Grand Canyon chopper tour is the unforgettable climax of US trip

"Grand" is a rare piece of American understatement. The most famous canyon in the world is so
much more.

Spectacular. Humbling. Monumental. It's one of a handful of places in my life so awe-inspiring I literally lost my breath on first view. That drama was heigh
tened, no doubt, by the nature of my initial encounter.

We skimmed up an unremarkable ridge hill in a glass-walled helicopter, the well-practiced pilot building the drama with his story telling. Then, with the perfect timing of a man who gives multiple performances a day, he announced "ladies and gentlemen ...  one of the seven wonders of the world ... The. Grand. Canyon! ..." precisely as we reached the top of that ridge, the Canyon dropped away beneath us, and he plunged us into it.

There are many ways to see the Grand Canyon. I doubt any are as spectacular as a helicopter tour. Yes, they're expensive. But this was our first, and possibly only, time to see this wonder. After careful research (my husband and spreadsheets were involved) we chose Maverick from more than 10 companies offering a bewildering variety of tours. Research, and several recommendations from friends, paid off. Our magical experience was worth every penny. Maverick puts itself out there as the top quality provider in the market, and does everything right to back up their claim. Luxury air-conditioned coach, picking us up at our meeting point just a little bit early.

Beautiful terminal building, efficient check-in people, comfortable lounge. The newest fleet of helicopters in the market, all spotlessly clean and seemingly fresh off the production line. Pilots recruited for their significant experience and their ability to be a charismatic guide, who then must dry clean and press their uniforms and make sure they are clean shaven and their hair is regularly trimmed, in order to look the part.

All of this icing on the cake, of course. What really matters is the tour. In our case, the "Dream Catcher Sunset" version. Given the subtlety of the colours, and the way the sun can wash them out, I highly recommend spending the extra money for the end-of-the-day jaunt. You get a much richer palette of colours and, in high summer, your time in the Canyon itself is much more pleasant.

From the first thrilling moments when you skim at speed over the runway, then lift off over the Vegas suburbs with the Top Gun soundtrack in your headphones, you're having fun. The pilot alternates frequent, informative commentary with time to just take it all in, with more carefully chosen music in the background. It's all swashbuckling stuff. There wasn't a question our man couldn't answer, and he was a wealth of facts weather dealing with Las Vegas trivia, geology or the history of Western exploration.

Once you clear suburbia, where you can marvel at the outrageous developments flagrantly using water to create a version of Tuscany in the desert, it's out over Lake Mead, where you can see the alarming, thick white band around the whole thing that shows where the water level once was. The contrast of the diminishing blue water out here against the completes un-bleached desolation of its surroundings drives home the ecological danger the whole place is built on. Minutes later you're over the Bowl of Fire, another popular hiking and camping destination for locals. It's similar to, but even more magnificent than, Red Rock Canyon. But the Bowl doesn't have any convenient roads leading through it. So unless you're a fit hiker, this is the way to go.

Next over a seemingly endless stretch of desert, where we learn about the flora and fauna that survive down there, and both the chaos and wild fertility that the odd rainstorm brings. And then, suddenly, you're swooping into the Canyon.

I've seen photos of it all my life. I've looked down on it from 30,000 feet in planes headed to California. It's as familiar a bit of America as the Statue of Liberty or the Golden Gate Bridge. But nothing prepares you for the reality. It's huge. That hits you from your first glance, when this gash in the Earth is so big it disappears beyond the horizon. The longer you look, the more you can lose perspective. But then you see how tiny the shadow of your helicopter is, or spot a green section on the Canyon floor where the trees look like toys, and the humbling proportions reassert themselves.  The Canyon's towering walls are sinuously beautiful, moulded into almost-living curves by wind and water. The rock seems to flow with a staggering yet subtle spectrum of colours that shift as the light changes. You could hover here and drink it in for hours.

Instead, you go deeper. One of the big advantages of flying with Maverick is their landing rights, negotiated for many millions a year with the Hualapai indians who have custody of this part of the Canyon. Maverick has exclusive rights to a broad plateau 3,500 feet below the Canyon edge, more than 2,000 feet above a deep bend in the Colorado river below.  At least five helicopters can land here at once, with plenty of space around each. You have about 45 minutes to explore here, while the pilot offers sparkling wine,  soft drinks and snacks. I scrambled up the gentle, rocky slope behind our landing spot, getting close to the cacti and scrub plants, then walked along the ledge of our plateau checking out the frightening drop to the river below. But mostly I just gawped at the magnificent spectacle that surrounded me. The sun had already dipped below the horizon high above us, long afternoon light casting crazy shadows and bringing out dramatic reds, browns and golds. It was magical.

Time flew too quickly, and soon the six passengers from our chopper were piling back in for the next leg of the journey. We flew out of the Canyon and towards the sunset, colours getting more dramatic by the minute. The more gentle desert slopes that didn't seem so interesting on our way out gained drama in the long shadows of our return. Skimming over the black bulk of Fortification Hill, an extinct volcano jutting its black bulk above the golden desert, added to the show. We landed again, this time at a fuel farm. While the pilots took care of their vehicles, we enjoyed sunset over the desert landscape of hills, valleys and ridges sloping away towards Las Vegas.

Back on board, I was in the front seat for the final leg. (Another mark of Maverick's professionalism: they rotate passengers with each stop so that everyone gets one leg up front.) We followed the Colorado River up to Hoover Dam, the arial perspective making the engineering feat that much more amazing.

Lake Mead and the suburbs again, then we were heading for downtown. The return journey heads for the Stratosphere Tower, turns left and follows The Strip, going over all those iconic casinos as their neon replaces the last fading rays of natural light. And then it's all over. Aside from my wedding, 4.5 hours has never gone faster.

It was a marvellous holiday. We had wonderful times, connected with beloved friends, did lots of new things. But no matter how you cut it, one thing will stand out above everything else: the spectacular, humbling, monumental ... and Grand ... Canyon.

Ten things to do beyond the Vegas Strip

We are proof you can have a great time in Vegas without ever setting foot on the four miles of Las Vegas Boulevard that most tourists never leave. Sure, we did The Strip. But we had more fun at the places below.

1. The Grand Canyon
One of the 10 best experiences of my life. Save, scrimp, beg, borrow or steal to get enough cash for Maverick Helicopters' sunset tour. So amazing it gets a whole story to itself, coming next.

2. Neon Museum
Las Vegas does have history, it's just very good at throwing it away. The people behind the Neon Museum wanted to prevent the past from disappearing, so started collecting the city's most iconic art form: the neon sign. They opened The Boneyard in 2012, filling a lot about the size of a football field with the colourful detritus of the city's past. You start in the lobby of the La Concha Motel, rescued, moved here and beautifully restored. People of my generation will instantly be transported to early childhood; its swooping mid-century design is straight out of childhood road trip stops. You can only get into The Boneyard with a guided tour ($18 for adults), and it's best to book in advance. It's a fascinating tour that covers everything from the history of the town and its casinos, to the science of neon, to legendary characters, to nuances of typography and design. I loved the story of The Stardust plummeting into insolvency when they ditched their iconic mid-century signage for a boring font update in Ariel. You can see both here. Even without all the facts, it's worth going to see something that is both strikingly beautiful, and fun. Remember, however, that you are in the middle of the desert. Daytime tours can be gruellingly hot; book early to get early morning or evening slots. You can see some of the collection without visiting the museum if you wander around my next stop.

3. Fremont Street
The Vegas of legend wasn't on The Strip at all, but along a stretch called Fremont Street. Once the mega-casinos and resorts started to appear, businesses here slumped into obscurity. Many were shuttered or torn down and some parts of the area became seedy, no-go places. In recent years there's been a massive renovation effort here, and our friends tell us that this is the place locals prefer to go. It's full of restaurants, art galleries and quirky shops, many decorated with impressive graffiti murals. There are a handful of old hotels and casinos. The median dividing the road features restored, vintage signs from the Neon Museum which light up at night.  I actually preferred this evening drive to the larger-than-life world of The Strip. At one end, the Fremont Street Experience does try to give The Strip a run for its money, with an arched canopy over the street streaming a light show while tourists pay to fly overhead on zip wires. But I preferred the scene further down, at places like the Container Park. They've stacked colourful shipping containers, turned them into restaurants and boutiques and put gardens and play areas for the kids in the middle. Check their website for free concerts and other events throughout the year. Further up the street are still-shuttered motels full of potential. I can see an uber-cool boutique hotel like the one we stayed at in Savannah thriving here; recreating the elegant but slightly louche mood of the Rat Pack/Madmen days for visitors who want to do something different.

4. Red Rock Canyon
You can't beat the Grand Canyon, but if you don't have the time or money ... or just want to do more of the great outdoors ... this is a gorgeous place. A one-way, 13-mile loop road lets you drive around the canyon floor, stopping frequently to gawp at the fascinating red rock formations and the towering 3,000-foot canyon walls. You might spot wild burros (we did) and bighorn sheep (we didn't). Joshua trees, agave, yucca and creosote bushes abound. It looks like a monochrome landscape from a distance, but once you're in it, it's a wonder of subtle reds, browns, greens and golds. Best of all, there's a wonderful National Parks visitor centre that does a great job of explaining geology, flora and fauna. We spent about 40 minutes here, but I could have easily done two hours. In winter, when temperatures fall to comfortable levels, this is a big hiking area. Packing a lunch and walking in to the waterfall our friends told us about is the No. 1 reason I'd return to Vegas.

5. Boot Barn's Western Super Store
Probably far more intriguing to foreign visitors than Americans, I admit. It's a temple of Americana. There are cowboy shirts pattered with Mount Rushmore, screaming bald eagles or the constitution ... or maybe all at once. How about stars and stripes place mats made from shotgun cartridges? Linger along the vast wall of Stetson hats, which you can customise with a range of showy hat bands. Silver belt buckles the size of a salad plate? They're here. And, of course, half the place is lofty stacks of boots. Even if you're not in the market, it's worth browsing their enormous collection to appreciate the range of prices and materials. You can jump into the thousands quickly if you fancy some stingray skin. There are some real works of art here.

6. Casa Don Juan
Now you've worked up an appetite. Go here. Back in London, Mexican seems to be the one global

cuisine we just can't get right. Thomasina Miers has brought us upscale Mexican street market food at Wahaca. That's good ... but this is the real thing. The old lady in the corner making the fresh tortillas. The variety of salsas and fresh chips loaded on your table, and replenished constantly without asking. The eclectic decor complete with the Virgin Mary smiling benignly over the votive candles at your beer. Obviously hand-made tamales, smokey sauces, fresh vegetables. And they didn't bat an eye when we asked to assemble a platter of starters with all the tomato on the side. Gaudy donkey cart with sombreros and musical instruments you could use for a group photo. I loved this place.

7. Hoover Dam
One of the modern world's great engineering projects. We got some fine views on the way back from the Grand Canyon. It's supposed to be an excellent tour, and also one of the best places in America to see art deco architecture.  It's an easy 30- to 40-minute drive from Vegas. We were three cars from the entrance when our host and driver realised he'd forgotten to leave his gun at home. And they aren't allowed on federal property. So we turned around. Only in America.

8. Boulder City
Unable to get to the Dam, we went to Boulder City instead. This dusty little place housed the workers building the dam, and now it's become a place to see the old time West without having to go too far from Vegas. Homey cafes jostle for space with shops flogging antiques, American Indian arts and crafts and clothes. Don't miss The Flying Saucer, a shop and centre for all things alien, inspired by nearby Area 51. There's even an extraterrestrial out front named Eak you can grab a selfie with.

9. A local casino
I now understand that casinos are more like multi-disciplinary entertainment venues than they are places for gambling, and appreciate that in a city that runs 24/7, a large percentage of its workforce is unwinding their day, or getting ready to start it, at strange times. Here's where the local casinos come in, providing relaxation space for people who work on The Strip, but want nothing to do with it otherwise. We walked through The Silverton, which has a much more laid back atmosphere and where the glitz is limited to a giant fish tank in which a girl ... aided by air pipes hidden in the coral ... swims around pretending to be a mermaid. It's attached to an enormous Bass Pro Shop replete with waterfalls, a Noah's Ark of taxidermised fauna, artificial landscapes and an indoor gun range. More rampant Americana, but with camouflage. Warning: Don't do this and the Boot Barn on the same day. Your head will
explode.

10. Grouchy John's Coffee
Our hosts' local, and where our friend Tommy Vinci does cartooning classes and shows some of his art. In a world of chains, how wonderful to find a local coffee shop with owners who cater for locals and set a distinct mood for their place. The shop is a temple to cult entertainment franchises: Doctor Who, Star Wars, super heroes, etc. In addition to all the standard coffees, they do a range of great smoothies (test your geek creds by spotting the Star Wars characters they're named after) and delicious breakfast sandwiches made by layering just cooked eggs and meats onto freshly-sliced croissants. Pop in. Chill out. Buy some of Tommy's art.

Vegas confounds my expectations, but I tire easily of The Strip

The same people who assumed we'd be going to The French Laundry when they heard of our trip to Northern California raised a curious eyebrow when we said we'd be going on to Las Vegas.

"You ... erm ... have never struck us as Las Vegas kind of people," they'd say, struggling to be polite. Closer friends would laugh, and predict "you are going to hate it."

Guess what? We didn't. While we wouldn't return without the excuse of friends to visit, we had a great time. The place confounded many of my expectations. The adjective I expected to encapsulate the city was ... tacky. Not so. It was expensive. Closely followed by wasteful. With hot as a close third.

I hadn't appreciated this critical fact about modern Las Vegas: less than a third of its revenue now comes from gambling. Margins are much better on hotels, shopping, shows and dining, especially if you charge premium prices for a captive audience. "The Strip" essentially functions like one of those enormous resorts that makes it inconvenient for you to leave. Especially if you don't have a car. It's often too hot to walk much, the spaces between resorts are deceptive and the horrific traffic makes taxis chew up the fares.

There are no bargains here. Those show tickets? The cheapest will cost what you'd pay for the best seats in London.  The bill for a casual meet-up on The Strip with friends (two burgers, four beers, two margaritas and a soft drink) was within twenty dollars of the bill for a generous dinner for five, with drinks ... in the old downtown area. (Make the effort to get to Casa Don Juan on Main Street in the old downtown area. Family owned, hand-made classics, eclectic decor, margaritas as large as a child's head. All that a Mexican place should be.)

But I get the appeal, especially for a country where most people only get two weeks' holiday and don't live in cosmopolitan urban centres. The nations' best chefs and most famous shows mix with grand architecture and outlets of every luxury brand in existence. The Wild West and dramatic canyons ... including the grandest ... are an easy day trip. It's a convenient mash-up for the short-on-time, and the appeal for conventioneers is obvious.

The best of The Strip
We, however, spent a grand total of eight hours on The Strip, and that was plenty. There's no question that the scene setting is fun. The frequent comparison to Disney made sense. The attention to detail in the Parisian and Venetian resorts is magnificent; it was a real pleasure to simply wander around and

appreciate the illusion. Gordon Ramsay's British steak house on the side of a French square and a Mexican restaurant along a Venetian canal were a bit odd, but it's only worth taking authenticity so far. The interpretation of a ceiling from the Doge's Palace that greets you when you walk into the Venetian is a jaw dropper. My favourite place was the shopping mall at Cesar's Palace. It's exquisitely designed and perfectly in tune with historic Roman precedents. Mosaics, fountains, grotesquerie, Pompeiian frescos, caryatids. True, the caryatids are three stories tall and stand beside wondrous circular escalators ... but you have to think Augustus would have loved the place if he'd had the technology to build it.

Everyone predicted I'd love the Bellagio. I would have, had it actually been on Lake Como with 70% fewer people. It tries to be sophisticated and elegant. The Chihuly installation in the lobby is impressive, as is the glass-roofed courtyard beyond with its seasonally-themed gardens. The architecture is tasteful, the modern art of museum quality. But the exquisite stage sets were undermined by huge crowds in casual clothing, walking through and gawping. (And that included us.) Packs of tourists seem natural in the fake Italy or France; we're used to it from Disney. But the Bellagio turns its back on make believe, trying to be a real bastion of exclusive luxury ... and thus felt more fake than the gondoliers under their artificial skies.

An exception within the hotel was Todd English's Olives restaurant. Once through the doors and seated, we found ourselves in an oasis of peace and quiet. The interior was truly beautiful, with its sculpted trees holding candles in their branches, beautiful backlit bar, marble table tops and sleek wooden chairs. The food is tasty and the service fantastic, but get ready to pay that location premium. Burgers, salads, one desert, a few rounds of beer and coffee was about $70 each. The place is one of my top Vegas tips, however, thanks to the Bellagio's famous fountains. Book a table on the patio about 90 minutes before the show. Have a leisurely lunch, then you'll end up suspended, like a Roman emperor in his box, over the side of the lake with comfortable and unobstructed views as the iconic show runs. This was one of the most magical moments of the week. Sun glistening on the spectacular dancing plumes of water, framed by an amphitheatre of gracious architecture, Sinatra playing over a spectacular sound system. It was a magnificent moment.

That, incidentally, was the only time we heard Sinatra on The Strip. One of my positive expectations of Vegas was that I'd be enveloped in a Rat Pack soundtrack. Nope. It's modern dance music all the way, with the tunes changing and warring with each other every 100 yards. Like the people in the Bellagio, the music fights with the atmosphere.

Besides the Bellagio's fountains, the other free show worth taking in is simply a night time drive up The Strip. Establishments compete to out-do themselves with illuminations. Some are honestly beautiful. Many are ridiculously garish, but it's the spirit of the place. Giant electronic billboards are far too prevalent for my tastes, making the modern Strip more a canyon of advertising than the run of dramatic casino signs I expected. (For those, you need to go to the Neon Museum, which I'll be covering in my next entry.)

Beyond the bubble
Had we been staying on The Strip, I suspect we would have been bored, and irritated by the crowds and noise, by the end of Day Two. Fortunately, the whole reason we came to Vegas was to visit friends, so we were ensconced in a comfortable family home in the rambling suburb of Henderson. Those resorts employ a lot of people. Who need groceries and clothes, dog walkers and coffee shops. There's a University, an Air Force base and a Tesla manufacturing plant. Everyday life goes on.

It happens in sprawling, modern subdivisions marked from the next by long brick walls and electronic gates. Inside, it's classic America: big houses fronted by two- and three-car garages on tidy plots of land. Despite the fact we're sitting in a desert where summer temperatures kill almost everything (it was 42c/108f when we arrived), drip irrigation systems create all the lawns and gardens you wish to pay the water company to have. Large air conditioning units hum beside every building, keeping everyone comfortably cool. Just like Texas and Florida, you need to carry a second layer with you at all times, as the temperature differences between indoors and out are vast.

Little I saw would have pre-dated the turn of this century. Construction equipment dots the horizon. All in a place where humans were not meant to live in any great number. Life in Las Vegas is a feat of engineering, consuming vast amounts of water and power. And yet, I saw a city booming with growth. Thus the adjective wasteful rose into my brain. Lake Mead, the area's main water supply, is at record lows, a towering white strip around its shores showing how far the lake has receded. And yet we didn't see a single warning about water usage in our visit, and the population grows on. In one of the sunniest places on the planet, I saw fewer solar panels than in my cloudy home. This must be one of the most unsustainable places on Earth. (Granted, I haven't been to Dubai yet.) Our friends' back garden, pictured above, does take a sustainable approach; artificial turf and gravel dominate, while a few heat loving plants add interest.

If you can ignore your discomfort with a city merrily contributing to planetary doom, there are plenty of ways to have fun here. There's spectacular nature,  feats of human engineering, minor league baseball, even some history. Next entry: my Top 10 things to do while completely avoiding The Strip.

Famous French Laundry fails to impress against England's stars

Two words are likely to spring to gastronauts' lips when they think about Napa Valley: French Laundry. It was the most frequent question anyone asked when they heard I was going to this part of the world. Would we eat there?

Thanks to the enthusiasm of others in our party and a dedicated trio working multi-media to snag a reservation, we hit the dining big time on the penultimate evening of our wine country visit. A special experience? Absolutely. Value for money? That's a question that very much depends upon your starting perspective.

I refer you back to the caveat with which I started these Northern Californian gastronomic entries. I can only review through the filter of my own experience. When it comes to restaurants, I live in one of the most fine-dining-obsessed countries in the world (if you still think Britain has bad food, you are decades out of date), and I've been been blessed to eat at three of England's four three-Michelin-star restaurants. Given that the French Laundry was the single most expensive restaurant I've ever dined at ... yes, even with variations in the pound, it's more expensive than anything in London ... it was always going to be tough to impress me enough to believe I was getting value for my money.

What you do get, unquestionably, is flawless cuisine, cooked to perfection, presented as tasteful works of art by elegantly deft and highly informed servers. You get a place that's more obsessed by local sourcing than anywhere I've ever been. They send you home with a glossy 48-page booklet that profiles all the purveyors of their raw ingredients. It is a hymn book to the church of American cuisine.

As you wait for your meal, you can wander through the large and fantastically maintained gardens that provide herbs and vegetables. The building itself is out of a design magazine. Historic, but restored like new, covered with rambling white roses. You're welcomed into a tasteful little courtyard with the historic old laundry on one side and the modern kitchen on the other. Gaze through the window at the team of chefs working their magic, or look through another to see the servers striding down the connecting hall carrying their plates of treasure.

Like many of the top restaurants these days, the only choice is the chef's menu, with a vegetarian alternative. That's your $310 starting point (which, fortunately, includes service.) While some popular dishes repeat from one night to another, the restaurant's claim to fame is a constantly changing menu that always reflects what's best that day, and never repeats any single ingredient across its eight courses. The sommelier was unusually flexible. You set a price for a wine flight (they suggest $250), then direct them on your tastes. Our all-Californian request was not a problem. But I sensed you could have gone round the world, or all white, etc. This definitely puts them in a unique category; it's usual for the sommelier to sit down with the menu and assemble one list that works best.

My stand-out dish of the night was a pork jowl that set a new benchmark for the term "melt in the mouth". Evidently they slow cook it for 24 hours. A cucumber, hearts of palm and fennel salad with an avocado puree was a paean to presentation. Beyond the quality of ingredients, the tastes were straightforward ... it was the visual transformation of salad to art that impressed. Their trademark "carrots and peas" was a beautiful crab mousse in a pea pancake with carrot puree; another striking plate visually.

So what was my problem?

First, there are the menu add ons. In most of my experience, once you decide to blow the budget on the chef's menu, you're done. At The French Laundry, the $310 is just the entry menu. Most courses have an alternative, with a supplemental price. $60 for the caviar instead of the oyster. $30 for foie gras rather than salad. (Really? Foie gras is basic table stakes for a European chef's menu.) $125 for truffle mac 'n' cheese rather than that pork jowl, and $100 for wagyu beef rather than lamb. If you went for all the upgrades, your meal would now cost $625. Frankly, I resent the fact that, after making the painful financial commitment to eat there, I then felt I'd been baited-and-switched, the menu suggesting that my initial investment wasn't enough to get the good stuff. (My only upgrade was the caviar.)

I didn't care for the atmosphere, which I thought was excessively formal. The rooms are featureless, all attention on the heavy white linens. There's a dress code, unsurprisingly, with the servers leading the way in their coats and ties. It all feels very old fashioned. So does London's Le Gavroche, but that dining experience is almost a knowing send-up of old fashioned restaurants, enlivened by Michel Roux Jr. popping out of the kitchen to work the room. No Thomas Keller doing the same here. Instead, it all seemed to induce a kind of soporific reverence on the diners. People spoke in hushed tones, if at all. The clink of cutlery outweighed the sounds of humanity. The occasion demanded to be taken seriously; it was not about having fun.

I hated the way dessert ... often my favourite part of the meal ... was presented. After seven lovingly

staged courses, the sweets are dumped on the table all at once. None of the foreplay of pre-desert followed by the climactic main event and the lingering cuddle of the petit fours with coffee. Instead, the servers piled a banquet of treats on the table in a great rush, sending a clear message that we should hurry up and and get that monumental bill. Everything was delicious, but nothing was given a chance to shine.

Most of all, I was surprised by not being surprised. Nothing made me think "my God, the man's a genius ... who would have thought of putting that with this!" (Munich's one-starred Tohru Nakamura runs great circles around Keller on this front.) Aside from that one morsel of pork jowl, there was nothing that stood out as the best example of something ever. No presentation that made me gawp with amazement. No wine pairing so magical that the combination changed and elevated the constituent parts.

If I'd had no background information, and someone else paid the bill, I would have thought The French Laundry was an excellent ... though too full of itself ... one-star to fit comfortably beside places like L'Ortolan or Murano. London's two-star The Ledbury beats its three-starred American cousin decisively. When you put the three-stars against each other, Restaurant Gordon Ramsay impressed more and cost less.  The Fat Duck is far more inventive in every way, and while its prices are roughly the same, there are no surcharges to drive up the final bill and make you feel inferior.

Upon reflection, one British parallel did emerge. I had almost exactly the same experience at the three-starred Waterside Inn. A lovely evening while I was experiencing it, but the more I thought about the bill afterwards, the more resentful I felt about what I got for the money. The big difference? I could run up to Bray today and get Alain Roux's Menu Exceptionnel for £160 ($212), a third less than than the starting point of its Yountville counterpart.

Ultimately, however, those two nights of culinary disappointment were linked by something bigger. Friendship. Thus it's worth ending this entry with the same words I used to close the Waterside Inn story nine years ago:

"And that, I suppose, is why this evening will go down in memory as worth the expenditure. Not because of the meal, but because of the company. I looked around that circle of dear faces at evening's end; everyone relaxed, mellow, suffused with contentment. These are amongst the very few people who know me best, who are there in good times and in bad, who celebrate the victories, support you in disasters and know you well enough to point out and help correct your shortcomings when you're heading down the wrong path. This is actually what life is all about. To me, the biggest victory of my life will not be counting up what's in my bank account as I near death, but toting up the relationships I've had at this level. Having dear friends is the finest reason to celebrate in the world. And while you can usually do that in the local pub, I suppose sometimes it's worth breaking the bank to do it in a place that's as special as the relationships you're commemorating."

California Wines Part 2: Seven wineries to sample three valleys

Tasting at Honig

Happily, our tastings exceeded my expectations. I'd been warned not to look for deep expertise in the marketing-led tasting rooms. The pourers had their set schpiels, and were unlikely to want ... or be able ... to talk in further depth.

This was certainly the case in our first, and only unplanned, winery stop. Bartholomew Park was picturesque, a stone's throw from our rental property and had pleasant if unremarkable wines. Our pourer was a retired lady who was doing this for some part time cash; friendly, but uncomfortable with any wine conversation that went beyond the official tasting notes. To be fair, this was also the cheapest tasting we did: $10 for the standard range and $20 for the premium. But it had me worried that it might set a standard for the region.

Fortunately, we could rely on local expertise to up the game for the rest of our tastings. In Napa, we hired professional guide Dean Gross to organise a full day's exploration of the valley. In Sonoma, two of our party had once lived here and could take us to old favourites and spots tipped by their friends. And in the Russian River valley, some wine-obsessed new friends who were also Bay Area residents got us in to two wineries that impressed every local who heard the names. Here's a roundup of those visits:

NAPA

Honig - A small, family-run operation with a fresh attitude and a sparky staff. The most enjoyable tasting we had in terms of conversation; Casey clearly loves what he does and sparkles with the enthusiasm of sharing his knowledge with others. His ability to talk in depth about Honig's wines, but also put them in the context of his wider understanding of Californian and world wines ... all with a wonderful sense of humour ... was exceptional. Lead winemaker Kristin Belair is one of a growing number of women in the industry; a change in which California is far ahead of Europe.

Schramsberg - One of the oldest wineries in continuous operation in the valley, German immigrant
Jacob Schram built a business so respected in the late 19th century that visiting literary star Robert Louis Stevenson dropped by. It left family hands at the turn of the next century and didn't do much significant production until the late 1950s, when the Davies family took the place over with a dream of producing sparkling wine to rival Champagne. Twenty years later, they were the brand President Nixon took on his diplomatic mission to China, and their reputation was made. The family home is a historic landmark, the gardens are lushly beautiful and the tour of the cellars does a fine job explaining this fascinating process. My one criticism: the tasting takes place in the the musty cellars, where the strong scents of mould and mildew can overpower the delicate tastes of the wine. Two of our party with minor allergies had significant breathing problems after half an hour; I don't want to think what the lungs of the workers who spend their days down there look like.

Krug - Another winery with historic origins, Charles Krug and Schram were friends and colleagues; Krug's vineyard slightly pre-dates the higher-altitude Schramsberg fields. German heritage passed to Italian in the 1940s when the Mondavis bought the winery. It's still in the family. The vines might be old but the winery building and tasting rooms are some of the most modern in Napa, fresh from a multi-million dollar renovation. It's a dramatic, modern space that plays with dark and light, with massive glass walls separating the working winery from the tasting area. You're welcome to bring your own food to take advantage of the shaded picnic lawns and great views out front, as long as you buy a bottle of their wine. You can also explore the herb garden of the Culinary Institute of America, which occupies a hill across the street. I would happily have lingered longer here.

SONOMA

Gundlach Bunschu - Another winery with roots in 19th century German immigration, this one has been in the hands of the same family since its founding in 1858. The foundation story is wildly romantic: Jacob Gundlach bought the land, returned to Bavaria to marry his childhood sweetheart, then they spent their honeymoon collecting European rootstocks before returning to California to get to work. The Bundschus married in later. Today you do your tastings beneath pictures of the fifth, sixth and seventh generations. It's obvious the team feels a part of this family spirit and is hugely proud of their story.  The hillside location has stunning views and a hip, casual vibe. With lots of live music and a variety of outdoor seating, this is the one I'd be most likely to hang out at if I were a local.

Ledson - It's wine tasting at Hogwarts! Ledson's "castle" is the California wine region captured in architecture. (It's the lead photo in my last entry.) Grand European tradition, lovingly crafted with high quality standards, implemented with technology and featuring all the mod cons. The family has a long history as farmers and building contractors in the area, becoming more famous for their winemaking after the opening of the castle in 1999. Ledson specialises in small varietal lots and has an unusually large range of wines on offer. This is a great place to sample how traditional European varieties like viognier, riesling or petit verdot adapt to California. There's a great shop, a deli with tasty sandwiches and lovely grounds to explore, making this the quintessential "destination winery".

RUSSIAN RIVER
We liked the pinots from these wineries best, and it was here we were able to really taste the kind of dramatic, terroir-based variations in vintages we're used to in Burgundy. With our limited experience, it's hard to say if that's because the Russian River wines are better overall, or if the friends who organised this day picked the best wineries of the broader region. Certainly, it's an endorsement when the sommelier at the French Laundry raises his eyebrows in appreciation and tells you you're off to two special places.

Littorai - I have a sweet spot for this place because it was started by a writer (reflected in its name) and has a passionate attitude towards organic gardening. The vineyard tour is a gardener's delight. Herbaceous borders next to the vines are stocked with flowers to attract pollinators or to draw pests away from the vines. Other plants are grown because they rot down to make organic fertilisers or provide early indicators for disease control. They move goats around the vineyard to munch down the weeds, and recycle all their waste water through a reed bed. It's the place at which I most wish I would have had a notebook. Not for the tasting notes, but for the gardening tips.

Merry Edwards - The only place where we bought a bottle. The queen of California's growing ranks of female wine makers, Edwards has been at her craft since the mid '70s and is a legend in these parts. Her winery was most similar to our European experience. No distracting shops or adjunct activities, no "destination" pitches, no wine clubs. Just very serious wine, best known to the sommeliers of very serious restaurants. This was our most detailed, traditional tasting, providing loads of information on soil qualities, growing conditions and how those elements transferred into what we were tasting. Here we found true variety across terroir, exploring how pinot noir could change dramatically from place to place. If you're serious about your wine, this is the place to seek out above all others.

California Wines, Part 1: We're not in Burgundy any more, Toto!

I apologise to any American reader who thinks I'm a snob.

My objective in this blog is to evaluate great food, travel and culture against the value it delivers for money. That is inevitably going to be coloured by my perspectives and experience, which are European.

"But you're American!" You cry. True, born and raised. But I started taking on European assignments at 30, and had moved to London full time a few years later. American Ellen, with her junior exec salary, her auto loan and her big new mortgage, lived in Dallas, drank beer and thought Macaroni Grill was a special night out. These days, Ellen drinks wine. I live an hour's train journey from one of the world's great capitals, a quick flight from all of Europe's best wine regions and tend to get to three or four Michelin-starred restaurants a year in the normal flow of life. I came to my cultural and culinary maturity in Europe. This is the only experience I have to compare American wine regions and fine dining with. So please, believe me, I'm not starting with any prejudice against America. I'm simply relating my experience from a European perspective.

That experience found the California wine country to be equal in quality to its European rivals, but far worse value for money and far more conservative in its outlook. That's not meant as an insult to any American reader, just an honest observation based on my experience. If I were living in St. Louis, and Burgundy was a once-in-a-lifetime trip rather than a jaunt for a long weekend, my perspective would no doubt be different. But I can only write from what I know. So there's my warning. Americans may be a bit offended by the next three entries. Europeans will find them more useful. Mea Culpa.

That caveat delivered, let's talk Californian wine. This entry offers some general observations, the next covers the specific wineries we explored.

While the quality of the wine, the belief in the concept of terroir and the producers' passionate dedication to their craft is the same as in Europe, there are some radical differences. Here's a mind-blowing statistic: more than 90% of California wine is drunk within 24 hours of purchase. When you're tasting quality wines at European vineyards, one of your first questions is: "when should I drink this?" The expectation is that you're tasting something still in development. The game is to imagine how it will mature. The finer the wine, the truer that is. In California, though it can age, even the really good stuff is meant to be drunk now. Hotter growing conditions yield higher sugar content, leading to higher alcohol levels and earlier maturity.

In America, you pay for tastings, which are usually conducted by marketing staff rather than the winemakers. In Europe, with rare exceptions, you're tasting for free with the unspoken understanding that, unless you really hate what's on offer, someone in your party will probably buy at least one bottle just to be polite. In all but the really big vineyards, your tasting is likely to be conducted by either the actual winemaker, or someone fundamentally involved with the production. The level of detail you can get into ... if you can speak the language of the country in which your tasting ... is vast.

The average price for a tasting in Napa and Sonoma seemed to be about $35, rising to as much as $65 if you threw in a vineyard tour or chose the makers' premium line.

With the ability to rack up serious costs for tasting, you need to be careful.  There are more than 600 Dean Gross, who will help you find the better experiences, do your driving and generally take the stress out of your day.

To make the most of your time,
use an experienced guide like
Dean Gross

wineries with tasting rooms in Napa and Sonoma, and though they all charge (unless you're with "wine club" members who can get you a free tasting), what you get for your money varies greatly. It's a salutary warning that the only winery we approached on a whim, without research or a local's recommendation, was the least satisfying. A cheerful marketing rep was skilled at making small talk, but couldn't tell us much beyond the tasting notes she offered on beautifully printed cards. If you're serious about your wine, I highly recommend working with a local guide like

Once you've made your choice, what will you be tasting? Pinot Noir is the acknowledged star of the region, a dominance solidified by its celebration in the 2004 film Sideways. (Witness the power of popular culture. According to Dean, in the mid '00s many acres of merlot ... much maligned in the film ... were ripped out and re-planted with pinot to match the shift in taste the screenplay triggered.) And there's no arguing that California pinot is lovely. When you're used to the challenging, young pinots of Burgundian tasting rooms, it's a real delight to try something that already has its full fruit in evidence, and is ready to drink. Two- and three-year old Californian pinots taste like Burgundians twice their age. The majority of our tastings featured six wines, and three or four of them were typically pinot noir.

I found the zinfandels more interesting, however. They're more uniquely Californian. The grape is cultivated by southern Italians under the name primitivo, but it's in California where this jammy, strong red gains complexity and sophistication. Cabernet Sauvignons also make frequent appearances; bold yet comforting, often with dangerously high levels of alcohol. Almost everyone starts with Sauvignon Blancs, though after that the white varietals go off piste. We saw vermentino, picpoul, gruner veltliner ... whites seem to be an area with less accepted norms, where winemakers feel more freedom to experiment.

Small or large, Napa and Sonoma vineyards tend to have a far more sophisticated marketing operation than your average European house. Maybe when you're charging for tastings, you're more aware of needing to deliver value to your customer. It could be the fierce competition, or the fact that American culture is just naturally more aggressive with sales and marketing. Wineries here are more likely to be destinations for a lingering social outing. Expect beautiful tasting rooms and tastefully landscaped gardens. Some allow you to bring your own picnics as long as you're drinking their wine, others offer food, from simple deli options to full-service restaurants. Many have shops. Going well beyond wine sales, you may encounter wine-related gifts, local gourmet food items, clothing, jewellery or art galleries.

The most fascinating difference in marketing, however, is the wine club. Given the high tourist footfall in the region, it was a brilliant move to cut out the middleman and sell direct to visitors. Don't worry about finding a distributor in your region, we'll ship direct to you. Club members typically sign up for multiple shipments of wine every year, get free tastings and other benefits when visiting the winery, and extra communications. Most taste pourers have their pitch ... some less subtle than others ... and it's clear that converting visitors to subscribed, mail-order buyers is a critical part of the wineries' sales plans. It's a masterstroke. Wine lovers from Kirkwood, Missouri or South Bend, Indiana can combat a bitter winter's night by uncorking memories of sultry summer days on golden hillsides, and differentiate themselves from the guy buying wine at the local grocery store because they have a direct line to their special winery. I wish European wineries would embrace this approach. The only thing I've seen that comes close is the shareholder scheme at England's Chapel Down.

The most shocking difference for Europeans, however, will come with the price tags. At a typical tasting, entry-level white wines might start at $25 a bottle, mid-range reds would quickly jump to the $60s, and it wasn't unusual for the best wines to be in the low $100s. Going direct to the source in Burgundy or Tuscany, you'll only find those kinds of prices at venerable names with serious reputations. In California, they seemed standard. Why so shockingly expensive? Our waiter at Volta offered three reasons:

One: American farmers get no help from government. (Back in Europe, a full 50% of European Union funds go in agricultural subsidies.)

Two: Californian vineyards tend to have much higher levels of debt. Compared to Europe, the industry is a very new one. Owners still have mortgages on vineyards, and have fresh costs of new vines and equipment. The owner might be a Silicon Valley billionaire, but he still needs to pay off that debt.

Three: Because they can. Favoured weekend destination for Bay Area money. Beloved holiday spot for America's prosperous cultured class. No real competition without a long haul flight. If you want to do fine wine in America, you pretty much have to do it here. Prices reflect that captive market.

Next entry, I'll talk about the specific wineries we visited.

Living the good life in Sonoma

Our rental house nestled into a hillside garden above a valley full of grape vines.

Surrounded on three sides by a deep, covered veranda framed with wisteria, and dotted with clusters of generously-cushioned furniture, there was enough room for our group of six to spread out and lounge without ever bothering each other. The outdoor dining table on one side could seat 12, was already dressed with cheerful linen and festooned with chunky candles. It sat next to a broad patio with a double barbecue built into a stone wall restraining a steep hill. If, for some strange reason, we didn't want to be outside, there was another massive dining table indoors, beneath a cathedral ceiling that also sheltered an open kitchen, overstuffed sofas and a fireplace "nook" bigger than some British bedrooms.

It wasn't a house as much as a compound. Below, at vineyard level, a separate cottage housed the owner's winery on its ground floor and guest accommodation above. No veranda here ... just an enormous screened porch complete with hammock and other furniture deigned to while away a sultry afternoon. Between the cottage and the main house, terraced herb and vegetable gardens offered produce to add to our meals all week. On the other side, the hill by the dining patio led down to more vegetable gardens and up to a large pool surrounded by cushioned seating areas, another dining table and an outdoor kitchen. If you weren't transfixed by the view of the vineyards below, you could climb further to find a bocce court beneath Spanish-moss draped oaks. Climb further still through the woodland to gather branches for the barbecues, or settle on a deck to watch the sun set. While watching the hummingbirds and sipping a chilled glass of something local, of course.

Welcome to Sonoma.

I know that not everyone lives this way in Northern California's wine country, but our experience over a week there certainly made it seem like the whole place had been conjured out of a spread in Martha Stewart Living. Clearly, when you have high-quality wine country within an easy drive of one of the global economy's most dynamic engines, reality gets a bit skewed. Heaven knows where the people who do the hard work in all those lovely fields actually live, or how they can afford to get by in a place that made English prices seem quite reasonable.

We chose Sonoma over Napa because its image is a bit more laid back, less pretentious, and cheaper.
Though the two valleys run parallel to each other, and it's quick to hop back and forth between them, those anticipated differences did indeed prove true. From cars to shopfronts to people, everything seemed gilded with a bit more bling along the Napa road. The landscape is broadly similar, though I thought there seemed to be more woodland on the Sonoma side. Land is a bit less expensive in Sonoma, so it hasn't become as much of a high-end winery mono-culture. They still grow other crops here, and are wildly enthusiastic about them in restaurants and markets.

Towns we drove through in Napa all had the feel of Rodeo Drive moved to the country, with exquisitely high end shops behind perfectly polished windows, with signage so tastefully matching I suspected zoning laws included type face specifications. Sonoma is built around a large, green square called The Plaza. There's a pleasing historic vibe here, with a mission and a complex of colonial buildings preserved on one side. The combo of hotels, bars, restaurants and boutiques around the Plaza is still upscale, but it's also more friendly and a bit sleepy. You could actually imagine someone in a pickup truck pausing for a drink here.

Just north of the Plaza you'll find Sonoma Market, a local version of a Whole Foods (although there's one of those in Sonoma, too) that will fulfill every supermarket fantasy. Superb produce, magnificent meat and fish, upscale prepared foods and desserts to take away. With an expansive local wine selection, of course. Between the facilities at our house and the quality of the raw ingredients, is it any wonder we cooked half our meals in? I'd happily pit the salad I assembled from an enormous, roasted golden beetroot, greens, goat's cheese and toasted walnuts (all local) against 80% of the dishes we had in restaurants. Meanwhile, the boys did a magnificent job barbecuing a variety of meats and fish over aged oak collected from the property. We were all used to cooking with charcoal, but had to admit that the smoke imbued by pure, old wood was magnificent.

We even did a couple of blind wine tastings. We took turns organising, each person buying three reasonably-priced bottles, covering the labels and pouring the tastes. In addition to a fun way of organising drinking for an evening, it was a good method of sampling some of the areas more affordable offerings. As we were to discover at the wineries, the people most highly recommended for tastings tend to have lofty prices. Of that, more in the coming entries.

As wine regions go, both Napa and Sonoma are hot, dry places. In late June, a deep golden brown was the predominant colour of anything not under careful cultivation. Clearly, the vines need to push deep here to find water, to the benefit of their fruit. The temperature and colours reminded me far more of Central Spain than Italy or France, where the wine regions share space with more trees and rivers. A particularly striking difference from Europe: most of the vines are on the valley floor, rather than the best fruit coming from the free-draining heights. In California, it's just too hot up there.

For me, however, the biggest difference from Europe was in how the whole area is managed as a holiday destination. Upscale holiday rentals are abundant, sandwiched between retirement cottages of San Francisco executives and the weekend homes of Silicon Valley tech gurus. Hotels and B&Bs all seem to be in the trendy, boutique category. We were sternly warned to avoid weekends, when the pleasure-seeking masses bring the main roads to gridlock. Every winery is a wedding venue, every restaurant does special events. The area is clearly as much about family reunions, significant birthday parties, girls' trips and anniversary celebrations as it is about wine. Being able to play the local card in a country where people have very little vacation time, the California wine country is able to offer an elegant, luxurious, European-style getaway to people who don't have the time to go to the original.  Wine is just one part of the lifestyle getaway they're offering.

That realisation is at the heart of how I felt about Sonoma. As a wine holiday, it was pleasant ... but not as good as France or Italy. But as a lifestyle destination, it was unparalleled; a magnificent place to embrace the good life with those near and dear to you.

To rent our amazing holiday property for yourselves, check out the property description on VRBO. Quite by accident, it turned out this was the same company from which we rented our holiday cottage in Gascony in 2015 ... up until Sonoma, that had been my best holiday rental ever. Clearly, VRBO will be my first stop next time. 

Seven top spots for exploring the Bay Area's food obsession

I have visited regions where the food is as good. There are many places where the cuisine is better value for money. (Unexpectedly high prices will be a feature of many articles from this holiday.) But I've never been anywhere with as rabidly enthusiastic a food culture as the Bay Area and its neighbouring wine region.

Farmers markets have produce of astonishing quality, displayed with the care given to precious gems.  Menus at even basic restaurants go into specifics about ingredients and where they come from; local and organic are common standards. Waiters and waitresses can dive to copious detail about their food and talk intelligently about wine and beer pairing. Groceries and small shops stock gourmet ingredients; the fresh morels and other exotic mushrooms I saw stacked in a shop in the Ferry Building were only equalled in my experience by high-end food markets in Barcelona and Paris. Food trucks and corner delis can be as fancy as high-end restaurants, and often have people queuing around the block. They take allergies seriously here; it's never been so easy to get around my husband's tomato allergy, despite the frequency of that ingredient on menus. (And of servers having difficulty catching his English pronunciation the first time around.) Yelp and OpenTable show that consumers are as passionate as providers; reviews are copious, frequent and serious.

In short, as long as you budget for it, this is an amazing place for a culinary holiday.

Is there a San Francisco cuisine? A handful of things stand out. Unsurprisingly for its bayside location, top-quality seafood turns up everywhere. The sourdough lives up to its reputation; its tangy zing incorporated into almost all baked goods. And they're obsessed with tri tip, a cut of beef I'd never heard of until this trip. (It's the triangular end of the sirloin, usually cut into steaks or ground for mince but here, elevated to a bbq art form.) Sadly for any American who grew up in the '70s, there was no sign of Rice-a-Roni, "the San Francisco treat". Whatever they're serving, everyone is obsessed by quality and trying to be out at the front of the next trend. I saw a bewildering number of unique cocktails.

After that, there's little commonality. San Francisco is an immigrant city, thus a place of ethnic cuisines and fusions. (A Scandi-French place was probably our best meal there.) Up in the wine country, it was all about the quality of ingredients and earning the adjective "gourmet", whether you're cooking for a Michelin star or assembling two-inch-high sandwiches with catchy names, served on luxury breads holding artistic combinations of meats and vegetables melded with complex home-made condiments.

From simple lunches to the most sophisticated dinners, the prices were as gourmet as the food. A sandwich and a drink could be as much as $25, a nicer lunch more than $50 per person, and dinners (with alcohol, of course) regularly approached $100 each. And that's before the tip, which Americans now recommend at between 18% and 20%. It takes a lot to give a Londoner sticker shock, but the facts spoke for themselves: we could eat and drink cheaper almost anywhere in Europe. (And that's before our currency tumbled by 30%. But we won't talk politics here...)

With the exception of our monumental blow-out at The French Laundry, which will get its own entry, here are the places I'd tip for a visit.

IN SAN FRANCISCO
Volta - Start with an experienced management team, infuse a French brasserie with Scandinavian influences, design a bright, modern space, then staff it all with friendly servers who can offer top wine picks, and you get the best meal we had in San Francisco. The dishes were all fresh interpretations of familiar classics, presented beautifully. I started with the skagen, a delicious Scandinavian take on prawn salad, spiked with tangy dill and horseradish sauce, given added depth with white fish roe and crunch with white radish. On to Swedish meatballs, given an elegant presentation and gourmet sides. I was excited to see princess cake on the dessert menu (pictured above), something I've made from recipe but never had from a professional kitchen. This was a deconstructed version, giving a radically modern appearance to the old-world combo of vanilla cake, marzipan and raspberry.

One Market - An upscale grill featuring top quality fish, meat and fresh produce in an early 20th century office building at the start of Market Street facing the Ferry Building. I'd guess the high ceilings and broad, arched windows once belonged to a bank. Now it's an elegantly-designed space where diners get plenty of room at big tables with comfortable leather chairs, and lots of stimulation from the piano player and the flames of the charcoal grill visible in the open kitchen. My husband clearly won the starter round with a lightly-smoked trout on a fluffy potato rosti, topped with a gently poached egg. But both of our fish dishes (scallops, sea bream) paled in comparison to our friend's pork tenderloin across the table. I should have paid more attention to their web site. When a restaurant leads with the image of one dish, it's a good hint to order it.

Tartine Bakery - Given its lofty reputation (Tartine is often credited with sparking the current craze for home-made sourdough) and the number of people who told me I must eat here, I was shocked at

how tiny this place is. It's a simple corner bakery in the Mission District, with about eight tables inside and a handful more on the pavement outside. No alcohol is allowed on the street, however, so if you want beer with your lunch you'll have to be patient. Given that you've probably already stood in a 30- to 40-person queue just to order something, you've proven that trait before you order.  Things move fast, and at least half the customers are clearly locals coming in for bread, cakes and breakfast pastries to take away. This is the place that introduced us to the Bay Area's fascination with the gourmet sandwich. The $14 average price seems steep, but they're enormous and could easily be shared by two. My pastrami, piled thick on buttery grilled sourdough with spicy mustard and horseradish, oozing with grilled gruyere, was exquisite. And the other half made a fine breakfast the next morning. We split a lemon meringue tart with delicate, crisp pastry, explosively flavourful filling and a showy top. It's obvious why the locals queue up.

Sears Fine Foods - Evidently, this place is a San Francisco institution that's been famous since the 1930s. We had no idea ... everyone was jet lagged and it appeared the most practical choice with available tables near our hotel. The cavernous interior does indeed have an old world family restaurant feel, and the menu is one of those broad, bit-of-everything crowd pleasers. I'd classify it as "generic American favourites," but they had a few San Francisco specialties. Most notably Cioppino, the Italian "classic" mix of fish in a spicy tomato stew. Turns out it's not Italian at all, but invented by San Francisco fishermen who would whip up a communal feast from their scraps, inviting everyone to "chip in". Sung out, in their heavy Italian accents, that became "Chee-oh-peen-oh".

IN THE WINE COUNTRY
Sunflower Caffe - One of the many gastronomic options along the large square known as Sonoma
Plaza, order at the counter from chalked up menu and head for the shady courtyard with the splashing fountain to await your food. The menu is a gourmet take on salads and sandwiches, changing regularly to take advantage of local produce. My perfectly-seared Ahi tuna was a Californian version of a salad Nicoise; a friend had an imaginative take on hot dogs served with home-made kimchee. Nice house wines, of course.

Zazu Kitchen - We had a lot of fine meals on this trip, but if there's ONE restaurant I wish we had back home, it's this one. We'd be regulars. Zazu is a temple to pork. From sides of bacon on view in a glass cabinet to succulent burgers cut with ground pork to a wickedly satisfying bacon Bloody Mary, this place is a pig-lover's fantasy. Everything was lip-smackingly good. The waitress was deeply knowledgeable about their farm-to-table policies and clever with matching food to very local wines and artisan beers. The space is modern and functional, crafted from an old warehouse building and flooded with light. Zazu is located in a district of Sebastopol, California called The Barlow. Once a cluster of industrial buildings given over to fruit packing and shipping, it's been re-developed as an upscale dining and shopping district. If I were back in this area I'd make a beeline here; everything looked worthy of further exploration. (Head across the street to Woodfour for a fantastic variety of artisan beers. You can sample a five-beer flight for $10, one of the few deals of our trip.)

San Fran has much to be Proud of, but avoid the bad bus tour

San Francisco is a sprawling place. Now more accustomed to walkable European centres, I often forget just how vast American cities can be. Even San Francisco's parks are built on a scale to challenge the pedestrian. We thought about hopping off the bus to hit a few of the highlights in Golden Gate Park, until we realised the park stretched over three miles and any proper exploration would take far more time than we had.

Thus, despite the fact we spent two weekends there, our time in San Francisco was more about taking in grand views and neighbourhood vibes than diving into specific cultural highlights.

We normally opt for a hop-on-hop-off bus tour of new places in order to get our bearings and, in places this big, to have an easy mode of transport. While the concept applied here, and a two-day pass helpfully allowed us to spread our exploration over a weekend, our choice of "San Francisco Deluxe" tours was a poor one. The information delivered by the combined driver/guides was sketchy and frustrating, with little about history, architecture or culture and a bewildering emphasis on tipping restaurants and shops. I have to assume those were paid promotions. We learned little we didn't already know from a basic perusal of the guidebook. Worse, the frequency of the buses was far less than promised. We hopped off at one point and ended up waiting more than 45 minutes for the next bus, while at two other stops we lingered for more than 20 minutes each while the bus waited for passengers. We watched the Grey Line buses go by with far more frequency and envied their informative guides sitting on the top deck with the tourists. The experience is a good reminder that with multiple options in all major locations these days, it's worth some advanced research to pick the right one.

Here are our sightseeing high ... and low ... lights.

Mission Delores - The seed from which the Mission District grew, the original church is the oldest surviving building in San Francisco and one of the chain of missions built by the Spanish to bring religion and structure to colonial life. It's a beautiful example of mission style and, with the garden and graveyard behind, a spot for quiet contemplation in a bustling city. The basilica next door now hosts most services for the still-active and ethically diverse community; we went to a lovely service with an inspiring sermon on our first Sunday here. The nearby park of the same name has stunning views of the city and the bay; it's an ideal picnic spot on a nice day.

Fisherman's Wharf - Too famous to ignore, too crowded to enjoy. The action sprawls about a mile down the waterfront, with the highest traffic on Pier 39. The view from the pier's end is fantastic, but the long procession of chain restaurants and shops full of tourist tat has little charm. Fight your way through more crowds, past more chain restaurants, hawkers and bad street entertainers to end up at Ghirardelli Square. The shops are more tasteful here, and you can get free samples in the chocolate shop, but it's still all frustratingly packed. Tick this sightseeing box, but there's no reason to linger.

The Painted Ladies - Architecture fans will enjoy a wander around Alamo Square and the nearby neighbourhood. The late-Victorian style houses here feature gables, towers, odd angles and interesting windows, most decorated with Italianate details. Since the mid-60s, owners have been painting the houses and picking out details in bright colours, to beautiful effect.

Chinatown - As mentioned in the last entry, it's a must-see for any visitor. Don't miss Portsmouth Square Park, used as an outdoor living room by a Chinese community often crammed into tiny flats. The shops are great fun, from stereotypical Chinese imports to ethnic groceries to home decor showrooms filled with ridiculously lavish furniture, sculpture and light fixtures. Take a guided tour to get the most out of the area.

Union Square - This square offers greenery, cafes and artists' stands in the centre of the high-end shopping district. It's a good place to pick up a bus tour. The Macy's here is the 2nd-largest in the country after New York, and the Apple store with its two-story glass walls that slide open to create an al-fresco retail space is an impressive sight.

The Golden Gate Bridge - It lives up to its reputation, both as a distant icon as you look out at the bay, or while driving over it. Try to do the latter, where you'll get the best appreciation of the majesty of the engineering and take in extraordinary views.

Pride - It was a complete accident that we ended up in town for one of San Francisco's biggest weekends. Famous as a liberal, accepting city and with a rich history of alternative communities, it's no surprise that the city's Pride event is the biggest in the world. The parade down Market Street started at 10:30 and wrapped around 4pm, with thousands walking while crowds dipped in and out of viewing the spectacle. The all-day party featured the expected club dance mixes, seas of rainbow flags, crazy costumes and outrageous female impersonators. I didn't expect the enormous levels of corporate sponsorship, with hundreds of employees having a festive day out behind their corporate banners, or all the city officials waving from their convertibles. Proof that "Pride" in this city is less about minorities differentiated by sexuality and more about celebrating a community where everyone is treated equally.