Hi angels,
A little over a week ago, I had a perfect California day. It started in Mendocino, in a cabin next door to Salmon Creek Farm, owned by a man named Moonlight and his wife Sharon, two of the original communards. I had spent the weekend there reporting a story for T Magazine. But then it was Monday morning, and I had a long trip back to New York, where I needed to finish packing up my life. I’d booked a red-eye out of SFO that night so I could have the whole day, and after a powerful cup of coffee, I headed south on Highway 1. As I drove through redwood gulches, past open meadows, and along exposed switchbacks, the shimmery waves of the Pacific breaking beside me, I realized something I’ve realized before, only harder this time: California is a place you feel in your body.
Like many who take to California, I love the nature, the produce, and the pace of life. I love the rootedness and the lack of rules, the openness to new ideas, the casualness, and the creative freedom. I love the light and the energy, the simplicity of cuisine and the diversity of it, inviting people over for dinner and being invited over for dinner. I love feeling like I’m at the edge of the world, where anything is possible. These are the things that make your bones ache in the good way when you’re cruising down Highway 1 in your rented Kia Sorento. Or at least that’s true for me.
By the time I got to The Marshall Store (1:30 p.m.), I was starving. I ordered a salad that was crunchy and fresh with green leaf lettuce, cucumbers, pickled carrots, and lime slaw, and a plate of BBQ oysters, grilled with butter and topped with spicy-sweet sauce, a hunk of garlicky bread on the side to mop up the juices. The best food in the right place, my feet dangling from a stool as I looked out on Tomales Bay.
From Marin, I made my way to the East Bay and killed some time at Berkeley Bowl, my maiden voyage to the beloved grocery store. With no room in my luggage, the visit was more museum than shopping trip. I ogled the sourdough selection, with loaves from many of the Bay Area’s most sought-after bakeries; the legendary produce section, with a dozen types of bananas; and the bulk section, with more forms of nuts, grains, and seeds than I’ve ever seen. I bought only two things: a coconut water and a tub of dark chocolate-covered walnut clusters (very good).
A seat at Chez Panisse facing the open kitchen and the street-side windows, as the sun sets, is a heavenly place to be. The room, all warm wood, copper, and stained glass, was bathed in a creamy saffron glow, and the smell of the spice itself permeated from the fireplace-cooked fish stew that landed on every other table. I opted for a chicory salad with herby farro, Fuyu persimmons, and toasted hazelnuts, followed by tender chicken legs with soft chickpeas and autumn vegetables, and the apple-huckleberry galette, a tough call over a slab of deep-brown ginger cake with stewed quince and crème Chantilly. Dining at Alice Waters’ restaurant is somewhat of a cliché, but you know what? It really, really hit. And where better to reflect on returning to California?
If you haven’t already heard, I’m back in Los Angeles. I gave New York one last shot, but after a year back in my hometown, we’ve decided that this is the city where we belong. It’s also where The Angel belongs, where it was born and bred. L.A. has long been a well of inspiration for me, and I’m so excited to be back in the saddle.
As I get resettled over the next few weeks, I have some fun things in store. Jamie will still be in the mix, and I’d like to give her a big-time thank you for holding down the fort while I figured out my move. She is the best; I’m sure you agree. Come the new year, L.A. Plugs will ramp back up to every Saturday, and I’ll start to pepper in variations on the format, like neighborhood picks from people who know those neighborhoods best. (My inbox is open.)
Otherwise, The Angel will look and feel the way it always has: voicey but rooted in reporting, with profiles of up-and-comers, point-of-view-driven guides, and very Los Angeles features that capture what makes our food scene so vibrant. If this note indicates anything besides how happy I am to be back in California, eating the way I love to, and behind the wheel of this newsletter, it’s that I’m inspired by what the rest of the state has to offer, too: the Bay Area and beyond, but also San Diego, the Central Coast, the desert, and definitely greater L.A., from Long Beach to Orange County, the South Bay, both valleys, and the Inland Empire. From here on out, every road The Angel takes starts in L.A., so I’m hoping to explore these places (and their stories!) with guidance from Angelenos who have roots in them. You know where to find me if that’s you.
Much more so soon,
Emily
Welcome back! I too tried to go back to NY (twice) since going west... each time I came running back to California within 9 months, lol. Love hearing you write about the magic of the Bay, too!
as a former NYer who also moved to LA, I agree it's hard to move back...