. So far, so good, but be warned.

The wide-open spaces of the park inspire me—the lush greenery, the big expanse of water and, most of all, the vast open skies. Media extols the virtue of being outside in nature and when I am there, I understand. I breathe better in this space, feel that my troubles are less and that the future is more positive. There are some areas that are a bit wilder, and I especially enjoy going into them and feeling the bliss of nature.

Mostly, of course, I relish the opportunity to be with my daughter (and sometimes my son-in-law Sam) and their children, and the spirit of freedom and togetherness that permeates the scene. In the beautiful outdoors, the kids are happy and in their element, everyone’s troubles temporarily forgotten, there is more room to feel the innate connection between us. They scream to me, “Watch, Saba!” And I yell back, “Go, go, go!” The best part, though, is when one of them reaches up and takes my hand. Feeling that small hand within my own, the connection between us satisfying and unsaid, there is simply nothing better, and my Sunday is complete.

Essay: The Cowboy on the Can

Words by Sloane Citron

When I was three years old, my parents moved me from the small room next to their downstairs bedroom to our upstairs. There I shared a rather large room with my brother who was five years older. Danny, being a sweet, kind boy (and a sweet, kind man today) welcomed me into his room without a moment’s hesitation.

In our large Southern-style home in Amarillo, Texas, the upstairs was the province of us children, with two large bedrooms with walk-in closets, a spacious play area and a bathroom for us all to share. Our older sister Shelley had her own room, and Danny and I had the other.

The three of us got along as well then as we do now: in sincere harmony. I, of course, did drive my brother crazy at times, like when he was napping on the playroom couch, and I shot a small cap gun into his ear and scared him half to death. I remember with some clarity Danny chasing me through our home before tackling me and calling me some inhospitable names.

Remarkably, he never threw a punch, which he rightly deserved to do.
Sharing the bathroom was never an issue, partly because Danny and I spent as little time in there as possible. We had to be yelled at by our father to take a shower and we did not spend much time brushing our teeth or hair. Shelley had the bathroom mostly to herself and the drawers were filled with girl stuff. I suppose that made her glad that I wasn’t a girl though I’m sure she had hoped differently when I was born.

Our room had two beds, with carefully matching bedspreads, separated by a small wooden nightstand. Alongside the far wall were two dressers, one cabinet and a desk, all matching. Near the beds was a chaise lounge, perfect for tossing our clothes and other belongings. Next to the foot of my bed was a child’s rocking chair that stayed in place long after I’d outgrown it. Three windows brought in plenty of light and provided great views of our neighborhood.

Underneath the small nightstand was a trash can. Oval, made of metal, it featured a cowboy riding his horse with his six-shooter pulled and ready for action. Behind him were mountains, clouds, yellow turf and a red band at the bottom with western icons.

My brother and I managed to preserve most of the items in that bedroom. Dan has most of the dressers and cabinets, while the small rocking chair and the nightstand ended up with me, along with the trash can, which long ago started showing its age with some rust here and a dent there.

As it just so happens, my boys were not so different from Danny and me. When my son Josh, seven years older than his brother Coby, had the choice to have his own room in the home we were building, he asked if he could share it with his brother. So instead of two small bedrooms, we built one large one.

In that room was the little rocking chair, and the same nightstand between their beds that had separated Danny’s and my beds. And underneath that same nightstand—reminiscent of our 1960s-bedroom set-up—was the slightly beat-up cowboy trash can. I appreciated the resemblance of the room to that of my childhood, even if my sons did not.

I thought having my children at home would be a forever thing, but I was wrong—I guess happily. My boys grew up, moved away and have their own homes—their old room empty and longing. By then, the trashcan had grown a bit wearier, with more rust and more dents after another generation of Citron boys had abused it, whether as a basket for a ball game or from an accidental kicking.

One day, after the boys were long gone—though their room stayed exactly the same—I looked at the poor little trash can, and the cowboy seemed sad. Two generations had given him much enjoyment, and now he was just a lonely old ranch hand. I decided that he needed a new home. And while the nightstand and rocking chair are now in my grandson Evan’s room, I moved the trashcan to my study.

And there the slightly rusty, dented, old (vintage, now?) trashcan sits, chipped paint and all, in a prominent spot where I can see it whenever I’m in the room. With many grandchildren running through my study and with me spending a fair amount of time there, I’m happy to report that the cowboy’s spirits have been lifted considerably, his smile has broadened, and he seems ready for some new western adventures.

Essay: The Rain Dish

Words by Sloane Citron

My family has been doing the Dish for as long as I can remember. For those who don’t know, the Dish is a beautiful piece of rolling hills owned by Stanford University and named for the huge radio telescope on its upper area. While Stanford uses it for many purposes, most of us enjoy it for the superb hiking opportunities it affords. From the top, you can literally see the entire Bay. Depending on the weather, it’s an excellent way to gain a sense of where we live and how all the towns and roads intersect.

When we first discovered this treasure while my children were small, it was wild and free with no gates, no pavement, no rules or regulations. We would go up it and walk any which way we liked, exploring and discovering along the way. The kids would hunt for small animals—lizards and rabbits and toads—and find plants that they had never seen.

Stanford eventually saw that hikers were taking over the place and that they were losing control. My kids were probably to blame. Finally, much like the Joni Mitchell song, they “paved paradise and put up a parking lot” (literally).

Today, there is a peculiar parking area that requires you to back into the spots, inevitably causing traffic jams as you find a space and then clumsily pull forward and then backwards into it. On a warm spring day, finding a spot can be challenging and you have to wander around the neighborhoods to find a “legal” place to leave your car.

While I do understand that it is Stanford’s property (and I am an alumnus), I’m always sad to see the free and fun experiences in our lives disappear. Today, there is a paved path through the Dish with the understanding that you will stay on it. There is an entrance gate with a little house for a guard to sit in, to make sure dogs and bikes don’t wander through.

The place is now tame, like a lion in a zoo. Still wonderful and exotic, but caged, nonetheless. Even so, I and thousands of others are grateful to Stanford for allowing us to use this wonderful area to get some exercise, experience nature and improve our attitudes. One good loop and whatever your problems are, they become less.

The dish is not so much a walk as a hike. It’s not terribly challenging but you don’t see a lot of out-of-shape people on the paths. Last year, we tried to do it with a double stroller with two of my grandkids inside, and it was rough going. Pushing the stroller up some of the rather steep hills is a burn not easily forgotten. Finally, we had to take the kids out of the stroller and carry them as we pushed upward. It was clumsy but successful, though we did not try that again.

Recently, on one of our marvelous rainy days (atmospheric rivers, as they now call them), my son Josh, who has done the dish since he could walk, called me at work and asked me if I wanted to join him for a hike. I like being out in the elements and with my son, so I quickly said yes and an hour later we were backing into the parking lot, almost empty because of the inclement weather.

We were both bundled into raincoats with the hoods tied tightly, our faces the only unprotected areas of our bodies. The rain was intense and at times there were tiny ice pellets smacking against our raincoats, then bouncing to the ground. The wind tore ferociously against us and often we were forced to look down at the path and follow its edge. But to us, it was a perfect day.
We pushed forward, hiking the mostly empty trail. We still were able to have good conversation, much of it about the Dish itself. Josh would see the remnant of a dirt path and recall how he had run down it as a child. Like playing golf, hiking allows for real conversations and strengthening connections.

When we reached a high point, we looked up and there was the most perfect, beautiful double rainbow that either of us had ever seen. It stretched from one end of the valley to the other, and it was easy to imagine a gold pot at either end. The intense rain and winds created a different Dish, with downed trees, thousands of wild mushrooms and stunning cloud formations.

By the end of the trail, returning to the guard station and reality, our jeans, shoes and socks were completely soaked through. Perfect. It was special doing this hike with Josh. Hearing his memories of the place—and creating new ones together in memorable conditions—confirmed the Dish as a place where magic happens—forging bonds, refreshing our souls and, as always, coming out ahead, mentally and physically, from when we started a short hour before.

Essay: Surrender to the Waves

For several years now, my family has traveled to Cabo over the winter break. Each year, our number seems to increase (as my grandkids multiply) so that this year our count was 16.

Since I’m not a fan of sand, sun or ocean, I have begrudgingly gone along, playing the role of the good sport for the chance to spend time with my children and, increasingly, my grandchildren. If I had my druthers, we’d go somewhere where we could tour museums, study traditional architecture or visit old bookshops. But the rest of the family seems more interested in imbibing piña coladas on lounge chairs while staring at the ocean (and the many vendors selling their goods).

Until this year, and I say this honestly, I did not know the name of the resort that we religiously settled into on this annual excursion. Since people would ask and I could never answer, I made a point of learning that we go to Cabo Azul. And I also learned that Cabo Azul is in San José del Cabo, not Cabo San Lucas. I also made it a point to remember that the funky yet exquisite garden retreat where we go for a meal or two is called Flora Farms.

This lack of knowledge, including when we go, how long we stay and when we return, is courtesy of my children, who do absolutely all the arranging. My daughters, Arielle and Talia, take care of the hotel bookings, transportation, Flora Farms, meals, ancillary food and such, while my son, Josh and his wife Adara, experts in air travel, book the tickets. Finally, if we are lucky, my son Coby travels all the way from Tel Aviv to join us.

Sometime in November, they send me an email with the dates, and I put it on my calendar. I show up at the airport and like a small child, hand over my passport to my daughter-in-law Adara, who goes to the counter to check us in. The ticket agent eventually calls my name to match me to my passport and I smile and raise my hand. That is my sole responsibility, and one that I seem to be able to handle.

While I am naturally a leader, given that this is not my vacation per se and that there are 16 people—several with strong opinions—I have learned that keeping my mouth shut is the best, easiest and safest course of action. I don’t venture an opinion on anything if I can help myself—not what or where to eat, not if we are deciding to walk downtown, not even choosing what to order at a restaurant. I, as they say, go with the flow. Though sometimes I have to hold myself back, I find this whole concept of letting go somewhat liberating, except to my ego.

This last trip we flew Alaska Airlines. Fortunately, the plane was filled with families, so the screaming from my group of little ones was hardly noticed. The flight, especially when compared to my travels to Israel, is quick. One of the reasons my kids like going south instead of, say, to Hawaii, is that the time only changes by one hour, which makes it much easier on the parents and their children, who are all five and under.

At Cabo Azul (see, I remember the name of the place we stay) we get a large suite with three bedrooms and an additional two single bedrooms. The suite, with a huge living area and balcony, is best for us because that provides a play space for the kids. I wake up last (around 8:30) and walk out to pillow fights, couch jumping and breakfast crumbs everywhere. Someone (who knows who) goes down to the cabanas long before I awake (the first kids usually get up by 6:00) and saves us three spots overlooking the ocean. Then around 9:00, everyone packs up and the party moves down to the beach, where the rest of the day is spent ordering drinks and food, chasing children and swimming (actually, I’m the only one who swims; the others “play”) in the myriad of pools and hot tubs.

Before there were grandkids to play with, I would go find a chair, read for 10 minutes, get burned and be done. Now it is so much better. As the resident “Saba” to the seven little kids, I play in the sand, walk down to the ocean to let the waves attack us, go splashing in the kiddie pool, hunt for seashells, look for whales, play catch, go to the room to get something left behind and generally have a good time. It is a far cry from my earlier experiences, and I enjoy myself.

I know that I’m lucky for the opportunity to have these vacations and now I’m luckier still because I have some pretty sweet little kids to play with (along with seven wonderful children and children-in-law). One afternoon, lying in a shady cabana, I thought for a moment about seeing if there were any museums to visit, but then I felt a tug on my swim trunks by a rowdy four-year-old who wanted to go back into the waves for the fifth time that day. A better idea, far, far better.

Essay: It’s in the Genes

Periodically, I receive alerts from the DNA testing company 23 and Me about new traits associated with my genetic background, newly discovered DNA relatives or other interesting insights. Indeed, once I looked at my “new” relatives and found out that I had unbeknownst first cousins (but that’s a different story).

Recently, the company sent me information about my Neanderthal DNA (that we all apparently have), which was in the news since a report showed that those with higher levels of such DNA were more likely to get Covid.

I thought it worth exploring so I opened the email and checked out my Neanderthal component, thinking it must be high, thus elucidating some of my more barbaric traits. It turns out that my Neanderthal DNA amount is actually lower than most, perhaps explaining why I have never gotten Covid, despite not doing much to protect myself except for getting all vaccines the moment they become available.

The report listed several of my Neanderthal DNA traits and one clearly stood out: “You have two variants associated with having difficulty discarding rarely used possessions.”

I’ve found that these reports from 23 and Me are usually accurate, previous reports having stated that I have blue eyes, am not going bald and that I detest cilantro. All true. So, I have grown to respect their statements about my traits and habits.

My family laughed when I told them about this “new trait” since, as they know too well, it is a dominant aspect of my personality. Sometimes it’s a relief to know that it’s your genetics causing you to act in a certain way—and that you’re not just being deliberately stubborn or difficult.

While I am extremely organized and don’t desire a lot of possessions, I’ll gladly admit that I love the ones that I do have and have an extremely tough time parting with any of them.

Part and parcel to this is that I seem to practice anthropomorphism—the attribution of human qualities to inanimate objects. As a child, I remember watching my cousin throw a pencil out the window of my uncle’s car. All I could think about for the next hour was the poor pencil, whether it was injured or if other cars were running over it.

My childhood home, which was in my family for almost 70 years, held strong emotional attachments for me. Each room, every fixture, even light switch plates, held sway over me. When I returned there as an adult, I could touch a handrail, hear the whirr of the air conditioning or look into the food pantry and be instantly transported back to my once safe and loving childhood.

Walking into my sister’s bedroom triggered a rush of memories; looking at our front yard “baseball” diamond made me think of my brother Dan and our dog Tamby playing ball there. When I was inside that home for the final time, I took a few physical keepsakes and made a long video of everything so that I can forever relive those moments.

Despite efforts by my family to discard mementos of my children, I have managed to save a good number of them, including all four baby blankets, Little League shirts and hats, and a large assortment of drawings, homework assignments and awards. I also have a plethora of objects from my parents and grandparents, everything from passports to watches to my father’s favorite belt. I’ve tucked away dozens of mementos from my youth, from my first baseball trophy to the ribbon my dog Tamby won at a local dog show. Seeing and holding these objects gives me a great deal of pleasure and happiness.

I treasure a pair of kitchen scissors that were my mom’s, having traveled from our old home to the various stops she made until her passing. When I see them, hold them, I think of her with love. And in my office closet is a large poster of my daughter Tali, clutching a big frog when she was about four. Every time I open the closet door, I get a small spark of joy. I am so glad that I kept it.

Today, some “organizers” suggest taking photos of things you care about and then throwing them away, but they don’t understand that this is often a terrible mistake. Of course, being a slave to possessions is not good, but objects can have deep emotional and symbolic significance. When I see these “things,” they bring me serenity and moments of tender reflection.

In addition to my great-great-grandfather’s (Leib Citron’s) kiddush cup, which has his initials on it, I also have a beautiful, small Hanukkah menorah, a hanukkiah. Made from brass with a lion in the middle, it holds only small birthday candles. Each year at this time, I put it out with our collection of menorahs that we light. As I watch the tiny tapers glow, I am once again a six-year-old child mesmerized by the flickering flames.

I love this possession and the joy it brings me. And I will forever keep it with me and then pass it along to the next generation. No photograph would do. I guess you could say, it’s in my DNA. Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah.

Essay: A Perfect Playground

Words by Sloane Citron

I decided to take my oldest grandchild, Evan Citron, who is almost five, to Yom Kippur services with me this year. His parents go to a synagogue in San Mateo, but I wanted to take him to Beth Jacob in Redwood City, where we have belonged for a generation. Though it is a holiday of contemplation and no work, internet or eating, I had a special day planned.

Josh met us at the shul in the morning and handed over my little pal who was excited to join me. I put his kippah on with a special red clip, since red is his favorite color, and we headed straight inside to the children’s service out on the back patio. The chairs were mostly full, but we found a good spot to sit, the day perfect for being outside.

There, one of the rabbis led a highly animated service. About 30 to 40 children attended with their parents or grandparents. The liveliness of the stories and songs kept Evan involved, and soon his cousins (Liav, Levi and Noah), my daughter Tali and her husband Sam, showed up and joined us.

Following this brief service, I took Evan to the main sanctuary where the traditional service (a mostly all-day affair) was taking place. We went to the front to join my friend Jody, who always sits in the same spot. Almost immediately, the prayers for the United States and then Israel were recited.

For the prayer for Israel, the Rabbi asked anyone who had served or had children serve in the Israeli Defense Force to come up to the bimah to join in leading the reading. Although I wanted to honor my youngest son Coby, I was reluctant to go since I didn’t know how Evan would react, but the Rabbi urged us and so we walked up and my grandson, to his credit and my surprise, was a trouper all the way.

After a good half-hour in the adult service (without a single complaint or whimper from Evan), we went out to the adjacent play area. I met some younger people there and, as we do, we figured out who knew who and how we were connected (we are always connected). After a while, Evan was hungry and since the rules on fasting do not apply to him, we went outside to my car and there he had a fine lunch of tuna fish and chips.

Now in the early afternoon, our next stop was one of my favorite Peninsula parks: Stulsaft Park, just a few blocks from our shul. Our high holidays are a time for self-reflection, and one of my treasured activities is to perform Tashlich, the practice of symbolically casting away your sins into a moving body of water, preferably with fish in it.

Evan and I, his hand within my own, walked down the paths to the trickling creek at the bottom of the park. I have a favorite place to go, but this year, the water level was higher than normal, and though I could have made it there (crossing over various points) it was too challenging for a four-year-old, so we went about halfway until we found a lovely, shaded area on the bank of the creek.

I told Evan to think about all the good things that he could think of while I contemplated my life, both the good and the bad. It is a moment when I feel close to God, the stream running, birds chirping and the boldness of nature in front of me, not to mention this pure sweet child by my side. After a few minutes, we spotted dozens of small fish in the water and we pulled out our bag of breadcrumbs, used as physical symbols of sins for casting away.

I handed some crumbs to Evan, and he threw them into the water. We did so slowly, giving the tiny fish a chance to find them. We sat there feeling that special connection with nature. Slowly, a warm, surreal envelope encased us, a feeling of spiritual perfection, as this beautiful child and I sat together in our place next to the creek.

We spoke little and instead enjoyed the solitude. Sitting quietly, we watched the creek waters tumble and slide among the rocks, spilling, rolling along its path, the water splashing with a fine mist, dancing along from somewhere to someplace else. I asked Evan if he liked the creek. He thought for a moment, turned his head to me and said, “Yes. It’s a playground for water.”

A playground for water. I had never heard that phrase before, never considered it, never read it in a poem or heard it in a song. And yet, there it was, from a quiet boy four years old, almost five, a piece of poetic purity from his base of understanding and knowledge (his love of playgrounds) and the innocence of his youth.

We sat there then, the two of us, Evan throwing the last of the breadcrumbs toward the tiny fish, the sun slowly fading, a special bond between us. Together watching the pure, pristine water enjoy its magnificent playground.

Essay: A Fortune to be Made

Words by Sloane Citron

If you went into my home today, you’d believe that we’re running a day care center. There are quantities of highchairs, cribs, bouncy seats; vast numbers of dolls, stuffed animals, books for every age and situation; boxes and boxes of toys: trains, cars, bubble machines, fire trucks, dump trucks, army trucks; art materials from crayons to coloring books to markers. Our bathroom—where there is a good-sized tub for kids—has floating lights, bath toys, baby shampoo; boxes of diapers, sizes 1 through 6, are carelessly stored in closets throughout our home. The laundry room has stacks of tiny clothes, many with no apparent owner. There are single socks, odd shoes and half-eaten snacks hidden away in odd places.

Our pantry is packed with fruit roll-ups, breakfast cereal, lollipops, Bamba peanut butter puffs, baby food, and “snacks” of all kinds; our freezer holds macaroni and cheese; mini ice cream cones; push-up popsicles and more. Outside there are wagons, scooters, bikes, kinetic sand, Lego sets, baseball gloves, golf clubs, Frisbees, “floaties” and an entire container of swim toys.
My home is a minefield of children’s things. I am forever tripping over them, including the three detested car seats in our garage. Three of the most horrible, devious devices ever made; it’s like they’re taunting me every time I see them.

In the world of children’s devices, I can tell you from solid experience, there have been many improvements. Highchairs, for instance, fold neatly into smaller spaces, their trays slide and pop into action without a hitch, and they are simple to clean.

Diapers are a breeze with the best of them showing which side is front and which is back. Different sizes make for a better fit and the adhesive straps stay in place.

New, well-designed portable cribs simplify life. Press a button or two and they conveniently fold up into small, easily transported packages. And the best improvements are in strollers. They fold up easily, have cupholders and are lightweight.

But then there is my nemesis: car seats.

While the world has gone from landlines to smart phones; where you can find out in a moment why your six-month-old has red spots on his forehead; where you can call out into the air “Play Power Rangers” and (Poof!) music comes streaming from a small circular device, there is one thing that has not changed: car seats.

If it has been a while since you have dealt with one of these pitifully designed contraptions, here is an update: they have not changed in more than 30 years. They are still the frustrating, tangled mess of straps and metal bands that you dealt with when you were buckling in your children.
Okay, I’m sure the manufacturers of these tortuous devices would tell us that they are safer and better, but where it counts, they have failed us miserably.

When you buy your car seat from Target or Amazon or Walmart, the box states that the seat works for a newborn until they are applying to college—all you have to do is reconfigure them. Some even come with instructions. But unless you’re a fifth-year Stanford engineering student, it is impossible to figure out how to do this. If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to get it to work for whatever age your child is now. Forget about ever getting it to work for another age. The instructions come in 12 languages, all of them indecipherable. You are on your own.

Because I have seven grandchildren four and under, even three car seats are not enough to handle the various sizes and shapes of these little munchkins. That means that I am forever adjusting them, with not enough experience to do so easily and with each seat having its own particular way of making it bigger or tighter or smaller or looser.

And then, there are times when I need to move several seats from one car to another. For this, I need a meditation moment and a gathering of patience. Plus, a solid hour or two to fully accomplish this dreadful job. On top of all this, the straps become too tight or too loose, or tangled or twisted; it’s a bloody mess.

As someone now on his 11th small child, with more likely, I’m hoping that some brilliant mind might move their attention from creating more dumb game apps of spiders that you smash with oversized hammers and focus on something truly important: car seats. There is a bundle of money to be made. Just remember to name the first one after me.

Piano Man

Words by Johanna Harlow

Sometimes success comes through sequencing. Taylor Eigsti puts as much consideration into the order of the songs on his latest contemporary jazz album, Plot Armor, as he does in creating them. “The sequence tells a story,” he notes. Even if the music is good, an album can fall apart if it isn’t told in the right order—if “it doesn’t unravel in the right way.” He reaches for a metaphor to drive home the point. “You could see a great Picasso painting, but if it’s hanging in the bathroom of a Wendy’s, you’re going to be like, ‘Whatever.’ The framing is so important.”

Taylor’s life, like his albums, unfurls with profound purpose. As Menlo Park’s child prodigy turns 40 this year, he’s traveled a road paved with triumph and loss. Taylor has released nine albums, performed with the likes of Sting and John Mayer, and symphonies that include the New York Philharmonic, toured internationally and won a Grammy. But he’s also outlived his entire family and several mentors. Music is more than a career, it’s Taylor’s key to unlocking connection and catharsis.

Cover Photography: Lauren Desberg / Photography: Elizaveta von Stuben

Piano Prodigy

Taylor was born into a musical household, the offspring of two radio DJs from Indiana who fell in love, married and eventually moved to the Bay. But it was his sister Shannon, also a pianist, who catapulted him into musical pursuits. Not long after jamming with The Doobie Brothers at Shoreline Amphitheatre to their song “Listen to the Music,” Shannon passed away from leukemia. “She died one day before her high school graduation,” Taylor says. He began piano lessons soon after, at the age of four.

Though Taylor might be a polished performer today, his first recital was less than auspicious. “I started crying and I ran off,” he reminisces with a smile. “And then I yelled out, ‘Do I still get a donut?’” His stage fright didn’t last long however, and he landed his first paid gig at eight.

At that early age, little Taylor was all about smooth jazz. “I would fall asleep listening to that every night,” he says, adding that he looked up to pianist and composer David Benoit, who would later become his mentor. “I would try to pretend like I was him and emulate him because I liked the energy, the funkiness, the playfulness,” he describes. “I was him for Halloween!”

Photography: Elizaveta von Stuben

For the next few years, Taylor played background music at bars and restaurants. “I was able to get a lot of the ‘paying your dues’ young, which I’m grateful for,” he says. On the cusp of his teens, this 12-year-old had already played alongside his musical idol David, including at a concert at Sunset Magazine’s picturesque gardens in Menlo Park. But it was also the year Taylor’s dad passed away from cancer. Not long afterward, he would tell a local newspaper, “I’m a musician and so my music helps me get through things … I can take out anger and sadness, and the other 20 zillion feelings that people get, on the piano.”

Staying strong, Taylor started a band with his friends at the age of 13, dropped his first album Tay’s Groove at 14 and started teaching at Stanford Jazz Workshops at 15. “So many people in this area gave me a chance,” Taylor shares, mentioning promoter and jazz historian Herb Wong, the folks at the San Jose Jazz Society and countless others who took him under their wings and set him up for success. By the time he reached his college years, he’d already recorded four albums.

Photography: Andy Nozaka

Finding His Voice

But it wasn’t until his 20s that Taylor felt like he’d truly found his own sound. “It became less emulating,” he reflects. Now, “I have more conviction over who I am as a musician and as a stylistic identity.” Classifying his work as modern progressive jazz with some cross-genre flair, Taylor notes, “As I grew older, I absorbed a lot of other influences from different types of music—everything from classical music and Björk, pop music and soul, R&B … I play all the time with musicians who are a little bit more genre-unspecific.”

His music’s intricacy, another mainstay in his composition, stems from musical collaborations. Not only have numerous artists lent their voices and instruments to Taylor’s albums, but he’s also repaid the favor, joining in as a supporting sideman on over 70 albums to date. “It’s such an interesting community where we all play in each other’s bands,” he describes. This relational method of music-making stands out when Taylor performs with his quartet. He frequently interacts with the other players on stage, a captivating conversation held entirely in expressions and riffs.

Photograph: Patryk Larney

That collaborative spirit is strong in his 2021 album Tree Falls, a work filled with rich symphonic sound and sweeping strains. “I wanted to have the strings and woodwinds and have that kind of orchestral lushness in there,” Taylor describes.

One special song, “Rainbows,” was inspired after Taylor listened to a recording from his sister’s memorial service. “Some tunes take 10 years, some tunes are just the never-ending bridge—I wrote that tune in 10 minutes,” he shares.

The Highs & Lows

It didn’t take long for Tree Falls to garner a lot of attention, and the season following the album’s release was a whirlwind. “It was a really weird year,” Taylor notes of 2022. In quick succession, he went through a breakup, won a Grammy Award for best contemporary instrumental album, then lost his mother to her long battle with dementia.

Days after her death, Taylor found solace in composing. “I’ve dealt with enough tragedy in my life that I’m not going to stop the world and just sit in the grief,” he notes. “Every single day that I would be home from the road, I was working on that album.” He spent 71 days recording on four different pianos (including Frank Sinatra’s Steinway) to bring the album Plot Armor to life.

Photography: Tafadza Chiriga

Not only is the album dedicated to his mother, but the lyrics of the track “Fire Within” are also drawn from notes left behind by Taylor’s mom. It’s sung by Lisa Fischer, a backup singer who toured with the Rolling Stones for over 25 years, and whom Taylor considers family. “I needed the screaming voice behind the Rolling Stones for my mom,” Taylor laughs. “I didn’t want some sappy, sad tune. That wasn’t her, you know?” He adds that Lisa truly took the task to heart. “She set up pictures of my mom in the studio. She wanted to channel her.”

In fact, 20 musicians supported Taylor on Plot Armor. “I wanted moments where you’re hearing a viola and it turns into a flute and then it turns into a voice,” Taylor describes. “I deliberately wanted blurriness because life isn’t always clear … The more we make music reflect life, the harder it hits us emotionally because I think it becomes more human.” And he, more than most, understands that life, unlike piano keys, isn’t black and white.

Taylor hugs his mom. (Photography: Taylor Eigsti)

Taylor Today

The pianist continues to prosper, embracing new projects and performing alongside the musicians he calls friends. He’s also worked on film soundtracks for directors Spike Lee and Tony Kaye. “It’s a selfless form of creating music, because you’re invisible but powerful,” Taylor says of cinematic songs. “Like a hand in front of someone’s face but the fingers are open. Powerful but transparent and present.”

What’s next? “My next record will probably be something for my dad,” Taylor says. “There’ll be more electronics on that. Because he was a gadget guy, and he was always soldering in the garage.”

Though he mainly lives in New York, Taylor retreats to North Carolina, where his girlfriend lives, when he needs to detach from all distractions. He’ll hole up at his house (fondly called “The Ranch”) and let inspiration strike. “I use that house like a compositional studio now. I can write on the walls and stuff. It looks like I’m trying to solve a serial killer case,” he chuckles. “It’s an isolated bubble. There, the world slows down.”

Photography: Jim Fung - Peninsula Symphony Orchestra

That said, you’ll still find Taylor returning regularly to the Bay Area. Recently, he played alongside his longtime pals at the Peninsula Symphony Orchestra, treating the audience to his original compositions as well as Gershwin’s rousing Rhapsody in Blue. “They’re just so friendly,” Taylor says of the symphony’s musicians. “Everyone’s giving me hugs!” He also faithfully puts on concerts at Stanford University each year. “It feels like a home game,” he says with a big smile.

all that jazz – tayjazz.com

Pasta Aplenty

Words by Andrea Gemmet

Almost every Friday, you’ll find Trish Battaglia cooking up something delicious for the staff lunch at Saporito Pasta in Redwood City. In good Italian fashion, it’s known as the “mangia meal,” and Trish is always changing the menu to whatever the factory’s small crew is craving. “I do salmon or tri-tip, sometimes burgers, a lot of seafood,” Trish says. Perhaps unsurprisingly, pasta is frequently on the menu. “They always want pasta!” she laughs.

Saporito is tucked into an unassuming block of industrial buildings off of busy Veterans Boulevard. Inside a small office space, I find Trish wearing a chef’s coat and bright blue hair net. I suit up and follow her onto the factory floor, a compact space humming with activity, as Saporito’s handful of skillful staffers are hard at work producing hundreds of pounds of pasta. Angel hair emerges from the imported Italian extruder—“Just like Play-doh,” Trish comments—and with the swipe of a blade, handfuls of slender golden strands are freed from the machine, tossed with flour, gathered in a loose twist and gently placed in a clamshell box.

Short, ridged tubes of mostaccioli pop out from another extruder, while nearby, the laminator is producing sheets of pasta that will be cut into linguine, lasagna and pappardelle. Another specialized machine produces nothing but plump, potato-enriched gnocchi. Metal trays fill up with packages of pasta and are rolled past 50-pound bags of flour and into the walk-ins to chill.

At Saporito, there’s a strict order of operations. The first pasta of the day is the traditional stuff, made with just flour and water—“All our Italian clients ask for that,” Trish explains—followed by pasta enriched with eggs and lastly, flavored pastas. On this overcast Thursday, Saporito is making lemon-pepper linguine and saffron pappardelle. Once, they even produced a special order of chocolate linguine. Which raises the question: What would you serve with that? Trish considers it for a moment, then suggests a rich mole sauce.

With a background in catering and a lifelong love of cooking, Trish comes up with many of Saporito’s recipes. Her culinary skills date back to childhood, when she’d perch on the counter while her grandmother, a professional cook, would show her how to dole out ingredients with her hands, no measuring cups needed. Trish remembers getting frustrated and protesting that she couldn’t do it. Her grandma would tell her, “If you have love for what you do, your recipe will always come out.”

In the eight years that Trish, her husband Greg and their business partner Brian Mulcahy have run Saporito, they’ve had to get creative to make the business successful. When corporate campuses like Facebook and Google closed during the lockdown, they shifted from supplying company cafeterias to selling fresh pasta in Peninsula grocery stores like Piazza’s, Sigona’s, Bianchini’s and DeHoff’s. You can also find Saporito’s pastas served at restaurants including Vino Santo in Redwood City, Miramar and It’s Italia in Half Moon Bay, Stamp Bar & Grill in San Carlos as well as Cafe Pro Bono and Local Union in Palo Alto. Chefs will provide the filling for ravioli to Saporito, which sends back perfectly stuffed pasta pillows.

And it’s not all savory stuff. Saporito added a baking division that produces desserts like tiramisu, chocolate ganache cake, lemon curd tarts, raspberry cheesecake and colorful macarons. Their bakers came from French Patisserie, the now-closed wholesale bakery in Pacifica. “Our desserts are not super-sweet, but they’re decadent,” Trish says.

The one thing they can’t do at Saporito is make pastas and sauces with meat fillings—there just isn’t enough space. So in 2023, Trish, Greg and Brian created BPM Fine Foods, a second facility in Redwood City where they make things like meat lasagnas, savory stews and a line of quiches.

Saporito Pasta is truly a family affair. After they went into business, Brian and Greg discovered that they are distant cousins and Brian Jr. is behind the design of Saporito’s label. Trish and Greg’s son Alex recently joined the company and has become the driving force behind Saporito’s vegan products.

Trish says there’s no mistaking freshly made pasta for the dried stuff that comes in a box. “Once you’ve eaten fresh pasta, you never go back,” she says with a smile.

deliciously al dente – saporitofood.com

MAKE IT: SAPORITO'S ITALIAN PASTA SALAD
Trish Battaglia prefers chunky rigatoni or mostaccioli in her go-to pasta salad. Use any combination of ripe heirloom tomatoes when they’re in season, or her suggested blend of tomatoes found in grocery stores year-round. Makes eight servings.

Ingredients
2 pounds fresh Saporito pasta 
1-2 tablespoons extra virgin olive oil
1 teaspoon plus 1 tablespoon kosher salt
4 ounces green onions, chopped
3 tablespoons Italian parsley, chopped
1 teaspoon dried oregano
¼ teaspoon cracked pepper
1-2 cloves garlic, finely chopped 
2 ounces fresh basil, cut into chiffonade
2 tablespoons capers (optional)
2.5 pounds tomatoes: Romas, Kumatos, cherry 
and Constellation
1 bottle of your favorite Italian salad dressing

In a large pot, bring four quarts of water to a boil and add a tablespoon of salt. Cook pasta to your liking then drain it in a colander and rinse it with cold water. Drain well and set aside to cool.

In a large bowl, add olive oil and salt. Then mix in the green onions, parsley, oregano, cracked pepper, garlic, basil and capers (if using). Cut up the tomatoes into bite-sized chunks and add them to the bowl.

Incorporate cooled pasta into the tomato mixture, then slowly add bottled salad dressing to taste, mixing well. Chill for four hours before serving or store in the fridge overnight in an airtight container.

Place Setting

Words by Johanna Harlow

Ahome staged by Coco Silver is a tastefully transformed space—but the process of gussying up a house before selling it is far from glamorous. “This is a tough business,” shares the owner of Coco Home. “It’s not about pretty sofas.”

With a stylish yet sensible aesthetic, Coco pairs her practical overalls with a sharp blazer and bold frames. She’s currently at her base of operations: a warehouse lined with Costco-sized racks, each one brimming with furniture, rugs, mattresses and enough art and photography prints to fill a gallery or two. As she moves among the rows, Coco explains that preparing homes for potential buyers involves a lot of “schlepping and packing and unpacking” as well as constant refurbishing and serious strategizing—and that’s before arriving on site.

Cover Photo and Above Photo: Courtesy of Ashley Maxwell Photography

“Sometimes when you get there, it works flawlessly—most of the time. And then other times you’re like, ‘This is a hot mess. Nothing is working,’” observes Coco. “The house has to speak to the pieces you bring in. And if it doesn’t, it vomits them out. And you’re like, ‘Nope, it does not want to be here.’” Fortunately, with a decade and a half of experience under her belt, this is a rare occurrence for the Mountain View resident. She also has lead designer Bre Heagney and a strong team backing her. “I can do it in my sleep now,” she affirms.

The main ingredient to making the staging process look effortless? It’s all in the prep work. “When we walk through a house, we’re like, ‘Okay, where’s the baby going? Is this going to be multi-generational and the grandparents are going to be here? Where’s Thanksgiving happening?’” She adds, “We even name the rooms.”

Photo: Courtesy of Evoke Media

Coco and her team take stock of what they have currently available in the warehouse, then delegate items across a number of projects—all while making each and every home look like a cohesive whole. Like a chess player, Coco must think several steps ahead. Except the pieces she’s moving are coffee tables and couches. “You constantly have to pivot,” she notes.
But for Coco, it’s in her blood. “My mom was Pinterest before Pinterest—always changing furniture and building couches out of cement blocks,” Coco recalls fondly. “We’d wake up to a whole new living room.”

Don’t get the wrong idea. Staging and interior design are “two completely different animals,” Coco observes. “Interior design is permanent. It’s lifestyle. How are your kids going to wear and tear this piece of furniture? Do you have dogs? Is it comfortable?” On the other hand, “Staging is an illusion. It is setting a set. It’s a prop house. We look at all the angles, at where the shot’s going to be and how it’s going to photograph, the size and scale of furniture.”

Photo: Courtesy of Evoke Media

Though she sources everything wholesale these days, in the scrappy early days of her business, Coco incorporated items from thrift and antique stores as well as pieces from her own home. “I’d have the box of my favorites,” she says. Like the print of Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring given to her by her mother. “When I first started staging, that went into all of my houses.” Once in a while, it still makes a comeback.

Coco moves away from the main part of the warehouse to a side room with all kinds of treasures. Sculptures and serving trays, impressive bottles of whisky and gin, a pair of gilded antlers and endless other homey knickknacks ensure that no coffee table or bookshelf in one of Coco’s homes goes naked. There’s an abundance of wicker baskets and ottomans. Heaps of throw blankets and pillows (fluffy, patterned and tasseled). A bounty of books organized in color-coded stacks with inviting titles like The Time-Traveling Fashionista, The Diary of Frida Kahlo, Bad Girls Throughout History and How to Boil an Egg.

“I think my home looks very much like a Coco home project,” muses the staging designer, who says she gravitates toward an open look with neutral colors and a minimal approach.

Photo: Courtesy of Evoke Media

Coco also appreciates versatile items that work well across a variety of homes. “It’s such a curated eye,” she remarks of the designing process, explaining that there’s an art to weaving things into a cohesive whole. If you don’t have that knack, you’ll end up instead with a “big pile of home goods.”

Among Coco’s other talents is hospitality. In collaboration with singer and friend James Lanman, she hosted a popup holiday party last year at her warehouse, using her staging stash to deck out the industrial space. It had this “vibey kind of New York minute feeling,” she describes. “It was very speakeasy.” Guests savored pisco sours and Peruvian bites in the lobby-turned-lounge, then were ushered into the main warehouse for an intimate concert. As the audience settled into Coco’s eclectic inventory of couches and chairs, wrapping themselves in throw blankets, James and his five-piece band took the stage, performing jazzy holiday songs under the stringlights. “It broke my heart to take it down,” Coco says, adding that before they did, she used the setup as a backdrop for a couple of photo shoots as well as a sleepover with her kids.

Photo: Courtesy of Evoke Media

That isn’t the last time Coco has utilized the space to build connections. She’s also opened up her warehouse to host a real estate panel to shine a light on exemplary vendors in the industry, and plans for another popup with James are in the works. “When you come into someone’s home, it’s such a personal moment,” Coco muses. “To bring people to our house is so rad.”

Whatever the future holds, there’s a storehouse of possibilities waiting for Coco. Wherever she goes, she’ll be right at home.

making room – lovecocohome.com

Airy and Bright

Words by Loureen Murphy

When Kendra Nicholas Nash of Nash Design Group clicked with her neighbors at a San Carlos block party, she found they had even more in common than UCLA alum status and same-aged kids. They shared a similar design vibe. So when these neighbors bought a lot, complete with dilapidated house begging for demolition, they turned to Kendra. Together, they began discussing plans for a new Spanish Revival structure—kid-friendly for their growing family, yet classic enough to be their forever home.

“The client’s style is very aligned with that effortless feel that I think about in design,” says Kendra. “In the end, it should look effortless yet thoughtful.” She assigned Lead Designer Amalia Kallas to capture the vision that photographer/influencer Emily Scott and her husband shared for their intentional project.

Right off, the Scotts and NDG anchored three key design elements: signature Spanish arches, Spanish floor tile, and surprisingly enough, the cooking range. The grand arched window by the dining area launched the arch motif. “They really wanted beautiful light,” says Kendra. The theme now echoes throughout the home in doors, archways, the beverage niche and the cooking alcove. Within that alcove sits the custom Lacanche range in Tilleul, a soft green carried throughout the design, also used on the custom tile stair risers by Fire Clay.

Rich terra cotta tile by Arto Brick grounds the whole first floor with a Mediterranean aura. That level comprises a great room with kitchen, breakfast nook, dining room, fireside sitting area, maker studio and laundry, along with the primary bed and bath. Kendra says the great room owes its impact to the tiles’ vernacular.

The high-ceilinged white stucco interior offsets the dark flooring and gives the natural light more play, while exposed wooden beams reinforce the Spanish feel without heaviness. Wrought iron railings along the stairs complete the look. Though the construction is new, vintage found and restored pieces add texture and generational depth, lending the lived-in sense the clients treasure. In Emily’s studio, where she restores and upcycles anything from frames to textiles, these items take on new life.

The owners and designers now bask in the success of the home, and the great room in particular. “When dealing with such an open space, all of the materials and lighting and finishes have to complement each other,” Kendra explains. Whether it’s positive and negative space or materials and fixtures from different vendors, designers must evaluate colors, patterns and materials from all angles of the room. Cohesiveness and harmony equal a win.

Some favorite details include the stair risers and the light fixture above the stairs, a customized trio of pendants creating a unique chandelier. Another pleaser: the highly customized marble-topped island. Because the breakfast nook with built-in bench already meets the need for seating, the island has no overhang. Instead, the piece serves as a beautiful workhorse, with every inch in use—down to the drawers holding remotes to control the window treatments.

Perhaps the powder room best embodies the home’s old world/new times vibe. Plaster-finished walls in warm Valentine by Omega Color Tech embrace the ornate antique mirror from Placemakers, the simple pendant lamp from Lostine and Watermark Designs’ wall-mounted brass fixtures over the Art Deco sink with vanity space by Kast Concrete Basins. Kendra says the juxtaposition of a few modern pieces amid the old world ambiance stamps this place as her clients’ home, revealing their distinct personality.

Despite permit delays, Covid shortages and welcoming a third child in the midst of the process, Kendra’s clients rolled with everything. They didn’t compromise on their budget nor on their vision. Now they thrive in this beautiful, airy new space—their dream home. “I always tell clients, ‘If you just keep thinking about this one thing over and over again, then it’s what you’re meant to have,’” reasons Kendra.

divine design – nashdesigngrp.com

Peruvian Perfection

Words by Elaine Wu

If Arturo Bazan, executive chef and co-owner of Callao in Los Altos, had his way, Bay Area foodies would learn to embrace the cuisine of his native Peru the way they do Mexican food. “Everyone knows tacos. But if you want to know more about ceviche, I want to give people that knowledge,” he says proudly. “It’s part of me. It’s part of my culture.”

A native of Peru’s capital city Lima, Arturo has been cooking since he was 10 years old. With both of his parents working long hours in law enforcement, his mother decided to arm her child with some basic cooking skills so he could take care of himself. As he got older, he relished the responsibility of cooking for the family. “I have an amazing Mom and Dad but they didn’t always have time to cook,” Arturo recalls. ”It made me feel important because I started preparing food for my parents. Then I wanted to try preparing more interesting foods and experiment.”

That curiosity in the kitchen guided Arturo toward a culinary career, which led to working in some of Lima’s finest restaurants alongside award-winning chefs. But strangely enough, he didn’t feel fulfilled. “In Latin America, people work because they’re passionate about what they do,” he explains. “But I got tired of the routine. I wanted more. I wanted to make homemade, authentic, real Peruvian food here in America. The food of my culture, like my Mom used to make.”

So when his friend Juan Carlos Sosoya invited Arturo to join him in opening Jora, a food stand in the San Pedro Square Market in San Jose, he left home. “It was the most important decision of my life, deciding to come to the United States,” Arturo says. “I never thought about owning a restaurant because it’s a lot of stress and a lot of work! But Jora was small and I thought, why not?”

After a year of positive feedback and requests from loyal customers to open a sit-down restaurant, Arturo and business partners Juan Carlos and Pablo Delgado went looking for just the right space. It took them three long years, but in 2024, they opened Callao on First Street in Los Altos. “Peruvian food is very similar in produce and ingredients as Mexican food. But we have different preparation and flavors,” Arturo explains. “I try to use spice to flavor, not cause pain. With each bite, I want people to taste all the flavors on the plate. A little salty, sweet, sour, a little bit of spice. This is my style.”

Though he was born in Lima, Arturo considers his home to be the neighboring seaside city Callao, where he spent most of his time. “Callao is more casual, more of a community than Lima,” he says. “People in Callao eat more ceviches, seafood, rice. I try to make true Peruvian food, so 90 percent of our menu is authentic classic dishes.” As for that other 10 percent of the menu? That’s where you’ll find some of Arturo’s less traditional dishes, like the crab croquettes.

For first-timers to Peruvian food, Arturo has some recommendations. Every table should start with a ceviche, an appetizer made with fresh fish and a citrus-based sauce. He also suggests entrees like the seco de cordero, a lamb stew with cilantro sauce served with beans and rice, or the arroz con pato, which is smoked duck served with cilantro rice. But there is one must-have dish if you are new to Peruvian cuisine. “Lomo saltado,” Arturo advises. The soy sauce-marinated beef tenderloin sautéed with onions, tomatoes and yellow peppers “is the one obligatory dish you have to try.”

After working in kitchens on two continents, Arturo’s pride for his homeland comes through in his dishes, and he’s passionate about sharing his Peruvian heritage with the Bay Area through his food. “It’s crazy to me that a chef would have a secret recipe that they don’t want to share. I know a lot of chefs are this way,” Arturo declares. “The beautiful thing about being in the kitchen is that even if you have one recipe, everyone’s dish will taste different. It’s a part of you on the plate.”

MAKE IT: CALLAO'S CLASSIC CEVICHE

This basic recipe for the traditional Peruvian appetizer is highly customizable. Use whatever firm white fish you’d like. The acid in the lime juice will “cook” it, so serve the ceviche immediately to prevent the fish from getting rubbery. Makes enough for 10 people.

Ingredients
3 cups fish broth
4 cups lime juice
½ cup celery, diced
½ cup yellow onion, finely chopped
¼ cup grated ginger
¼ cup salt
3 cups firm white fish, cut into 1-inch pieces
1 red onion, diced
¼ cup cilantro

Combine the fish broth, lime juice, celery, yellow onion, grated ginger and salt in a large bowl. Add in the fish, red onion and cilantro. Serve immediately.

tasty traditions – callaoperuviancuisine.com

Orchestrating Magic

Words by Loureen Murphy

A wave of Mitchell Sardou Klein’s magic wand unleashes dynamic tales, resonating with power and delicacy, exultation and depth. Unlike apprentice Mickey Mouse in Fantasia, the maestro of Peninsula Symphony Orchestra remains in complete control of his baton’s wizardry. Now celebrating 40 years at its podium, he shares the elements of his orchestral alchemy with bass player Jeff Wachtel harmonizing. Both men were reared in New York, trained under noted musicians and ended up in the Bay Area, making music with the Peninsula Symphony.

Surrounded by Music

Mitch grew up free of a sense of musical destiny, even though his cellist father co-founded the Claremont Quartet, and his mother was an accomplished pianist and ballet dancer. In placing a half-size cello in his four-year-old son’s hands, Irving Klein simply drew Mitch into the family milieu. Though the close connection to his dad brought him joy, the self-described nerdy 1950s kid preferred a bat and glove to a bow and strings. “Music came pretty naturally for me,” he recalls. “But I wasn’t one of those kids to practice three or four hours a day. That was just not me.”

However, young Mitch did listen to string quartets day and night as his dad’s quartet rehearsed downstairs in their New York home, while his uncle, a Budapest Quartet member, lived and rehearsed upstairs. “I got to see at a very high level, at a very young age, how a musical piece is put together by the composer and by the musicians.” Mitch calls this the “backbone” of his future career.

Still, performing as a professional cellist by his early 20s was not a dream come true. Drawn toward science, Mitch began university as a theoretical physics major and ended up majoring in political philosophy. Finding the career possibilities in those fields unappealing, he concluded, “It was going to have to be music.” Completing a music minor, Mitch then pushed on through grad school, refocused.

“It took me a long time to realize how much music was embedded in me,” Mitch observes. Daunted by assuming the same occupation in which his family had been prominent and successful, “I shied away from it for a very long time.”

He leveraged his cello mastery to take assistant conductor roles in small orchestras. Mitch explains that learning to conduct differs from honing his craft as a musician, in which practice is the key. “That doesn’t work as a conductor until you get up on the podium in front of an orchestra and fail into success, figuring out what works and what doesn’t.”

On taking up the baton, Mitch’s skill and passion for conducting only magnified, as did his reputation. Bass player Jeff, who initially met Mitch at a guest conductor gig at the Stanford Symphony Orchestra, says his impressions have not altered since first downbeat. “I played under many conductors, and Mitch stands above all the others.” Why? His deep passion for the music, extraordinary knowledge of it and the ability to command and impart immediate respect, Jeff attests.

Cover Photo and Above Photo: Courtesy of Annie Barnett

Keeping Score

A conductor’s score, with perhaps 20 staves read simultaneously, can boggle a musician’s mind. Mere brain food for Mitch. “Score study is primary because I can read it and pretty much hear the music,” he says. Scrutinizing the score raises questions. Equipped with answers, Mitch comes to the first rehearsal and every succeeding one with clarity on how to shape the piece and ensure all the players work in unity.

In a sense, he’s translating the composer’s emotional language to convey the story. Mitch notes, “Music is about artists telling something about themselves, about the composer, about life, about all the challenges and joys that we experience, to an audience.” Mitch draws the emotions from the composition as he sees them, uniting the composer, conductor and artist in three-part harmony.

With its unique manner of storytelling, “orchestras have this vast palette of colors and shapes and power that no other musical ensemble has had in the history of music,” says Mitch. Jeff affirms that performers delight in “being in the middle of all this incredible sound.”

Mitch’s amazing consistency in score interpretation elicits great trust. Jeff recalls Peninsula Symphony rehearsing a piece that, on first run-through, sounded discordant, as if they’d played the wrong notes. When Mitch asked all sections but one to play more softly, “All of a sudden, what sounded like chaos made perfect sense. It all came together,” says Jeff, adding, “He can deconstruct the most difficult passages.”

Photo: Courtesy of Jim Fung - PSO

The Secret Language

People often ask whether the conductor is really necessary. “Aren’t the musicians just looking at their music anyway?”

“It’s an exercise in nonverbal communication,” explains the maestro. “Not entirely, because at rehearsals, we talk. But the less you talk, the more efficient the rehearsal.” They develop a shared nonverbal language, a visual shorthand that is partly learned, partly intuitive.

Mitch honors those who understand that language, perceiving its layers and nuances. He also possesses an immediate way of commanding respect without harshness. “He’s deeply respectful of the musicians,” Jeff explains. In rehearsals, Mitch will compliment a soloist or section when they’re doing particularly well.

With years of conducting experience worldwide, Mitch gets instant deference wherever he directs. When jazz pianists David Benoit and Grammy-winner Taylor Eigsti came to perform with Peninsula Symphony, the musicians felt nervous, Jeff admits. “With the guest artists, we usually get two rehearsals, so we really need to be on top of things.” When Mitch came out, he had complete command and genuine relationships with the musicians, whom most had only seen on album covers. “He put everybody at ease, right from the start,” Jeff says.

Up the Scale

Almost from his start with Peninsula Symphony, Mitch has been instrumental as the director of the Irving M. Klein International String Competition in San Francisco, watching many winners go on to vibrant musical careers.

Then in 1997, Mitch co-founded the Peninsula Youth Orchestra with Sara Salsbury, and directed its Senior Orchestra for 27 years, taking teens on international tours every two years before retiring and handing off the baton this year to Brad Hogarth. The best part of his experience leading the talented youngsters? “Seeing the orchestra come away with the pride of doing their best playing in front of a European audience,” Mitch responds. These young musicians learn to contextualize music history while exploring the composers’ hometowns.

Photo: Courtesy of Annie Barnett

New Notes

Venerable reams of symphonic music could supply the symphony for the foreseeable future, yet Mitch relishes introducing artists to new composers and fresh pieces. “If you’re doing a world premiere, you really have to look so deeply into the composer’s intentions,” he describes. “Everything you do is new.” The risk? “You don’t really know until you do it how well it communicates with the audience.” For musicians like Jeff, the risk pays off in exposing the music community to works they haven’t heard before.

With variations on that theme, Peninsula Symphony’s 76th season kicked off with some original orchestrations by Menlo Park’s own Taylor Eigsti, along with Gershwin’s iconic Rhapsody in Blue. There’s also November’s annual performance with the Stanford Symphonic Chorus. “It’s always a treat,” Mitch says. The season finale will feature the 2023 Klein Competition Winner, violist Emad Zolfaghari, in Respighi’s stunning The Pines of Rome in May 2025.

The long-term synergy between maestro Mitch and his musicians—some of whom predate his time with PSO—has created its own living instrument: the orchestra itself. “What’s unusual about Peninsula Symphony is that it’s really community-based, community-connected,” he describes. “They bring a huge amount of energy and dedication to what they do. Everybody’s there just to share the joy of making music together.”

Seven Questions with Maestro Klein

Family life? Married to Patti 40-plus years, after meeting in an orchestra. We have two energetic grandsons.

Instruments played? Cello and piano

Time with Peninsula Symphony? 40 years

Favorite concert venue? Dvořák Hall in Prague

Career crescendo? Our first Peninsula Symphony concerts in October 2021 after the very difficult Covid year. Getting the orchestra together and performing for our wonderful audience was very renewing and exhilarating.

Crunchy or creamy? Definitely crunchy. Crunchy as a generalization in life is much nicer than creamy.

Skateboarding? Never tried skateboarding. I try to do a lot of walking and hiking, especially in places like Point Reyes, the San Mateo County coast and the East Bay Parks.

musical journey – peninsulasymphony.org

Enchanting Santa Barbara

Words by Sheri Baer

It’s not the typical notepad you see on a hotel room desk. Instead of those sterile white sheets you’d use to jot down a reservation time or quick reminder, this decorative cream-colored paper explicitly invites pause and introspection: “My intention for today is …” At the storied resort known as El Encanto, set against the backdrop of the Santa Barbara hills with sweeping views to the Pacific, the raison d’être is filling in that blank. And any answer is the right one.

The Allure of The American Riviera

The same Highway 101 we use to traverse the Peninsula also leads—factoring in about a five-hour drive—to Santa Barbara. For many, this Central Coast gem is a familiar destination, known for Spanish-style architecture, laid-back beaches, buzzy restaurants and a world-class wine scene. Dubbed the “American Riviera” more than a century ago, Santa Barbara leans into the nickname, embracing its Mediterranean climate, red-tile roofs and gentle ocean breezes.

Cover Photo: Courtesy of Brian Chiorski /  Photo: Courtesy of Chris Schuster

The quintessential Santa Barbara getaway evokes visits to State Street Promenade, Stearns Wharf and wine tasting in the Funk Zone. There’s a slew of family-friendly, swimmable beaches, along with hiking, kayaking and sailing. But in the Golden Age of Hollywood, celebrities like Clark Gable, Carole Lombard and Hedy Lamarr turned to Santa Barbara—and specifically, a property called El Encanto—for a different kind of escape. Above the hubbub of the city, they discovered a secluded hilltop haven.

Luxurious Escape

Nestled in the foothills of the Santa Ynez Mountains, the original craftsman structures here served as school housing, before being converted into a cottage-style resort in 1918. Over the years, “the Enchanted Place” evolved, weaving additional Spanish colonial-style bungalows into seven landscaped acres of gardens, while cultivating a reputation for serene privacy.

Today’s El Encanto, a Belmond Hotel, embodies a splurge-worthy hideaway steeped in wellness. After winding up the final picturesque bend, we are greeted with an offer of tropical iced tea with notes of wild roses.

Befittingly, the resort infuses the experience of an El Encanto stay with “seven touch points of tea”—distinctive blends ranging from welcome (arrival) to wake up (in-room), relax (spa) and replenish (fitness studio).

Photo: Courtesy of Macduff Everton

Simply walking the brick pathway to our bungalow foreshadows the restorative journey ahead. To our left, a fairytale pergola reveals basking turtles communing in a lily pond. On the right, Adirondack chairs and fire pits beckon from a sloping stretch of grass. We spot deep blue umbrellas around a zero-edge saltwater pool with the Channel Islands off in the distance. Beyond the pool deck, a stairway leads down to a state-of-the-art fitness studio, overlooking the chef’s garden, brimming with Italian basil, lavender and thyme.

And, at every turn, sensorial bursts of flora: eucalyptus, olive and lemon trees. Fragrant hydrangeas, jasmine and wisteria. I hear the sound of water cascading through intricate rockery as an intimate village of rooms, suites and bungalows emerges, seamlessly tucked into a botanical wonderland. (Gable and Lombard reportedly favored the Wishing Well cottage, nestled near its namesake fountain.) Although the historic property reflects Santa Barbara 1920s architecture, interiors read airy and spacious, with modern-day indulgences like marble tubs, heated stone floors and private terraces, along with luxe finishes and furnishings. To ensure a restful sleep, there’s a pillow menu, and the break of dawn cues a natural birdsong serenade.

Photo: Courtesy of Brian Chiorski

El Encanto Experiences

“My intention for today is …” With a gentle prompt, El Encanto drops all the bread crumbs for wellness but it’s up to guests to select their own path. Perhaps it’s staying on property, relaxing with a book on a garden terrace, indulging in a spa treatment, a sound bath meditation or therapeutic yoga.

Thoughtful touches elevate even the ordinary moments: the offer of refreshing frozen grapes while you’re lounging poolside, a chilled lavender-scented towel after a workout or hot chocolate and sweet nibbles in the lobby throughout the holiday season. We took advantage of the property’s complimentary e-bikes, winding our way past Old Mission Santa Barbara to explore downtown one day, and cycling up to Santa Barbara Botanic Garden on another to wander the towering redwoods and manzanitas. El Encanto also offers a selection of seasonal events and experiences, such as a customizable “Harmony of the Senses” day retreat, private painting sessions, holiday-themed workshops and curated winery tours.

Photo: Courtesy of Anais & Dax

Wine, Dine & High Tea

Santa Barbara is known for its vibrant culinary scene, and El Encanto plays its own contributing role. For light dining and handcrafted cocktails, we settle into comfy chairs in The Lounge, nibbling on white truffle fries, ahi tartar and a fig and prosciutto flatbread. On Thursdays, Gin & Jazz night takes over, as classic tipples and a trio of musicians conjure a speakeasy ambiance. With dramatic hillscape and ocean views, The Dining Room and Terrace offers elegant seating indoor or al fresco. The coastal California menu shifts with the season, highlighting local seafood and freshly picked herbs, lettuces and leeks from El Encanto’s own harvest.

As dusk falls, we relish each course, from burrata and salt-roasted peaches to local halibut with rock shrimp and cannellini beans. Under a canopy of twinkling lights and stars, we linger even longer, sweetly capping off the evening with butter pecan creme brulee and (Because who can decide?) a slice of Goleta lemon tart.

The Dining Room also plays host to El Encanto’s signature touch point: Afternoon Tea. The “Art of Afternooning,” as it’s known here, ritualistically unfolds over custom-blended infusions, savory bites, seasonal baked goods and decadent desserts. Forcing myself to look away from the three-tier visual feast before me, I make a point to scan the room. A honeymoon couple. A mother and daughter. A reunion of college roommates. What looks to be a milestone anniversary. Breaking off a piece of buttermilk scone, I peer out to the horizon line and breathe a contented sigh. Whatever the occasion, whether you’re staying as a guest or dining here, El Encanto entices with a sense of timeless tranquility. At least that’s the thought that occurs to me, right before I dip my knife into the ramekins of strawberry-basil jam and clotted cream.

hillside haven – belmond.com/elencanto

Strolling San Carlos

Words by Johanna Harlow

Ah, sweet San Carlos. You may know this city for its nostalgic summer events at Burton Park, ranging from movie nights and outdoor concerts to an annual August campout where families pitch their tents under the stars. Maybe you’ve attended Hometown Days in May and waved at the Girl Scouts and firefighters on parade floats, before enjoying some western dancing, antique cars, puppet shows and even hot air balloon rides. But this town is more than its festivities.

San Carlos, nicknamed “The City of Good Living,” exudes small town neighborliness. Most of its shops and restaurants are locally owned. It’s lush with trees and dotted with cute parks. The Frank D. Harrington pocket park is named after a beloved San Carlos citizen, volunteer and postman who greeted residents around town by name. Because that’s the kind of place this is. Take San Carlos up on its hospitality and plan a day trip to pay your friendly neighbors a visit.

Cover Photo: Courtesy of Johanna Harlow / Photo: Courtesy of Groovy Goose

Morning Meanderings

If you’re stifling a yawn from your early start, head straight to the Groovy Goose for some java. At this café, the caffeine boost comes with a dopamine hit from the shop’s disco balls and funky fresh color scheme. For the caffeine adverse, there are also smoothies like the Purple People Eater and Groovy Greens.

All fueled up? It’s time to take on the town! If it’s a Sunday, make your way over to Laurel Street for the San Carlos Farmers Market where you’ll find a bright row of tents along a tree-lined road, rain or shine. Browse this cornucopia of fresh fruits, vegetables, herbs and flowers between the hours of 9AM and 1PM.

Photo: Courtesy of Johanna Harlow

Find Your Niche

Time to track down some of San Carlos’ nearby specialty shops. First stop: Birder’s Garden, which supplies seed mixes, nesting boxes and feeders to entice titmice and towhees to your backyard. Those looking to embrace their creative side can pay a visit to Laurel Street Arts for pottery painting, mosaic making and glass fusing. To make your own melody, stop by Clock Tower Music for a symphony of instruments ranging from guitars and ukuleles to kalimbas and djembes. Be sure to return on the last Friday of each month when the shop’s open mic night spotlights local poets and musicians.

Photo: Courtesy of Johanna Harlow

Next, mosey on over to Olsen Nolte Saddle Shop. Along with ample equestrian tack, you’ll find rack upon rack of Western wear including cowboy hats, plaid shirts, leather boots and belts with really big buckles.

If you prefer travel by plane rather than palomino, ride like the wind to Hiller Aviation Museum to learn more about air travel. In a massive hangar packed with more than 50 aircraft and spacecraft dating from the 1860s to the present day, spend an hour or two learning about the origins of flight, aerodynamics, drones and daring pilots. Vessels vary in size from the hulking jet-black Boeing Condor with a wingspan longer than an Olympic-sized pool to the collapsible rotorcycle, not much more than a seat attached to rotor blades. And be sure to wave to a few pilots as they taxi down the San Carlos Airport runway next door.

Photo: Courtesy of Johanna Harlow

Trek the Trails

Come back to earth and ground yourself in nature at Eaton Park. Often overlooked for Redwood City’s nearby Edgewood Park and Pulgas Ridge Preserve, these dirt paths flanked by California bays and buckeyes see less foot traffic. Though steep, you’ll encounter some stunning views, so follow the little pedestrian bridges along the aptly named Four Bridges Trail, then see if you can track down the park’s labyrinth. If you want to lengthen your hike, continue on to Big Canyon Park, just on the other side of Brittan Avenue.

Take the long way back to downtown via Crestview Drive for more breathtaking views. Between the intersecting streets of Clover Lane and Lewis Ranch Road, you’ll find a scenic outlook nicknamed the Top of the World. On a clear day, it offers views of the East Bay and San Francisco. See if you can spot both the San Mateo and Dumbarton bridges.

Photo: Courtesy of Nadia Andreini

Food for Thought

There’s nothing “sleepy” about San Carlos’ dining scene—it’s a real feast of appetizing options. Take Impasto, which serves piping hot Neapolitan pizzas in a sleek space. Opt for the simple yet satisfying margherita or go bold with more daring toppings, like the Fichi, melding mozzarella with fresh figs, prosciutto and chestnut honey.

If you’re a foodie looking for the hottest new spot, you’ll want to head to Esnaf. A Turkish restaurant that opened in June, it’s a bohemian dream with wicker chairs and rattan light fixtures. Here, you’ll feast on succulent sirloin skewers, mercimek corbasi (a traditional lentil soup) and izmir köfte (meatballs and peppers served with a yogurt and tomato sauce).

Other excellent options include Drake’s, New American cuisine in a historic building with beautiful brickwork and wrought iron chandeliers, and Taurus Steak, a Brazilian steakhouse for meat lovers in the mood to splurge.

For dessert, you can’t go wrong at Gelataio. It might be difficult to choose between gelato classics—like bacio (chocolate-hazelnut) and stracciatella (vanilla with chocolate drizzle)—and refreshing dairy-free sorbetto in a medley of bright flavors like lemon, mango, raspberry and green apple … but these are the kinds of hard choices we’re willing to make.

FURTHER FOODIE FAVES

+ Red Hot Chilli Pepper: Indo-Chinese cuisine with a trendy red-and-black dining room.
+ Town: West Coast wines, wood-fired rotisserie chicken and tender steaks. 
+ Isarn Garden Thai Cuisine: Easygoing Thai restaurant serving standout stir-fries, soups and curries.
+ Johnston’s Saltbox: New American fare with a sprawling outdoor patio.
+ Mints & Honey San Carlos: Creative brunch offerings along with coffee and milk tea.
+ The Refuge: Renowned for its hand-carved pastrami sandwiches.

Photo: Courtesy of Irene Searles

Imbibe

At the end of your long day, settle in for a drink at one of San Carlos’ watering holes. A great city for hopheads, find exceptional in-house beers at Devil’s Canyon Brewing Company, Blue Oak Brewing Company and Hapa’s Brewing. Hoping to turn it into a crawl? Check out the 24 rotating taps and nitrogen-dispensed beers at Ale Arsenal, then raise a glass of Guinness to toast the Irish over at Molly O’s.

If you prefer pinots over IPAs, Domenico Winery is the place for you. Within, you’ll find sophistication in a warehouse space with funky chandeliers and string lights. Stop in for a wine tasting or opt for pizza, pasta and panini at the on-site restaurant Osteria (open Wednesday through Sunday). Decorated to evoke a street cafe in post-war Italy, Osteria boasts an open-view kitchen, burnished concrete walls, hanging plants and pendant lights.

For a one-of-a-kind experience, Auto Vino can’t be beat. This venture is what happens when you unite the guy behind Woodside Vineyards, an Italian sports car aficionado and a restauranteur. A storage facility for luxury, rare vintage and exotic cars, it also offers tastings, wood-fired pizza and tri-tip sandwiches on the weekends. What’s more luxurious than having your glass of cabernet in the presence of a Cadillac?

By car, by foot or by air, the city of San Carlos may be small but it has plenty to offer the adventurous day tripper.

coast home – katkinarchitecture.com

chasing light – jenniferfraser.zenfolio.com

portola bistro

elia

nagai edomae sushi

flavor filled – elsursf.com

michelin moves – protegepaloalto.com

poet’s paradise – carmelcalifornia.com

delicious details – eatmazra.com

vine life – domenicowinery.com

Gleim the Jeweler: gleimjewelers.com Stephen Silver Fine Jewelry: shsilver.com

estate plans – spectruminteriordesign.com

la fonda restaurant

pho ha noi

max’s of burlingame

Dine & Drink Downtown

take the plunge – visitcalistoga.com

Piano Prodigy

Finding His Voice

The Highs & Lows

Taylor Today

all that jazz – tayjazz.com

deliciously al dente – saporitofood.com

making room – lovecocohome.com

divine design – nashdesigngrp.com

tasty traditions – callaoperuviancuisine.com

Surrounded by Music

Keeping Score

The Secret Language

Up the Scale

New Notes

musical journey – peninsulasymphony.org

The Allure of The American Riviera

Luxurious Escape

El Encanto Experiences

Wine, Dine & High Tea

hillside haven – belmond.com/elencanto

Morning Meanderings

Find Your Niche

Trek the Trails

Food for Thought

Imbibe

go to town – thesanfranciscopeninsula.com

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Gleim the Jeweler: gleimjewelers.com
Stephen Silver Fine Jewelry: shsilver.com