I can never write 'em short. sorry.

Day 1:
So there's this new, hesitant feeling now that my little man is two and we're about to leave on our annual Weekend Away. Two year olds can be so damn perceptive and emotional, but my folks once again insist they're up for this and they're well-armed with activities, kiddie place membership cards, Jell-O packets, earplugs, sedatives, etc., and to allay any residual guilt I make a note to beef up his Future Therapy Fund. On the morning of our departure when my sleepy dinosaur in his footie pjs climbs out of his big boy bed, I fix his beautiful face in my brain, smile, sing a good morning, and warmly anticipate the traditional story request.

I get: "Where Pop-Pop??"

Little punk isn't gonna miss me at all.

Off to the airport, where we board our Southwest flight (New Motto: Now Overselling Every Seat!!) to Midway and then finally catch our hour-delayed flight to San Diego. Any fatigue from the time difference is quickly overcome by the warm weather and first few palm trees, so we quickly pick up our rental car and head out to the Days Hotel on Hotel Circle (New Motto: Drop the "Inn" to Confuse People!!) www.daysinnhc.com . The front desk is queued up with families waiting to check in (it's a clean, reasonably priced, well-situated place), and I have a suspicion that things could get loud in the room - and not in the fun way - as the rooms open out to the parking lots. So I discreetly inquire re: upgrading to the one "business-class" building in the back, with internal hallways and additional amenities/snacks delivered every day. We're quoted an extra $25/night, DH cocks an eyebrow at me, I see him and raise him the other back, sweetly saying it's up to him. Heh heh. We upgrade, and it's worth it. During our four-night stay the hotel-door sonic booms are thankfully rare, I don't hear the obvious partying evidenced by 30-packs of empty beer cans near the lobby, and the snacks never go unnoticed as I have a five-months-cooked stowaway, Cletus (the Fetus). So much for getting shiitake'd on California wine.

H is antsy and I'm hungry, so we clean up and set off for the East Village, in the shadow of Petco Park. This is one of the few areas of the city where we notice parking lots are plentiful, and we wander for a little bit before hitting Café Chloe (721 9th Ave, www.cafechloe.com ), where at a hair before 6 PM we walk right in to a table for two. It's a chic little French bistro, but it has a warm feel, friendly waitstaff, and a relaxed vibe, and we start by splitting a fabulous tartiflette – a sublimely melted wedge of rich reblochon mixed with potato, onion, and chunks of bacon, the bit of greens on the side tossed with a nicely complimenting, tangy lime vinaigrette. I order the house lavender lemonade, not quite what I expected as bright-ass pink and assaultingly-sweet up front, but the lavender aftertaste was subtle and refreshing; DH relaxes with a lovely 22oz Alsatian beer that withstands a few of my sneaked sips. For entrees H has the pacific king salmon with meyer lemon buerre blanc, roasted beets and greens and de puy lentils, wonderful stuff, but I was in love with my steak frites – succulent, pink–centered cuts on a happy bed of matchstick frites dolloped with some fresh salsa verde (and a few fresh capers) and accompanied by a generous ramekin of perfectly crisped cauliflower-leek gratin. It was a splendid intro to eating our way through the city; if you can't appreciate the appellations, might as well have fun as a foodie.

California Moment: behind the white arc of the bar the owner/maitre'd opened a bottle of wine, poured a bit, furiously swirled, smelled, and swigged. No biggie, but in the next five minutes every waiter in the joint spent some quality time behind the bar swirling, smelling, swigging, swirling, smelling, swigging – at one point there were five of 'em lined up shoulder-to-shoulder, riding that Reidel…

Fat and happy, we walk towards the Gaslamp District and some sluggish barhopping which starts at The Field, www.thefield.com , the cavernous, authentic Irish pub proudly sporting posters of Carly, the American Idol contestant who pulls pints there. Cool place, they pour an excellent Guinness w/ the shamrock in the foam (it's the little things in life) but I'm a bit spoiled by my Irish pubs at home as this is the first time in recent memory I get charged for a ginger ale. No worries, soon we're off to a very packed Rock Bottom Brewery – yes, DH has led me to a chain, but if you have to get yanked by a chain it might as well be one w/ huge posters of half-naked firemen on the wall, no? I finally notice the text – Fire Chief Days, with a Bachelor/Bachelorette firefighter auction the next night. Serendipity mocks me; H does not let me talk my way into scamming a poster (I snag a postcard, thhhpppttt). We make a final stop at the eponymous Gaslamp Bar where the bar babes aren't exactly ugly and are actually v friendly to my teetotaling self. We chat for a bit about most popular drinks (Red Bull/vodka, bit of détente for East coast v West??), babies, fish tacos etc – Important Stuff – and finally mosey back to the car to crash a bit after 9. Yeah, we're rock stars.

Day 2:
As expected, it is oh dark thirty when we wake up, the arse-crack of dawn. DH pulls on running clothes as he is a madman, I raid the snack basket, and we head off towards Mission Beach so H can run and I can walk on Pacific sand. The sky is overcast and a bit gloomy and there's quite a wind blowing; it won't leave the high 50s/ low 60s for the day and we will repeatedly run into San Diegans personally apologizing for the weather (this cracks me up). I stroll for a bit, taking in the slightly run-down buildings and restaurants, the surfers in full black neoprene, the happy dogs sprinting into the foam, and just enjoy the relative quiet broken by the pounding of the waves.

California Moment: A tall, older gentlemen approaches, face tanned and weathered, nice khaki pants and jacket, white hair curling up from his golf cap - bids me good morning. And flies past me. On his rollerblades.

A happy, sweaty husband meets me back at the bathhouse and takes a quick, chilly shower and then we're off down Mission Boulevard to The Mission, the promised land of breakfast delights (http://themission1.signonsandiego.com/ ). The airy room is about ¼ full at this hour, and we're promptly ushered to a seat and welcomed by Jessica, hereafter referred to as Awesome Waitress Jessica (AWJ), who is so friendly and genuine we are already delighted and we've barely ordered coffee (note the Vincent Vega, a coke with shots of espresso and vanilla – where the hell was this when I was in school??). The menu is droolworthy, and we focus on the Latino Breakfast plates, both ordering the Rancheros Verde ($7.50) – a huge plate of flat fresh flour tortillas stuffed with black beans mixed with cheese and salsa, topped with two eggs over medium, and slathered with chile verde sauce.

OhMyGod, it'd make a tadpole slap a whale.

We barely speak to each other we're so enthralled (making time to chat w/ AWJ about our sightseeing plans, of course), and order a side of their fresh rosemary bread, toasted, to sop the last precious bits up ($1.50). Cletus is similarly stoked, begins playing jai alai with my ileum. Stuffed to the gills and with the fresh zeal of the converted, we bid AWJ and The Mission adieu (not before she apologizes for the weather) and head out into the gray towards Mexico.

DH really wanted to head to Tijuana to hit at least one foreign land this year; I was not enthused but took a lie-back-and-think-of-England approach. We park at a secured lot right before the border, one that ran Mexicoach buses every 20 minutes into Tijuana proper for an additional charge (we'd heard stories of very long waits getting back in-country for those both in cars and on foot). The bus had just left by the time we arrived so we cooled our heels for 20, watching everybody else leave the lot and start walking across the 5 bridge towards the San Ysidro crossing – most apparently choose to walk across and then take a taxi to the Av Revolucion for food, shopping etc. Finally the bus showed up, and with no commentary or fanfare we crossed the border, with another 5 minute drive to the Terminal Turistico – more than an hour fifteen since we'd left The Mission.

I try not to be an Ugly American, to keep an open mind, to look for the serendipitous, the unexpected, the delicious, the novel – but something was not clicking for us that cool, windy, gray Friday morning on the Ave. About ½ the stores were open but the owners and street vendors were at full blast, constantly imploring us to visit their stores, see their wares, etc – not unexpected and we've both seen this before, but in shaking our heads and looking to take in more we saw six vagrants being loaded into the back of an open Police pickup truck, two boys trying to scrape gum from the sidewalk in front of their cantina while an older man spat his out a foot away, and I don't know whether it's because I'm pregnant, a bit bus-sick, defensive, or what, I just wanted out. We wandered a block or two off Av Constitucion and found the teeming crowds on their way to work and school, past a few taco and fruit pushcarts that in other times might have been tempting, and we leave for the bus depot, 45 minutes after arriving. It takes over an hour to get back – the bus lane is verrry slow and there's already a line going inside through customs, and by the time we get back on the bus and then back to the car I wondered if the experience would've been different had we hired a guide or taken more of a ½ day company tour, or been college-age. Oh well.

We'd planned on having some seafood tacos at the recommended Mariscos German for lunch (2802 Ocean View Blvd in Logan Heights) on our way back into the city, but those Rancheros were still with us so we pushed on to the downtown area, flailing at parking a bit before lucking into a space on Columbia in Little Italy. I was impressed at the politesse of San Diego drivers – for the middle of a city there's loads of four-way stops and, remarkably, everyone behaves. Little Italy has the gentrified polish of new money and attention, and we wander past some fabulously fun apartment buildings (some with the obligatory full wetsuits drying out over the railings), the great little Fir Street shops, and several excellent murals, one of which (also on Fir) I'm pleased to see is what I've wanted over the toilet the next time we redo a bathroom: (see http://imagecache2.allposters.com/im...70-Posters.jpg ). We head towards the waterfront and the Maritime Museum of San Diego ($15, www.sdmaritime.org ) to poke around, among other ships, the 1863 Star of India, the huge Berkeley steam ferry/museum, and to DH's delight a 1970s replica of a Royal Navy frigate, the HMS Surprise, used in the filming of Master and Commander (H is a Patrick O'Brien fan, on book three hundred and seventeen or so). Many of the exhibits belowdecks are geared towards kids, however, and are a bit on the cheese side – the pirate "pictures" are unintentionally funny.

We'd paid a bit extra for the 30-minute Pilot Boat tour of the harbor, and are entertained by no fewer than three docents as we cruise around the chilly harbor (they apologize for the weather). We pass the aircraft carrier Ronald Reagan (with its odd gaping hole through the sides of the hull as the aircraft elevator is retracted) and a DSRV on its support ship, one of only two such rescue vehicles on the planet. After the tour we poke around the 70s-era Soviet Foxtrot submarine B-39, otherwise named, well, too many to list as the Soviet navy entertained themselves (or employed themselves) by screwing with the names of their ships to "confuse" the enemy. I've been on a sub before, but the low-tech-ness of this one was scary, and the racks squeezed in next to torpedo loaders made London hotel rooms look like airfields. H climbs through the 1-meter hatches first, the better to amuse himself with my reduced, um, elegance; I retaliate by triggering the dive alarm in the last torpedo compartment, causing him to brain himself on an overhead condenser pipe.

By now Cletus is yelling for food, so we sprint next door to the waterfront bar at Anthony's Fish Grotto to order some drinks and a calamari appetizer (thumbs down). I call to check in on the little dude, only to receive an invoice of the day's lunch and dinner from my mother that reads something like hot dog, hamburger, crackers, hummus, bagel, bananas, cookie, pasta, fruit salad, rice, lollipop and a steamship round. She then asks my beloved if he wants to talk to mommy, to which he clearly replies "No! Watch Elmo!"

Sigh.

We head back to the car, and then drive out to Cabrillo Monument out on Point Loma for the beautiful views of San Diego and the Pacific (www.nps.gov/cabr/ admission/parking $5). There are a number of new hiking trails out here (some of which go down to tidal pools) and a nicely restored lighthouse (check out the water collection setup). We poke around for another hour or so and watch a destroyer come into port, then fatigue really starts to hit me and we head back to the hotel to rest before dinner.

Still jonesing for tacos, we head out to University Avenue just off 163 to hit the Mama Testa Taqueria (http://www.mamatestataqueria.com/ ) as we don't feel like driving out to Mariscos. We're both unnerved by the empty restaurant, but decide to brave it and are shortly given a basket of fresh chips and an introduction to the salsa bar, which has more than 9 kinds of freshly-made salsas and other condiments to choose from (and sadly will not fit into my carryon). I order the Embarras, two fresh soft tortillas with steaming, freshly cooked shrimp with the bite of fresh chiles tempered by cool coleslaw, accompanied by some lovely beans and rice. DH has the catfish tacos and a few of the $2 beer specials (Mexican Bohemia), and is not unhappy with his selection. I'm amused by the lucha libre napkin holders, but even more so by the godawful Mexican soap on the tv, complete w/ heaving bosoms and bearded romeos in puffy shirts, one of whom I swear has forgotten to take his Timex off. By the time we leave there are 6 other tables occupied, and we walk for a bit down to Lucky Buck's, a small but packed burger joint where cheap burgers + $15 margarita pitchers = a crush of college kids. We don't stay for too long, enough for another beer for H and a milkshake for Cletus, and then it's a quick drive back to the hotel to crash.

Great report. Very entertaining.

Thanks for the report, it sounds like a fun trip! ***kim***

Day 3:
By the time I'm fully conscious I have no husband in sight but can hear wheezy expectorations from the coffeemaker, so it's all good. When he gets back from his Hotel Circle run I'm completely starving for our next brekkie: 2801 University Ave in the North Park neighborhood, aka location 2 of The Mission. He doesn't take much (any) convincing, and soon we're being seated a little before 8 at the 1/3rd full outpost, complete with construction workers, other tourists, families, dads with their kids, etc – such a happy place. Our coffees arrive, followed by my enormous breakfast quesadilla with eggs, cheese, bacon, cilantro, tomatoes, and salsa and served w/ a side of black beans, and H's Papas Loco – rosemary potatoes, grilled jalapenos, black beans, cheese, avocadoes, sour cream, and some scrambled eggs for good measure. Once again, damn fine eats. Somebody in the back suddenly raises the volume of the background 80s music and the unmistakable hook of Ice, Ice Baby snaps into our synapses – next thing you know all the little kids in the place are bopping in their seats and one of the little boys next to us loudly asks his sheepish Dad why he's not dancing. Meanwhile Cletus is again thrilled, resumes play in the uterine fronton. Finally our spoiled selves roll out and make the quick drive towards Balboa Park and the Zoo.

The world-renowned San Diego zoo (www.sandiegozoo.org ) is one hundred-plus acres of lush landscape divided into canyons and mesas that really takes at least half a day to wander through (we spent 4.5 hours, did a ton of walking, didn't hit everything and didn't do any shows. I've actually heard that the flora is worth more than the fauna, pay some mind to the flowering things as you walk by!). There are a number of discount coupons in the local papers and in those ubiquitous hotel flyers, and the military has an especially sweet deal with free admission. We were there not long after they opened at 9, and walked to the depot to take a bus tour to orient ourselves, dodging the free-range peacocks showing off for the Saturday morning masses. Disney rules apply here: get to the back of the park first, where the pandas, polar bears, etc may be found, as the crowds only get worse as the day goes on.

I can't do justice to the sheer variety of animals and habitats, suffice to say that if you want to see it, chances are you will – from the Discovery-channel-darling meerkats to siamangs enjoying some keeper-blown bubbles, you're in for a treat.
Best Talons: Harpy Eagles. Oy! (The zoo has the only breeding pair in N. America)
Best Ears: Red River Hogs. Killer.
Best Face: The largest, eldest male Orangutan. I defy any female to not love his mug. Swoon.

I know that modern zoos are not without their detractors; San Diego's innovations have become global expectation. That's not to say SD is ideal - the big cats, for example, are in surprisingly small enclosures when compared to some of the monkeys, and if they weren't asleep they were pacing along the gates. The elephants will be getting a huge new multi-acre habitat within a year, but I watched one of the Indian elephants doing a seemingly self-soothing rocking back and forth for quite a while, which was upsetting to see. Who knows.

California Moment: On the way out, we passed the komodo dragon enclosure, and I spied a half-deer carcass inside, only to see the large sign next to it basically saying that the carcass was fake and meant to add realism to the environment. I mean, seriously. If this was anywhere between New York and Maine there would be posted feeding times for these guys. There would be a mob waiting. There would be cheering.

Regardless of the assorted snackings and breaks I am spent, but we wander towards Balboa Park (www.balboapark.org) , with its oodles of beautiful lawns and buildings and 15 (!!) museums, a few of which I had wanted to hit but just didn't have the stamina for (the Mingei came highly recommended, and the Natural History Museum currently has a Pompeii exhibit – a few weeks before they had the Dead Sea Scrolls). So how do you follow up a big exhausting trip to the zoo?

By going to an Ikebana demonstration. Duh.

After moseying through several of the park areas and past the Organ Pavillion (where an elementary school dance competition was ongoing; we heard the same Miley Cyrus song three times in a row.) I noticed a few posters for a free ikebana show in one of the salons, so after getting a that's-not-my-bag-baby look from DH I poked around a bit by myself, greeted by several kimonoed Japanese ladies in front of the entries/exhibits flanking the room. A woman at a podium was narrating a demonstration on the flower arranging art so I stopped for a bit to watch an expert at work. The diminutive Japanese woman carefully trimmed a few stems underwater (aha!) using sharp garden shears, placed them in an oblong vase next to her, and then pulled out a ginormous, flat leaf of some kind from under the table. She inspected it for a moment, cocked her head, and then bent it backwards until it snapped into about ten loops. I kid you not, the audience gasped. It was hilarious. She pinned the loops back somehow to make an elaborate bow, placed it in the vase, and my talentless self slinked out as she toiled away.

Flowers still on the brain I dragged DH into the beautiful lath-constructed Botanical Building, built for the 1915 Exposition, currently welcoming visitors with inviting pots of freesia that signs welcome you to smell. We mosey through tropical ferns, begonias, pitcher plants (woo woo!), everything I cannot grow to save my ass (there's quite a few varieties of orchid; too, always impressive - mostly because orchid people are, well, obsessive freaks). Now completely spent, I plead to head back to the car and we stop briefly at Historic Old Town for some slow walking and chips, guac and drinks at the Plaza del Pasado. We don't have much time to poke around the white adobe buildings or the stores or various other areas – again something to be saved for another visit. We head back to the hotel to clean up, change, and head back to North Park for The Linkery (http://thelinkery.com/) , where we're meeting my fabulously brilliant and utterly tweaked friend L and her lovely husband J for an early dinner.

The Linkery deservedly prides itself on knowing exactly where every item on the menu is from, with most if not all meat, fish, vegetables, beer, wine, bread etc. coming from local organic farms, breweries, and bakeries. The waitstaff earns a living wage, so tips are not accepted and anything extra given goes to charity, and they have one of the most carefully chosen beer and wine lists I've seen (dammit!). They make their own sausage, hence the name, and you can order the day's selections in several ways, or choose links to accompany other entrees as you please. We all quickly decide on just getting a bunch of plates and sharing, and then the fun begins. J orders some grilled ginger-soy green beans and we agree that some of the house rosemary-olive oil grilled bread will be key, and then we move to the sausages, choosing the spicy Chile Colorado link to go into fabulous sausage tacos (on fresh tortillas w/ pico de gallo, jalapeno aioli, cabbage etc), the smoked chicken sausage to accompany a lovely Spring Sandwich of grilled asparagus, greens, poached egg, and citrus aioli on beer bread, and a seafood link (the surprising, clear winner, it really works!) to accompany the pan-seared grouper served w/ blood orange salsa, whole grain rice, grilled plantain, etc. Though they've never met and subsist on different ends of the beer-wine continuum, the boys get along grand, and H loves himself some of the Green Flash brews. Soon they are discussing Happy Things like hooters, bacon, and the Constitution, and I'm enjoying the crap out of hanging once again with L, who like myself relishes all things twisted, tasteless, and useless, one of two people on this sphere who can make me hork hot liquids out my schnoz. The food is fabulous, the meal goes by too quick. Soon we're presented with dessert menus and we decide to order a grilled pound cake to share (again the surprise, it too really works), along with one of the recommended ales to accompany. My sampler of beer goes nicely with the cake, but H looks at me like I'm chugging mastodon blood and snags it; L, God bless 'er, throws hers my way. After heading out we get some other goodies from a bakery down the block and drive to their place to chow and chat a bit more, and finally collapse back at the hotel about an hour later, once again fat and happy.

Day 4:
I think we may have transitioned to Pacific Time, and have managed to sleep in a little. How do I know this? Because there's actually a wait at The Mission back in Mission Beach.
Round 3: Yes, yes, ya'll. Since our return to New England I've read some reviews of people complaining about the weekend waits and the lack of parking. Re: the former, granted there were only 2 of us but we were seated in about 7 minutes (and, as reported, if you go early there's not much of a wait), for the latter, this is very true, but there IS a paid lot across the street and I'd advise anyone to just suck it up and do it – this Sunday morning the tow truck was doing a brisk business, and during the meal we saw 5 cars being yanked from the alley next door. Anyway, even though we are not in her section AWJ pops over, visibly pleased, and asks us about our adventures, and soon we have our coffees and a beautiful stack of three French toast for DH and a short stack of the blackberry-banana pancakes for me. They are fab, Cletus gyrates like (s)he has just won a coupe on The Price Is Right.

Onwards, then, to the wilds of La Jolla: we hug as many coastal roads as the map reveals and find a spot right on Coast Boulevard to park and go for a wander along the cliffs and pounding surf. To our surprise we're right next to the Children's Pool area, and spend some time checking out the big, fat, grey-dappled sausages masquerading as seals sunning themselves in the protected alcove sand. There's a concrete strip that goes out into the water where you can walk out and get a closer look, useful for checking out the pups (whelping season is from February – April). Very cool. We take a lazy, hour-plus-long walk northeast along the path, enjoying the brisk sunshine, the mad surfers, and the cool coastline. When we return to the car H decides to ramp it up a bit and go for a run, and I take the opportunity to check out the Museum of Contemporary Art right across the street (www.mcasd.org ).

The swanky MCASD occupies some prime real estate overlooking the pacific on Prospect Street, and was renovated and expanded in '96 by Venturi and associates. There are additional downtown locations which you also have access to up until the expiration date stamped on your ticket. I had read some glowing reviews of the collection and the building, and managed to get a decent discount from the $10 admission (note 25 and under is free), but soon discovered that the building is deceptively small (a good part of it is auditorium), and the permanent collections had been mostly moved out or sent to the other locations to make room for an installation of items (which still hadn't been labeled) for their fundraising art auction. Not that they weren't interesting, I was simply expecting something different. There is a cool whole-room installation by Erwin Redl in a downstairs gallery, where hundreds of evenly spaced floor-to-ceiling wires have green LEDs suspended at 5 equivalent intervals, giving the whole room a Tron-meets-the-Matrix feel (I'm dating myself here, aren't I) – the genial guard told me to put my sunglasses on and the wires all but disappeared, leaving me and the others poking around in a kind of 3-D trippiness. Back upstairs, I took in the celebrated views but decided that I preferred being across the street, where you can hear the ocean and get your hair messy in the breeze, so I poked around the sculpture garden (excellent whimsical-yet-subversive piece carved out of a retaining wall by Vito Accionsi) and went wandering up Prospect, checking out the vertiginous real estate listings and the Beautiful People.

DH and I met up and we walked to the Panini Café on Prospect for some hummus and pita, bruschetta, and iced teas (www.mypaninicafe.com ). Excellent choices, verified by my husband actually fighting me for the accompanying greens tossed w/ nice vinaigrette. After resting up a bit we spent a few hours wandering down Prospect amongst the zillion art galleries (where one point five of us enjoyed some free cookies), spendy boutiques, and incongruous tourist t-shirt joints. We wound up at the far end of the commercial area and walked back along the coastline, enjoying Bird Rock, the various caves and sculptural erosions, and the precarious sea lion hangout.

California Moment: Back near the Children's Pool we walked by a man with an adorable little white bully that was going to absolute town on a hot pink tennis ball. She had a hot pink halter collar, a hot pink leash, and on closer inspection to get some puppy love… hot pink toenails.

H looks like he just remembered something, so thinking I know I call to check and see how my folks are doing with the Emperor of the French. My dad assures me he's grand, but he can't talk right now as he's busy watching Elmo and the Vampire Vixens of Sodom. Again outgunned, I hang up and then H reminds me we haven't found anything as a thank-you for my folks yet, and we should start looking pronto as we leave tomorrow morning. This gives me pause – we're in freakin' La Jolla, are meeting friends in 40 minutes for an early dinner, and I know it's gonna take some deus ex machina to save my arse, but he's right. So we duck into a side street that has one of those little innocuous jewelry-purse-tchotchke places where there's so much inventory you can't see anything in the damn shop and I peer at some nice little earrings for mom. The friendly proprietress pulls out them out and quotes a car payment. I feel half the muscles in H's body tense behind me. I try again. Dealer-certified used car payment. More tension. Now these are not bling by any imagination, but evil A is starting to enjoy this. I try again. Score!! Mortgage payment!! As if on cue, Buzzkill Cletus does a half-gainer, reminding me that DH has not bought us dinner yet. So we sneak out, change clothes, and head off to meet friends of DH's at George's Ocean Terrace (www.georgesatthecove.com – turn down the sound!! 1250 Prospect Street).

The swank George's Modern is definitely upscale and definitely contemporary (several million dollars went into a recent renovation), but the Terrace on the roof is a bit more relaxed (though still packed w/ the Beautifuls). We had early reservations for 5:30 (a must-have, I believe, both places have been on many best-of-lists as of late!), but after waiting a half an hour it was obvious some of our party wouldn't be making it, a fact which didn't bother our waitress in the least. Not that we cared, we were so impressed by the gorgeous waterfront view afforded us, and we had the catbird seat right in the front corner next to the glass. H enjoyed catching up w/ his classmate who had brought his wife, MIL and 3 month old (again, didn't bother the waitress or anyone else in the least) and I was quite content w/ my virgin Mai Tai and sooooo goooooddd fish taco appetizers, succulent chunks of fish in fresh tortillas with mango salsa and jalapeno-lime sauce ($9). DH had the calamari ($8.50), also good, and we followed it up with a nice slab of mahi-mahi for me ($22) and the big winner, a Thai-inspired fish stew for H that was crammed with taste-able seafood as it wasn't ambushed by a heavy hand with the curry (a steal at $15.50). Which brings me to a random aside – coming from the Northeast, none of the prices at any of these well-regarded restaurants surprised me, which kind of surprised me, if that makes any sense… Along with the lovely food and company we were treated to a stellar sunset, which was appropriately applauded by many in the jam-packed restaurant. We skipped dessert as the little one had held out so admirably and we know not to push one's luck with an infant, so after bidding our friends adieu H and I wandered a bit more before dessert beckoned and we landed in the Living Room, also on Prospect, for cherry pie and a cookie (meh, skip both) and some coffee (decent). Soon I sleepily watched the streetlights of Prospect and Torrey Pines fade into the glare of the 5 and we hit the sack for our early wakeup call to reality.

What a delightful trip report, one
of the best I've EVER seen on Fodors. We too love San Diego, especially when it's on hubby's
company's dime
THANK YOU for the fun, detailed
read. I'll definitely save if for
future use (hopefully SOON).

Love your vivid and clever descriptions! You are hilarious. I'm glad you enjoyed San Diego...you sure got around to some good restaurants!

Great report. Love your whitty description of your trip.

We are headed to San Diego in two days.

Postscript:
Really, 4:45 AM is just Bad News.

We get to the Terminal at quarter to six after dropping the rental car, and after inspecting the boards DH has a funny look on his face. Bad News.

Our 6-something flight is actually flight number 6-something. The winged aerospace vehicle inside which we will be traveling is departing at 8-something. I will not be speaking to my husband until 10-something. But in a California vibe I am momentarily serene. Cletus, however, is aghast, violently protesting that we could have gotten Mission takeout for breakfast as opposed to an airport-grade bagel and coffee you could plant violets in. Mommy sympathizes, telepathically urges Cletus to save the quality projectile vomits and blowouts for Daddy.

Later back East, though, we're back in the land of toy jigsaws in the sink and no privacy in the bathroom, with a Wound Up Little Boy to simmer down and a Grandparent Debriefing to fire up. We know we didn't see everything we could have, but we had a great time regardless, except for one glaring, tragic, unresolved issue: somebody needs to open The Mission out here, pronto. Seriously.

Happy Travels.

Ah AHaugerto, how I relate to your
2nd to last sentence. Too funny. Too true!
Thank you again for your very
witty and interesting trip report.

TTT because this fabulous report
deserves to be read!

Awww, thanks Mom!!!

really enjoyed your trip report, you have a way with words. living in San diego it was nice to read about what you ate and saw. I ate at the Linkery a few years ago but didn't know their tipping policy, that is good to know. Next time you visit San Diego you might want to try Isabel's Cantina, http://www.isabelscantina.com/cantina.php
i am not sure but i think she used to work at the mission cafe before starting her own restaurant. some of the menu is very similar.

AHaugeto,

What a fabulous trip report! I love your writing style....it appears to come to you effortlessly. I sometimes think and write like that but lately the neurons have been too lazy to put out that effort.

I live in San Diego and didn't know about many of the places you describe....I will definitely check out the Mission and the Linkery.

Next time you come back, you should make your way up north and do a hike at the Torrey Pines State Reserve and visit Del Mar as well. Maybe Cletus will be able to hike with you by then, !

thanks, joeyi, looks right up my alley - that soy/ginger recipe on the site looks like a must-try.

ncounty - yup, wanted to hike up there and check out the Aquarium as well, but was surprised at how tired I was. We've a list of places to hit the next time, though:

Torrey Pines SP
Mingei
Natural History Museum
Mariscos'
A few sushi joints...etc.
Wild Animal Park
Drinks at the Del

blah blah blah...thanks again!

You're welcome, honey

And this will bring your fabulous
report back to the top where
it belongs.

(actually, I suspect we're about
the same age!)

See? Great minds!
I didn't *need* to bring it
to the top again.
But I'll keep an eye on
it for you hon!

is it the soy joy sauce. i make that all the time, it's really great. if you have ever had the zen breakfast at the mission that is what they cook the tofu in. it's also good on chicken, fish or meat.

Fantastic trip report! My husband and I will be in San Diego in July; we will DEFINITELY make it a point to visit the Mission for breakfast at least once! Hmm, now I'm hungry...