You can now book an African safari through your Uber app

I’ll be honest. If I weren’t a writer, there is no way in hell I could have landed a 7:15 Saturday night reservation at Cafe Charmant just a mere four weeks after its opening. The most recent jewel in the buzzy Catch Hospitality Group’s crown, the glitzy eatery is the newest IT restaurant to hit the downtown scene, so chalk it up to one of the perks of the job that I could walk in, order a drink, and be ushered to a corner table for two in under 10 minutes.

Though the state of making prime reservations in New York City may not come as a surprise to many, I’m still not able to reconcile with the current velvet rope of so many of this city’s restaurants. Sure, the 90s and early 2000’s had their Indochine, Moomba (if you remember that one, we need to grab a drink). The Waverly Inn, but for the most part, you could easily make a reservation or even walk in and wait for a table with a cocktail in hand at most popular establishments. And, let’s be honest, half the people weren’t even eating, if you know what I mean.

Livermore Valley sits in Northern California’s East Bay, where the hustle and bustle of neighboring Oakland and San Francisco give way to grassy rolling hills, big open skies, and over 40 tasting rooms. The region is home to some of the best wines I’ve tasted in the state, without the pretense and rigidity I’ve come to expect from other tasting rooms in the region.

And thanks to the valley’s marine-influenced winds, varied climate, and diverse soils, I tasted an unusually broad range of wines. Crisp whites, structured reds, and everything in between seem to be able to find their footing here.

After a multi-year bender of back-to-back press trips, I decided to swear off travel this past summer. The old dog was tired, and I desperately wanted to reconnect with old friends, visit family, and continue wooing a lovely lady in New York. Oh, and I needed to find time to actually write the stories I had promised publicists in exchange for gallivanting around the globe on their dime. I am, after all, a professional.

As summer raced by, my inbox swelled with tantalizing invitations. I turned them down one after the next with Spartan fortitude. A junket to the Loire Valley to review wineries? Thank you for considering me, but for the next few weeks, I’m committed to rekindling my relationship with my bed. A sailboat cruise on the Amalfi Coast? I hear it’s beautiful this time of year, but sadly, I’m in the weeds bingeing Landman.