“Danger: Sheer Unstable Cliffs. Stay Back." The sign has been hammered into the sand a couple of yards from the edge. No fence. Big slab of rock down in the ocean looks like a fossilized …

Slap, slap, slap. Joanna’s whipping those dough balls into tortillas. “Busy day today,” she says. She’s working right here with her tables and pans, out on the Astroturf entrance to Don Diego’s, a red, orange, …

Serendipity? This is how it happens: “No, no! Not one step further! You want 40 bucks down the drain?” Carla has planted her feet on the sidewalk. The palm trees are whipping around her. It’s …

Ain’t it funny how things happen in strings? Maybe that’s what string theory’s all about. But one week after chew-chewing gourmet burgers downtown at Neighborhood, I’m being tempted by another hip joint (heh-heh) that sells …

“Life’s too short to drink crappy beers,” says Todd. He’s sipping on his Allagash Black, a dangerous-looking high-octane brew from Maine. But most of the 27 microbrewskis on tap behind the bar we’re sitting at …

Blue skies, smiling at me/ Nothing but blue skies do I ­see… It’s an oldie but goodie, and Irving and I launched into it when he mentioned that the guy who wrote it had the …

Is there life on Broadway, east of the I–5? I’ve got a couple of answers to that. Feta 1, Turkey 2. No, we’re not talking World Cup soccer scores. Just the two sandwiches you gotta …

"Why don’t you come up and see me sometime?” Or was it, “Why don’t you come up sometime’n see me?” Either way, Mae West, right? In She Done Him Wrong, 1933, propositioning Cary Grant. Turner …

‘Where are you?” says Carla. “You don’t want to know,” I say. “Oh no. Not…?” “Yes, I’m afraid so.” “Not Mc…aaargh! Say the name.” “Mc…Mc…McD-d-d-d…” “McDonald’s. Say it!” It feels better when I finally blurt …

“They’re coming…” Carla stares at the computer screen. Her face is like a little girl’s. “That they’d come all this way,” she says, “just for my birthday. I can’t believe it.” I’m reading the email …

“Real pizza?” says Jeremiah. “The first five years I was out here, I had it flown in from New York.” Good Lord. Some guy in South Park is having his pizzas flown in from the …

“Look at my boys!” says David Dadon. His son Barry is busy at the cash register. Jacob’s in the kitchen. “Barry’s the business genius,” David says. “Jacob’s the chef. He graduated at the top of …

I feel this warmth in the palm of my hand. Oh, great. It-Bit “Washtub” Boots McGee has just peed into my hand. He’s a couple of months old, max. Golden Lab pup. Looks like a …

Here’s one for the military. Looks like IB’s loss could be North Island’s gain. My favorite BBQ trailer is heading thataway, for Navy eyes only. And that’s one giant pity for the rest of mankind. …

“This is what, again?” asks Carla. Her fingers rustle suspiciously through the pile of fried smelt sitting stiff, gold, and cold next to the crispy, deep-fried chicken skins and the pot of vinegar. “These,” I …

I was shocked — shocked, as Claude Rains said to Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca — to see Funky Garcia’s sign being put up above the Sun Cafe’s a few months back. Actually, I did go …

You never know what you’re eating. Not really. That’s my thought as I dunk my congee/cruller/dja kwai/you tiao/Chinese fried breadstick into my Cambodian/ French coffee (the kind with sweetened condensed milk at the bottom). The …

It’s 11:00 at night, downtown TJ. “Only, only Marcelino, Only, only pan y vino…” Carlos Ubario Macias sings merrily away. He’s sitting on the stool next to me, out on the street at Marcelino’s tiny …

Can I wax poetic? Heed ye the words of Carl Sandburg, the poet, describing the rough, tough city he loved, Chicago. “Here is a tall, bold slugger set vivid against the little soft cities/ Fierce …

Maybe it’s the pale, washed-green cupboards or the mustard walls or the blue-and-yellow tablecloths and olive bowls for sale. This place just feels like a little piece of France. Right here in Little Italy. Cheeky. …

Pacific Beach is more mysterious at night. Silent runners materialize like ghosts along the boardwalk, murmuring couples huddle in shadows, the odd drunken brown-bagger holds up a lamppost, groups burst out of eateries like the …

Omygod. She’s eating her pizza with her knife and fork. Then again, she’s English. “What do you think, Robin?” She takes a sip of her English breakfast tea. My old buddy Robin looks up from …

I’ve got to thank the MTS for this find. They canceled the 962 night-bus service on weekends from the Eighth Street trolley to Spring Valley and back. Who knew? And I’ve just missed the last …

The shiver. Down my spine. Can’t help feeling it every time I walk into Old Town. Honest. Something happens when you saunter up that dusty path from the trolley-bus depot, around the wooden fences, and …

“This place is run by a ‘Supreme Master’?” says my buddy Lee. He’s driving us to a vegan eatery with an innocent name, “Loving Hut.” “Yeah,” I say. “But we’re cool. It’s the food. Good …

Barbecue. It’s the only cooking smell that actually wafts through the air like a well-flung fishing line, grabs you, and hauls you in by the nostrils. I mean, there I was at sunset, hoofing it …

The guy in the wheelchair sits at the corner of Fifth and G, waving his “Hot Dogs!” sign toward G Street. That’s all you need. You can see the crowd halfway down G, clumping around …

This restaurant is closed. Serge and Danielle. Always liked them. They were Uptown’s crêpe royalty. They had this uptown crêperie called Deli France. So, today I’ve come back. Boy. Be so mad if they’re gone. …

Shoulda fixed that thermostat in the oven. Now Carla says she can’t cook no toikey for Thanksgiving and we’ve gotta go out. “Take me to Cowwonado, pwease?” she says in the über-cute voice she knows …

To Be Thankful Requires Humility — John Brizzolara This Year, We’re Staying Local — Pamela Hunt-Cloyd Eat What the Politicians Feed You — Don Bauder This Is How It’s Supposed to Be — Barbarella Thanksgiving: …

“The Island in the Sky,” reads the Tierrasanta sign. Great. But how come this end of the Island don’t have no buses? Okay, a mile back, I got off a buslet, a bumpety-bump van that …

Huh... A gold, studded “Champion’s Booth,” a corner throne area where, it looks like, champion wrestlers get to chow down. There’s a chandelier above, wild-pink-and-sea-green walls, a gold table cloth, and a red velvet rope …

Why Tijuana? That’s what everybody asks me these days. I know. These days, the headlines about Tijuana feature murder, mayhem, and misery. But here’s the thing. These days, when nobody’s going to Tijuana, wouldn’t you …

Encinitas. Hour to kill before the Coaster. Spotted these giant ficus trees. They’re the kind you see in National Geographic, strangling ancient cities. Then I noticed a little ol’ building huddled under them, and a …

Washington may declare that the recession is over, but don’t tell that to Chad and his cousins at Market 32. They’ve had to close the doors on their original, very green idea. These guys from …

Answer this: What kind of place gives you a big chunk of chocolate to munch with your beer? A real serious-about-beer place. Where a man can find a far-out stout. Sayer the server hands me …

I’ve been called flaky. But hey, this is flaky. Who woulda thought? Eating a pastry-covered curry pie for breakfast in a converted condo in East Village? Here’s how it happened: I was wandering hopelessly around …

“And now for a special live report from the border, here’s our border-affairs reporter, Ed Bedford. Ed?” Cue Ed: “Yes, Cindy. I’m actually standing on the border. One foot on either side, my right planted …

Hey, Mr. Sumption! Greetings from October 2009. You stamped this piece of sidewalk with your moniker a century ago, almost. “H.W. Sumption, October 1910.” And this huge tree. A Moreton Bay fig, the plaque says, …

“I starred in Star Trek. You don’t recognize me?” Bill looks at our blank faces. We don’t recognize him. “Okay, so not exactly a starring role. I’m the guy in the gray jumpsuit with a …

“Russ?” “Yup.” “It’s me. I’m in El Cajon.” I’m calling on my first-ever cell phone. Hate the end of freedom. But now I need this thing. “That Dubai restaurant you were crazy about? It’s closed! …

“Know why this area’s called the ‘Stingaree’?” asks Mark. We’re at the bottom of Eighth, right where it meets Market, inside this Asian bistro I just happened on called J. Wok. Mark Richmond’s an artist. …

Do I follow the crowd? Hell, yes. This one, anyway. It’s Sunday afternoon, down at Quivira yacht basin. I’ve been wandering past boats with names such as Sonny Daze, Bad Habit, Sea Ya, and Bad …

“What men or gods are these? What maidens loth? What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?” Huh. I impress myself. I do remember something from high school English. John …

From the start, you pretty much know: everybody getting off the number 3 bus at Fifth and Elm is headed there. Five o’clock on a Thursday, where else? Horizon Park Chapel. Free food. Me too. …

“Hot? Hot-hot? Hot-hot-hot?” Sanaa stands there, in one hand a big pestle at the ready, in the other, a bunch of nasty little green and red chili peppers ready to throw in for crushing. Ready …

“Juanita’s Carnitas of Encinitas! Juanita’s Carnitas Encinitas!” This is Ted’s kid, chanting. Best way to get the carnitas tacos he loves. “Juanita’s Carnitas of Encinitas…!” “Ah, you mean ‘Little Jane’s Little Meats of Little Oaks,’ …

I know. My friend Naomi’s been here. Matter of fact, that’s part of why I stopped by. For me, barbecue’s like art. I don’t know much about it, but I know when I like it. …

So here I was, walking the Gaslamp one night, minding my business, when this dude thrusts a flyer in my hand. “Burger, fries, and draft beer, $5,” it says. Wow. And that’s just the first …

La Colonia? Ah, yes. The story comes back as I sit up to the old tiled bar. “1697–1997,” says a weaving hung on the wall. “Celebrates the 300th anniversary of the Spanish conquest of Baja …