April 19, 2012
CY had suggested that we go to Point Reyes for oysters but Yi had a lunch meeting at SF's restaurant-of-the-moment, Slanted Door in Ferry Terminal. The drive to Point Reyes would take about 1 1/2 hours at least and Yi had to come back to the city for a dinner--at The Other Slanted Door--but since CY was kind enough to drive, we decided to go anyway and swallow some oysters and come back. We had to miss out on collecting the oysters and shucking them ourselves, and we wouldn't be able to sit on the beach or poke around the towns along the way but it was better some than none.
GGB always stuns me with its beauty. It evokes a different feeling depending on the season and the time. I find it so 1930s, 40s, especially when the fog hangs around it. I can almost imagine people in hats and long black coats riding in black cabs like in old black and white movies. Yet, or in spite of its beauty, the GGB is also the most favored public spot for suicides in SF. Along the bridge, telephones are installed just in case a would-be jumper needed to talk.You can see the city yet it is so distant and the mountains around makes a person feels strangely nostalgic and cut off from the world.
The scenery was beautiful but it was 1 pm when we headed out and we didn't have time to stop.
We passed towns and beaches, saw sea lions basking in the sun, passed through a beautiful area where the Queen had stayed when she visited, and I thought there was no way we could make it to Drakes Oysters Farm before it closed at 4:30 pm.
We turned onto a dirt road and it was 4:23 pm. I bet they were closed.
They were open!
Just a couple of tables and benches, nothing fancy.
After nearly two hours of driving, Yi got sick and couldn't eat so what I imagined would be an oyster feast turned into a snack plate of 12 oysters (USD2 each) for CY and me. The oysters good but a little too flat. I like my oysters plump.
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The workers preferred chickens to oysters. Those chickens were fat!
On the way back, we stopped by Point Reyes Station, a town that was so small we only met two people when we walked down the street.
It was 60 F.
More fat chickens!
to be continued...
CY had suggested that we go to Point Reyes for oysters but Yi had a lunch meeting at SF's restaurant-of-the-moment, Slanted Door in Ferry Terminal. The drive to Point Reyes would take about 1 1/2 hours at least and Yi had to come back to the city for a dinner--at The Other Slanted Door--but since CY was kind enough to drive, we decided to go anyway and swallow some oysters and come back. We had to miss out on collecting the oysters and shucking them ourselves, and we wouldn't be able to sit on the beach or poke around the towns along the way but it was better some than none.
GGB always stuns me with its beauty. It evokes a different feeling depending on the season and the time. I find it so 1930s, 40s, especially when the fog hangs around it. I can almost imagine people in hats and long black coats riding in black cabs like in old black and white movies. Yet, or in spite of its beauty, the GGB is also the most favored public spot for suicides in SF. Along the bridge, telephones are installed just in case a would-be jumper needed to talk.You can see the city yet it is so distant and the mountains around makes a person feels strangely nostalgic and cut off from the world.
The scenery was beautiful but it was 1 pm when we headed out and we didn't have time to stop.
We passed towns and beaches, saw sea lions basking in the sun, passed through a beautiful area where the Queen had stayed when she visited, and I thought there was no way we could make it to Drakes Oysters Farm before it closed at 4:30 pm.
We turned onto a dirt road and it was 4:23 pm. I bet they were closed.
They were open!
Just a couple of tables and benches, nothing fancy.
After nearly two hours of driving, Yi got sick and couldn't eat so what I imagined would be an oyster feast turned into a snack plate of 12 oysters (USD2 each) for CY and me. The oysters good but a little too flat. I like my oysters plump.
The workers preferred chickens to oysters. Those chickens were fat!
On the way back, we stopped by Point Reyes Station, a town that was so small we only met two people when we walked down the street.
It was 60 F.
More fat chickens!
to be continued...
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