Breaking Interludes, Sidesteps and Memories

Take a sidestep, a verbal stroll through some places, some times, some thoughts and some memories. Don't take it too seriously and most importantly, enjoy the ride.

Get Lost…. In Paris

Go to Paris. Take a walk in Montmartre. Put the tourist map away and get lost on purpose. Walk through the cobblestone streets. Find a local cafe and take a seat outside. Order a Café au lait and croissant, don’t get it to-go. Order another. Watch life happen around you. Take in the moment. Stroll. Don’t be in a rush to get to anywhere specific. Absorb the history. Listen to the conversations. Take in the sounds of the city. Meander into the afternoon. Find a local café terrasse. Grab a seat outside. Don’t jump into dinner. Order a rosé, a kir, a St. Germain spritz, a pastis, a pommeau. Pair it with an amuse-bouche. Drink. Eat. Laugh. Chat. Enjoy the day. Bask in the evening.

Some Lessons In Life

There is one phrase that describes life that has always been the most honest and most coldest of hard truths. “Life's a bitch, and then you die.” While this quick-witted phrase might sound utterly depressing, there is genuine hope that you can still find joy in between the letters and in the margins. You know why? Because there is a certain kind of magic that can be found in-between those definite bookends that we call existence. It’s in the in between that you might as well make it count, and make sure that you leave a piece of yourself no matter where the journey takes you. I can say with utter certainty that I've seen some major shit in my lifetime. But let’s be honest, we all have. No matter how old we are. That simple fact remains true for everyone. But, if there's one thing I've learned, it's that obstacles are just part of the goddamn ride. And you need to straddle the beast, rev the engine and hold on with everything you’ve got.

First lesson. Just embrace the suck. Whatever crap life throws at you, take a breath, dive in headfirst and don’t look back. You think constantly struggling to clean up someone else’s shit is fun? Hell no. But it builds character. And probably, and most importantly, it gives you stories to tell. The worst experiences often become the best material and the greatest of memories. And yes, I know this will sound so fucking cliche. “When life hands you lemons..” How many times have we heard that? Do you know what I say? I say “When life hands you lemons, squeeze those fuckers dry and use the juice to marinate a goddamn king salmon.

Lesson number two. Don't take yourself too seriously. I mean it! We're all just a bunch of idiots with opposable thumbs, who have somehow managed to learn to yap with and understand one another. We meander around the world trying to understand who we are. We stumble through this absurd thing that we have chosen to call existence eating and drinking our way through it all, and occasionally laughing at the absurdities. It’s always the same story. The moment you start thinking that you’ve got life all figured out, life gives you a hard lesson and educates you on its own point of view. Which, I have to say, is generally the correct point of view. You have a job to do. Stay humble. Stay curious. And for fuck's sake, keep your sense of humor intact. You need to laugh. It's the only thing that will keep you sane when the world goes sideways. And trust me, it will go sideways, sliding into the fucking ridiculous.

Lesson Number three. If you take away only one things from my vacillation, remember that perfection is utter and total bullshit. Not every single waking moment of your life has to be an Instagram-worthy highlight reel. Life is messy. Life is complicated. And sometimes, life just downright sucks. But that's what makes it real. So stop chasing some idealized version of "your best life" and start living the one you've actually got. Eat the street food, talk to strangers, make mistakes, order the beer, chase it down with a fucking fabulous Negroni, and do me one favor. Actually, no, do yourself a service. Savor every goddamn moment. I mean it. The good, the bad, and the ugly. All of it. Because in the end, it's not about having the perfect life. It's about having a life that’s worth living.

Prague’s Alchemy

Prague. I stood in the middle of Charles Bridge at sunrise experiencing a moment that was nothing short of pure magic. The sunrise sparked a majestic symphony of light and shadow. It flooded over the city’s iconic skyline drenching the domes in a tidal wave of orange and yellow. The colors broke through the dense morning fog as the city gently emerged from its slumber, revealing the masterpiece of baroque and gothic architecture. The Charles Bridge was usually bustling with tourists during the day, but in the early morning hours, it stood almost hauntingly silent. The statues were shrouded in mist as they all lent an air of mystique and timelessness to this ancient city. The Vltava River flowed smoothly and mirrored the sky’s evolving palette above. It captured hues of pink and gold as the sun inched ever higher over the domes and spires of the city. It was a moment where history and beauty collided. There's a palpable magic hanging in the air, a stirring of energy that electrified the senses and created a beauty to hard to look away from.

In this ethereal light, Prague transformed into a city of dreams. A place where each spire and dome seemed to whisper secrets of the past only for those that would truly stop, admire and listen closely for themselves. It wasn’t a secret meant for sharing. The ancient streets, with their winding paths and hidden corners, took on a life of their own. They invited exploration, introspection, and discovery through small alleys and side streets that were the secret keepers of Prague. This was a city that felt both familiar and foreign. It was a place where every brick and stone seemed to hold a story that was unique. A place where time seemed to simply stand still, if only for a brief and magical moment.

French Parisian Magic

Paris. I settled into a small café in the heart of Saint-Germain-des-Prés. The ghosts of Hemingway and Sartre still lingered in the shadows creating an air of mystic and nostalgia. All around me, the whispers of existential debates and the aroma of freshly ground coffee mingled with the faint smoke of a Gauloises from the next table. I sipped my espresso slowly. It was strong and unapologetic. A tiny powerhouse packed into a small ceramic cup. The world paraded by around me in a tapestry of bustling Parisians and tourists, the latter always in a hurry to go somewhere. Fashionable women strolling with an air of effortless chic, dressed in designers who’s names I often forgot. Elderly men engaged in animated conversations. Artists both young and experienced sketching the scene with fervor and a common interest. Here, in this vibrant intersection of history and modernity, Paris was not just a city, but a way of life—a living, breathing entity that invited you to sit. To watch. To simply be. And to stop being in such a rush.

The neon sign cast a warm orange glow over the room as I pushed through the weathered door, the familiar scent of stale beer and broken dreams welcoming me inside like an old friend. This wasn't a place for the Instagram crowd. It was instead a sanctuary for the misfits. The night owls. Those seeking refuge from the relentless grind of everyday life. I slid onto a worn barstool, its cracked leather telling tales of countless asses and spilled drinks. "Whiskey, neat," I asked, raising two fingers to the bartender, a grizzled veteran of the nocturnal hours, his eyes betraying a wisdom earned through years of watching humanity at its most vulnerable. The liquid amber swirled in my glass, hitting my lips with a slight burn but stripping away the day's tension. To my right, a fellow traveler in this late-night adventure was equally nursing his choice of poison, his face a roadmap of deep thought. We exchanged warm smiles and shallow nods, a silent acknowledgment of our shared pilgrimage to this altar of liquid salvation. Surrounded by the beautiful thinkers and hopeful dreamers in these dimly lit corners of the world, we truly found ourselves and each other, checking in. Strangers becoming acquaintances. Bar mates becoming friends.

There is something familial about friends coming together to cook and eat. It’s about shared experiences. The camaraderie that forms when you are elbow-deep in flour, preparing pasta from scratch or giving suggestions about the best way to sear a steak. It's in these moments, with wine heavily poured into each others’ glasses and pans sizzling across the stovetop, that you really get to know one another. Quirks are laid bare, passions are on display, and hidden talents emerge. Simple ingredients are transformed into a meal that becomes a shared memory. Sitting at a table together, surrounded by friends, something truly magical happens. The world outside fades away, and suddenly, all that matters is the present. It’s about the flavors that are shared and discovered, the stories being told around the kitchen and the table, and the laughter echoing off the walls. It’s the simple realization that food is the glue that holds us together and the common language we all speak.

Its All About Paso Robles

I sat under the outdoor cover at L’Aventure Winery, the high-ceiling open space protecting me from the blistering Paso Robles sun. Temperatures were hitting a sweltering 100 degrees, blanketing the valley with plenty of sunshine, but making it difficult to spend time out in the open. The heat wrapped around me in an uncomfortable, moist embrace. I sat perfectly still, limiting my movement to keep my body cool, the wine in my hand offering a refreshing escape from the hanging humidity. I savored a generous pour of Optimus feeling the cool glass beneath my fingertips moistening the air around it. This proprietary blend of Syrah, Cabernet Sauvignon, and Petit Verdot was the creation of winemaker Stephan Asseo whose passion for crafting bold, expressive wines was easily recognizable in every sip. I gazed over the sprawling vineyards, the arching vines hugging the hillsides and unapologetically sunning themselves in the open air. The grapevines seemed to dance in the shimmering heat, the relentless sun nurturing the bulging fruit to perfection. Despite the oppressive weather, there was a certain magic in this moment. Sitting here, amidst the rolling hills of the Willow Creek District, there is a slice of life just passing by, a story to be experienced, and a gentle breeze to be welcomed.

An estate reserve wine is the special child of the winemaker. Its a bottle that tells the story of a place, of a time, and of a labor of love that went into making something so unique and special. The bottle is a peek inside the winemaker’s soul and a reflection of the land’s charms, cultivated through seasons of labor and love. Sampling a sip of this release is like a secret handshake between the vineyard and the glass, where the terroir whispers its tales of love, care and attention. For the winemaker, its an intimate dance with nature. Its a personal celebration of artistry that transcends the ordinary. It’s the culmination of late nights and early mornings. It’s a ride through hectares of land, working long hours in the hot sun. It’s the examination of each branch, each leaf and each cluster. It’s the thrill of unpredictability, and the unwavering belief that, sometimes, the bottle we uncork is an invitation to share a piece of the winemaker’s dreams.

Dinner this evening was nothing short of sublime. The head chef and owner of Les Petites Canailles; who was also apparently a French alchemist, crafted a tasting menu this evening that was both a meal and a fever dream of culinary indulgence. Each dish was a middle finger to convention, a love letter to creativity, and a swift kick to the taste buds. From the sashimi that exploded with the force of a flavor grenade to the bougie tots coated with caviar that left me questioning reality, every bite was infused with a passion so palpable you could practically hear the chef's spells echoing from the kitchen. This dinner was edible poetry, a psychedelic journey through the mind of a culinary anarchist who had somehow managed to distill pure, unadulterated joy onto a series of plates. I sat there, awash in a sea of endorphins and spices, and I couldn't help but think, "You lucky bastard, this is what true flavor and pairing is all about."

A Bar, A Drink.. In Anywhere USA

The neon sign overhead flickered like a dying firefly, casting a sickly glow on the cracked pavement outside. I pushed through the weathered door, its hinges groaning in protest, its wood paneling painted over too many times to count, and stepped into a haze of smoke and regret. This gem, this bar down any-street USA was a sanctuary for lost souls and forgotten dreams. The bartender welcomed me in as he does with every patron who stumbled in, looking perplexed. He’s a grizzled veteran of a thousand late nights and too many regulars to count. He nodded silently and slid a tumbler of amber salvation across the scarred wood towards me as if he read my mind and knew exactly what I was thinking. The whiskey hit my tongue like liquid fire, a primal scream in a glass. It burned, it soothed, it reminded me of yesterday, tomorrow and today, and right now, I was alive. In this dimly lit corner of oblivion, time stood still. The jukebox wheezed out a timeless hit that I heard a thousand times over, providing the perfect soundtrack to a beautiful night of decay. Here, among the ghosts of better days and worse decisions, I found a strange comfort. This whiskey, this bar, this moment – it was all deliciously, dangerously real. It was old and worn. And it was sublime.

The Magic of Lisbon

As the sun dipped below Lisbon's terracotta rooftops, the city gently exhaled and a very different energy emerged as the heat from the day slowly dissipated. The daytime noise from tourists and tour groups gently faded, replaced by a tranquil hush that appears to blanket the narrow cobblestone streets. Walking through Alfama at night, you’re enveloped in a cocoon of silence, broken only by the distant echoes of fado drifting from hidden tavernas. The warm glow of streetlamps cast long shadows across the sidewalk, turning ordinary corners into live film noir sets. This is when Lisbon revealed its true soul - in the quiet moments between dusk and dawn, when the tourists have retreated and locals claimed their city once again. Walking here at night, the air was thick with the scent of grilled sardines and vinho verde, tempting you into dimly lit hole-in-the-wall bars where time seemed to just stand still. In this nocturnal Lisbon, free from pretense and expectation, you can lose yourself in the labyrinthine alleys and find the city that stays with you long after you've left.

Tijuana’s Michelin Side

Tijuana. The city just a hop across the San Diego border, is all too often misunderstood. This border city is vibrant and pulses with an energy that beckons the most adventurous of eaters. I crossed the border, the air thickening from the aromas of taco carts and churro vendors. It’s an all too tantalizing prelude to what lies in store for me on this dinner adventure. Misión 19, a Michelin gem, stands as a perfect example of Tijuana’s culinary renaissance. In Tijuana, Baja cuisine takes center stage and thrives blending traditional Mexican flavors with a modern twist.

Dinner tonight in this diverse border city is a chance to explore the depths of Tijuana’s gastronomic scene. Misión 19‘s sleek design and innovative menu consistently represents a city in the many stages of transformation. This culinary destination was no longer just known as a quick stop for drinks and tacos. That was yesterday. Flash forward to today. Seemingly overnight, Tijuana has become a destination for culinary exploration with its restaurants offering innovative chefs menus paired with Valle De Guadalupe’s finest wines.

Italy Immersion

Italy. A beacon and bastion of culture, art, and as always—la dolce vita. Today, however, overrun by hordes of selfie-stick-wielding, gelato-dripping, panino-porn tourists treating the Eternal City, La Serenissima and La Bella like their personal Instagram backdrops. The days of quiet contemplation in the Sistine Chapel or a leisurely stroll through Venice's labyrinthine alleys now only seem lost in nostalgia. Now, it’s transformed into how many likes you can rack up by tossing a coin into the Trevi Fountain or striking a pose on the Spanish Steps. These clueless visitors, armed with their smartphones and an insatiable appetite for viral content, are turning Rome, Venice, and Florence into their own personal Disneyland. Visitors are defacing ancient monuments, bathing in historic fountains, and generally acting like the world's most entitled guests at the world's most precious open-air museum and heritage sites. It's enough to make Michelangelo weep and Dante pen a new circle of hell. The true tragedy however, isn't just the damage to priceless artifacts or the erosion of the local culture who is growing weary of the lines, the impenetrable crowds or the garbage they leave behind on the streets. It's the death of genuine experience. The loss of absolute immersion. Tourists are so busy curating their online personas that they are missing the very essence of what makes Italy so fucking magical. They're trading the intoxicating aroma of a perfect espresso for the hollow satisfaction of a well-framed TikTok. They're swapping the joy of getting lost in Venice's back alleys for the fleeting thrill of a viral post. In their quest for likes and follows, they are losing the very thing that makes travel transformative — the ability to be present, to be changed, to be humbled by the beauty and history surrounding them at every turn.

Lost In Provence

Provence, you magnificent harlot. Your sun-drenched hills and lavender-scented breezes have seduced me completely. They tempt me, drawing me forever into your intoxicating embrace. Your markets are a constant sensory assault. A chaotic symphony of colors, aromas, and flavors that have captivated every moment that I spend with you. I've wandered your cobblestone streets endlessly, each turn revealing one postcard-perfect scene after another. Your wines, pure silk in liquid form, always flow like liquid gold, telling stories of terroir and tradition with every long, loving sip. Your food. Surprisingly simple, rustic, and yet somehow, utterly sublime - a crusty baguette, a wedge of pungent cheese, a handful of olives. These humble ingredients under your care become a feast. Provence, you've ruined me for anywhere else, you beautiful, maddening, irresistible temptress.

A Chef’s Kiss In Rancho Santa Fe

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow across the lush grounds of Rancho Valencia, I stood relaxed, gently leaning beneath a canopy of ancient olive trees on these fabulous grounds. The Garden, a culinary oasis tucked away in this luxurious resort, came alive with the soft flicker of twinkling lights and the gentle hum of anticipation. On this special evening, Chef Drew Deckman, a culinary maestro known for his farm-to-table philosophy and Michelin-starred expertise, stood at the helm of this unrepeatable culinary indulgence, promising a gastronomic journey that will undoubtedly leave an indelible mark on any jaded palate.

Course after course, a symphony of local ingredients continued to be showcased that told flavorful stories of the earth and sea. Deckman's deft touch was evident in every bite - a delicate balance of flavors and aromas that spoke to his time in Europe and his deep respect for Baja California. I savored each luxurious bite, transported to the sun-drenched vineyards of Valle de Guadalupe, courtesy of a perfectly paired Paralelo wine from the legendary Hugo D'Acosta. The crisp minerality of every pour cut through the richness of each savory dish, a dance of flavors that made me question why I my cellar isn’t sully stocked with these incredible bottles of wine.

As every course continue to dazzle with serving after serving, I found myself lost in the magic of the moment. The evening's gentle breeze carried the intoxicating aroma of herbs from the nearby garden as they mingled with the complex bouquet of the Casa de Piedra red that was just poured only seconds before. It was a sensory overload in the best possible way. As I sipped on Valle de Guadalupe’s best reds, I was reminded of why we all seek out these unique and flavorful experiences. It was a reminder of why we travel. And a reminder of why we love sharing in these kinds of life experiences with others. In this enchanted garden, under a canopy of stars and olive branches, Drew Deckman and his team created a meal unlike any other. They orchestrated a moment of pure gastronomical alchemy, - a fleeting glimpse of a culinary masterpiece that I would be only to thrilled to repeat time and time again.

Skip The Agenda

Get lost in your own city’s downtown tonight. Walk through the weekend mass of adventurers and bar hoppers. Immerse yourself. Take in the smells and wafting fragrances of the local restaurants. Go with your craving in the spur of the moment. Skip the line and ask to sit at the bar. Order a dirty martini with blue cheese olives. Order two. Chat with your server or bartender. Get to know your neighbors. Pick something random from the menu. Pair it with an amazing glass of wine. White or red? Go with what feels good. Take your time and savor the flavors. Leave a tip. Wander out. Fall in love with the night, the conversations and the crowds, the lights and the music spilling out of random bars. And the beautiful waves of life’s experiences.