Our Pumpkin Patch has a Turkey Farm

Hypothesis: Facebook/Uber/Google-wunderkinds are benefiting most from the tech-boom.

Empirical Evidence: Organic dog treats in cafés, vegan dog food at the local restaurant, canine day-care & professional dog walkers while owners are at work funding the inflated rent for apartments overlooking the Golden Gate Bridge, that the dog lazes around in all day.

Conclusion: In my next life, I’m coming back as a golden retriever in San Francisco.

I miss the inordinately fluffy, hyperactive and dramatic Cavoodle that has ruled the Devitsakis household since 2010. She’d be in her element here – sunny weather, large parks and everyone stops to talk to dogs – particularly the well-dressed ones.

No need for Tinder if your pug can rock polka dots.

Molly would have been a welcome addition to the apartment last week, while George was at his first corporate off-site in the Napa Valley (SF Job Perk #274) and I was left to my own devices.

Mercifully, George’s boss is an exceptional wine aficionado so I took comfort knowing that my husband would return with the samples of California’s finest. But to answer what you’re all thinking – which wins in the ultimate yuppie-fight between Marlborough & Clare Valley and Napa & Sonoma? In the name of sacrifice for this blog, I’ll have to stage an official tasting and report back.

[Is wine-induced blogging the same as wine-induced dancing? Whereby you think you’re exhibiting the most artistic, coherent expression of yourself but in reality, everyone is just staring at you incredulously and stifling laughter?]

Not to be outdone while George was sunning, wining and Finnish sauna-ing (Read: A harassment claim waiting to happen, said the injuries lawyer), I scored myself a brunch date with my first official SF friend (Aussie expat, Sian) at the best bakery in the city, B Patisserie. And folks, you heard it here first: the cronut will be monumentally usurped by the ‘kouign-amann’.

The only stumbling block I can foresee is the inability of the general public to pronounce this light, fluffy, delectable pastry’s name – Kwin Yamman. It will likely be relegated to the rank of Bastardised-Dessert-Names (Galactic-booty-call, anyone?) but when it tastes like heaven, who cares?

Kouign-Amann at B Patisserie with Sian

Kouign-Amann literally means ‘butter cake’. Be still my beating heart – which has undoubtedly been beating more slowly since consumption of said-cake on Friday morning. Maybe I should start taking the heart medication that Gwynyth Paltrow’s mum has been advertising on TV, to mitigate the particular mode of arterial damage instigated by the chocolate-filled ones… (Or is it for arthritis? I can’t keep up with the celebrity-endorsed meds…)

Once I’ve embarked on my first trip to CostCo for a 25kg bag of pastry flour, there’s a good chance I’ll be attempting this pastry, for what will inevitably descend into an afternoon of butter & flour in every orifice – startlingly reminiscent of Octobers & Novembers past, when my Christmas baking season would commence…

Here in California, Summer has ended, Fall (Autumn. Whatever.) has begun and the city is in the full swing of all things Halloween & Thanksgiving. Who would have thought that a wave of homesickness would arise from it being the start of October and there not being a damn Christmas decoration in sight?

Jack-O-Lanterns. Candy en masse. Greeting cards adorned with skeletons, ghosts and the Kardashians. Pumpkin-spice flavoured everything. The answer? (E) All of the above. (And I’ll be sure to let you know if I lose my last autumn leaf and voluntarily drink a pumpkin-spice latte…)

Fun Fall Fact: We have a local pumpkin patch. It includes a turkey farm.

Nat contemplates vegetarianism. George googles gravy recipes.

Fun(ny) Fall Fact: George will be carving a pumpkin this year. If history is anything to go by, please see pictorial evidence of the last time George was let loose with a pumpkin. I’ll be the one in the corner drinking Californian wine…

I shall patiently wait with bated breath,  passing by the pumpkins and turkeys, in the hope that maybe, just maybe, someone will put up a holly wreath so that it truly feels like ‘early September at Myer’. Until then, I guess I’ll just have to acquire a front-row seat at the 25th Annual Halloween Pet Costume Parade…

I shall surely regale you with stories of sweat, bloodshed and sharp objects (a.k.a Pumpkin carving) but until then still-warm regards from sunny California!

P.S Sian taught me how to make candles. Not only is the entire process very therapeutic, it also confirms my initial thoughts about Fall in the USA  – the olfactory assault that is pumpkin-spice candles insults the entire candle family. Like the drunk uncle who asks how long until the baby is due, when the only thing that has necessitated your elastic waistband is one-too-many chocolate kouign-amann…