The Flavor Can't Be Beat

When I first moved to southern California in 1986 I barely knew a soul there but I had several friends living in San Francisco and Sonoma County. I used to drive up here at least once or twice a month and got to the point where I could clock it in at well under six hours. The drive was nothing to me—it felt like I was going to the next neighborhood over to drop off some dry cleaning. These days I moan if I have to drive to the San Fernando Valley just north of Los Angeles. And it’s been so long since I’ve been up here that when I saw the rugged coastline and green rolling hills from the plane, it seemed very unfamiliar, like I was approaching some exotic Asian land.

Is it treason to publicly admit that I have always preferred Los Angeles to San Francisco? I know we are supposed to accept that L.A. is a vast cultural wasteland full of botoxed empty-headed wannabes who only care about their cars and tans, while San Francisco is a golden mecca of taste and refinement, rich in history, intellect, and political consciousness. Well, maybe few people espouse that old stereotype anymore—I guess I’m still remembering some of the glazed looks of pity I used to get from people up here when I said where I lived. But I’m sure it was more me than them. It was only my southern California inferiority complex that made me think I should be embarrassed by how much I like living in Los Angeles with its wide open spaces, Mediterranean-like climate, seedy history, beautiful architecture (if you know where to look), and ghosts of Hollywood past. Everything about Los Angeles resonates so much more strongly with me than what I experience in San Francisco.

Not that I’ve ever really given myself over to all the richness that San Francisco has to offer—especially on this trip. This social studies conference I’m attending is at the Hyatt Regency at the San Francisco Airport so I haven’t even made it into the city yet (if you want a true cultural wasteland, just spend a lot of time in airport hotels). When I was growing up in Chicago my only knowledge of San Francisco came from John Steinbeck novels, movies shot on backlots in southern California, and Michael Douglas cavorting through “The Streets of San Francisco” (which, FYI, started its five-year run before Catherine Zeta-Jones’ third birthday). Oh, and of course, the cable car jingle permanently drummed into my head:

Saute and simmer
The flavor can’t be beat
Rice-a-roni
The San Francisco Treat!

No matter that this odd mix of vermicelli, rice, and seasonings is manufactured in Bridgeview, Illinois. (Does anyone eat rice-a-roni anymore?)

You can always tell when you’re at a social studies conference—within minutes of entering the hotel you see an entire family in colonial dress heading towards the exhibit hall, Ben Franklin having a heated conversation with Thomas Jefferson near the sushi bar, and a couple of rowdy Confederate soldiers drinking Heinekens in the lounge. I can’t think of a more noble or important profession these days than being a social studies teacher, and it’s reassuring to see so many passionate California teachers here. I’m off to a full day of sessions and meetings. And maybe I’ll even take the Bart into the city tonight so I can see what all the fuss is about.

Comments

[david]

I still like Rice-A-Roni! But only the chicken flavor.

[Laurie]

I remember those visits and I miss seeing you. We were out of town this weekend, but if you are still at the conference--let me know!!!