In the City by the Bay, Days 6 and 7.

Don’t you just love how it’s taken me months to write up this trip? Honestly, you’d think I had a life or something.

Anything, after my day traipsing around Hilary’s neighborhood with her and her kiddos, on top of the previous days of nonstop walking, I was in honest-to-Goddess pain. I fucking hurt, I tell you. If I owned it, it was sore.

So I went to the sex shop. Why, what would you have done?


I was pleased to discover that Good Vibrations, famed women-friendly purveyor of toys for grown-ups (or at least those over 18), had a location right around the corner from our hotel. I believe in supporting progressive, independent, and women-owned businesses whenever possible, so I (slowly, gingerly) walked myself down the street and did some shopping.

No, I’m not telling you what I bought. Yes, I do recommend visiting if you’re in town (Good Vibes has other locations, too. Plus, there’s always the internet).

The rest of my day was free except for our dinner date at Millennium, so I thought it wise to seek out a yoga class to help my poor muscles unclench. Luckily, there was one about a mile away. Unluckily (and typically, given my sense of direction and confusion with regard to mass transit), I picked the wrong bus and ended up walking most of that mile. It was worth it, though: Satori is a lovely, welcoming studio and I very much enjoyed a Mellow Flow class. I was glad I’d packed my travel mat; it’s very thin and unsupportive on wooden floors, but is perfect on top of those generic studio mats you probably don’t want to get too intimate with. To top it off, they offered post-yoga hot towels and I even got the right bus back to the hotel. Then I sat my ass in the hot tub for a while, soaking away any residual stiffness.

When I came back from all that me-time, Red was back from his final day of conferencing. I was happy because I like it when he’s around.

Then, Millennium! We both spiffed up and prepared for an awesome evening. Spoiler alert: We are big fans of Millennium. We sat at the bar, and Josh started us off with drinks that were so delicious, I can’t remember what they were. Mine had smoked pineapple sugar; that much I can recall. They get creative with their cocktails there, which I appreciate. Also, it was a dream come true to not have to fret over the wine list, wondering if any of it was vegan. BECAUSE IT ALL WAS. *fistbump*

And the food. Red and I were sort of, “We’re in your hands; feed us whatever you think we’ll like.” And so we had pickled veggies, a medley of olives, and fried oyster mushrooms to start. We shared a little salad that I think might have been warm and had potatoes and arugula in it (this is what happens when you wait five months to write up what you ate; I do remember the dressing being yummy).





As our entrée, one of us ordered these fried sushi rolls with asparagus:


I could have eaten a dozen more and been happy with my Millennium experience, but no. And look! My first time eating lotus root! It was very crunchy. And so pretty, too. I almost felt weird about eating it because I feel an affinity for lotus flowers. (Here’s how to do padma mudra. This has been your Daily Yoga Snack™.)


We also shared this delicious spicy glazed tempeh with veggies in a coconut curry. So rich and sweet.


During all this, Josh suggested wine pairings and made sure we picked wines that complemented our food. I fell in love with one wine (Woodenhead Halfshell White, marry me), only to have my heart broken when I got home and my liquor store guy told me he couldn’t get it. Looks like we’ll be going back to Northern California so I can stock up.

Oh yes, dessert. Not to be anticlimactic about it, but we were so full that we knew we wouldn’t really enjoy it if we snarfed it down there at the restaurant (my friend B calls it “eating through the pain”), so Josh kindly boxed it up for us. Obviously my photo is crap, but this little panna cotta was the perfect ending to a fabulously indulgent day.


HUGE thank-yous and hugs to Josh and the staff at Millennium for giving us an amazing final night in San Francisco. I hope we’ll be back soon.


Day 7 barely counts, because we got up and went to the airport. But there was food involved, so I’ll tell you about it. Because we were not lucky enough to be flying Virgin America, we couldn’t get to the terminal where Plant Café has their all-vegan outpost. I was bummed about this, because it also meant that we couldn’t get to the yoga room, either. Terminal 2 is where it’s at, y’all.

Still, we managed very well. Go Bistro only had one vegan option, but one is all we needed. Veggie stir-fry: Breakfast of champions. Then we found our gate and settled in to watch some Doctor Who on Red’s laptop. (We had Sherlock, too, but wanted to save the last episode until we got home.)


Dinner was less successful. We changed planes in Atlanta, which is a terrifying megalopolis of an airport. The best thing we could find to eat was french fries. Sad, I know. But after that, we made it home and crashed and woke up and brought Lucy home and everyone took a nap together and everything was awesome.

Thus ends our West Coast saga. I’d go back in a heartbeat; Red, maybe not so much. But wherever we go next, I’m looking forward to it.

Vegan Sanibel.

As you know, the mister and I spent the post-Thanksgiving days lounging on a tropical beach, waking at noon to a breakfast of fresh fruit and vegan pastries served with fair-trade coffee and organic soymilk. When we weren’t licking sustainable melted chocolate off each other, we pored over the room service menu, bemoaning the fact that only three tofu dishes and one flavor of non-dairy ice cream were on offer. I tell you, the privations we endured.

I JEST. The beach part is true. The rest is not. Certainly not the melted-chocolate part, but even if it was, I’m not telling you, random Internet people. While we did spend a happy mini-moon down in warm, sunny Sanibel Island, it was not the effortless vegan paradise of our dreams. With some planning, it definitely exceeded vegan purgatory, though, so read on.

The view from our room.

I didn’t become vegan yesterday, so my first order of business upon planning any trip is to ferret out where I will eat. Seriously, sleeping can come second. Like most vegans, I am well-versed in the joys of scouring the local 7-Eleven knockoff for something edible. It’s not a pretty experience. It smells like desperation and feels like you need a shower. I would not have that experience during my first vacation with my new husband.

This website saved my tempeh bacon: Cuisine-scene.com. I had already checked HappyCow and VegDining, to no avail. You’d think Sanibel didn’t even exist. Then, Google prevailed. I really lucked out with Cuisine-scene.com, whose menu PDFs proved highly reliable. Menu PDFs for the win! They made my job a million times easier. If I didn’t see anything vegan-friendly at first glance—salads didn’t count—I moved on to the next restaurant. At the end of an afternoon, I had a master list of 14 places where Red and I could either order or buy food. Considering we were only staying for three nights, we were in excellent shape. Bonus: the Sanibel/Captiva Dining Guide, a printed version of Cuisine-scene.com’s restaurant listings and menus, was handed to us at our hotel. It was our constant companion as we planned our meals.

We did a lot of this.

We’ll start with lunch, as that’s the meal we were jonesing for when we got to the resort and were told it would be another two hours before our room was ready. The lady who checked us in helpfully pointed us to a nearby restaurant, declaring that if we’d never had alligator, then that was the place to go. I tried to demur, but she pressed it and I had to play the V-card. “Well, that’s okay,” she said, rather bafflingly. Once we established that I didn’t eat fish or dairy either, and that Red didn’t eat anything that had a face, I assured her that I had done my research and was pretty sure we’d be able to score some lunch for ourselves. The island is 12 miles long and three miles wide. Our options may not have been legion, but they were all close by.

We hit the jackpot at the Twilight Café, a scant mile or two from the hotel. At that point, we were so hungry the tablecloth probably would have tasted good, but our lunch seriously did not disappoint. Red chowed down on a Caprese sandwich, while I had a portabella wrap with sweet potato fries. A dedicated vegetarian section of the menu was a nice bonus, and the funky, sunlit décor was relaxing. We ended up at the Twilight again on our last day, when we ordered the exact same things for lunch. We were hungry and not inclined to be adventurous before sitting for hours at the Ft. Myers airport.

After much deliberation—pizza? pasta?—we went to the Great White Grill for dinner. This was a surprise indeed, as we realized that we had traveled 1,100 miles to end up in a Steelers bar. Steelers! In Florida! I could care less about football, but I was excited to take pictures for a friend. We loved the Great White. It had the chill feel of a neighborhood bar, with a million beers, laidback staff, and awesome pizza. Red had a massive garden salad and, I think, a cheese pizza. I ordered the Jean’s Garden Pizza (no cheese), and it was a veggie delight. We boxed up the leftovers and ate them for breakfast the next morning.

Steelers fans, behold your tropical outpost! Ravens fans, I know you're coming for me.

After a morning of sightseeing, we hit up The Sanibel Bean around brunch time. I wasn’t hungry, but enjoyed a soy latté. Red had a bagel. Exciting, I know. I tell you what, though—the place is popular. Being one of only two coffee shops on the island is a pretty good place to be. We visited twice more before we left. I never ordered anything more thrilling than a whole-wheat bagel with peanut butter, but the fact that they had soy milk was reason enough for me to love them. Carry on, Sanibel Bean. Next time I’ll get the tabouli and hummus platter.

Hey there, Hungry Heron. The fresh vegetable penne was bursting with artichoke-y goodness, and was hearty enough for two meals. A ton of pasta, I tell you. The leftovers were thoroughly enjoyed. I forget what Red ordered, but I think it was a salad. We returned another evening before we left, and we both had the teriyaki stirfry skillet. A small misstep, that. The vegetables were good and the sauce tasty, but it just didn’t work with the noodles, which were basically thin spaghetti. Soba or rice noodles would have been better, or even rice, but it wasn’t a dealbreaker.

[I must digress here to call out the worst example of customer behavior I’ve ever had the misfortune to witness. The Internet is cluttered with “You’ve Got Good Customer Service When…” lists, but rarely have I seen a similar guide for customers themselves. So listen up, lady on vacation with her extended family. You fucked up good. It looked like all of you ordered seafood specials, which run about $20 a pop. $20 x eight of you = $160. Add drinks and it’s a little more. The Hungry Heron’s menu states explicitly, as do most restaurants, that the gratuity—in this case 18%—will be added to the bill for groups of six or more. Most diners appreciate this, as it saves them the trouble of figuring out the tip and dividing it amongst the group. Eighteen percent of $160 is $28.80. And yet you had to go and ask the waitress if you could write in the tip amount yourself, because she did a nice job and everything, but…but…your utter contempt for everyone who’s not you prevented you from even deigning to tell her what you really thought of her, which is that she wasn’t worth 18%. Of course she told you that was fine, because she had to. When you left, I saw her glance at the amount you’d written in. She was pissed, and justifiably so. It sounded like she muttered something about 15% to the busboy, telling him that it wasn’t even the point. She’s right. It wasn’t the point. The point was that you are a tightass bitch with an equally tightass family who couldn’t be bothered to politely follow restaurant policy and tip your waitress what she’d earned. You are why customer service employees burn out. I hope a bird shit on your car. Red and I could do little more than gape at each other as we tried to comprehend your disdain for common decency, which actually does extend to service industry professionals. To hopefully make her night a little better, we left her a massive tip. Fuck you very much.]

Then we went back to the Great White and had a drink because I was so very grossed out. We left before the football game started, though, because the regulars (we remembered them from our last visit) started trickling in, and we didn’t want to suffer the fate of Baltimorons in a Steelers bar.

Red was very excited about the prospect of ice cream, so we made time during our stay to head to Pinocchio’s. I was excited about the prospect of mango sorbet. I can’t remember what he got, but it was some fancy sundae and he reported that it was very delicious. Alas, my mango sorbet did not fulfill its promise. Their website says it’s made from fresh mango puree, but it tasted like it was made from fresh Fla-Vor-Ice syrup. Y’all know what I’m talking about. After a few bites, I accepted that the mango goodness just wasn’t going to kick in. Red was sad that he had a good dessert and I didn’t, but now I appreciate Trader Joe’s and Haagen-Dasz’s mango sorbets that much more.

Our last dining adventure was at Doc Ford’s, famed Sanibel rum bar. After a day of lounging on the beach, fruity rum drinks sounded like the way to go, and we were not disappointed. We each had a Sanibel Sunset (think orange juice, grapefruit juice, and some boozy awesomeness) and a mojito. The menu was a tough sell, but Red had the veggie burger and said that it was definitely better than the average restaurant’s frozen-hockey-puck offering. We split some fries, and I had the Tropical Salad (sans fromage). Greens, oranges, dried cherries, sugary-spicy pecans—it was really good. I don’t even like onions, but the fried ones that topped the salad may change my mind.

My mojito, with boozy gummy alligator.

Our resort had no room service, not that I’ve ever stayed in a hotel that did. Continental breakfast was included, of course, but it was just…sad. Bagels, muffins, coffee, and orange juice. Not a piece of fresh fruit to be had. I was bummed, but I had stashed some apples and Clif bars in my backpack before we left for just such an occurrence. They, plus leftovers, made sure I started the day off right.

Well, there you have our culinary tour of Sanibel Island. If you made it all the way through this massive post, you deserve a vacation of your own!

My buddy the gopher tortoise. He just cruised around the resort, snacking.