.Community

We in the Bay Area love to complain about cold weather. But while most people at this time would prefer to be lounging poolside in a warm locale, I’m more of a fall/winter person. It might have something to do with growing up in deserts (Las Vegas, Palm Springs) and spending a formative decade on Maui (read: even “perfect” weather all the time gets monotonous—I know, I’m weird). I like the chilly seasons.

Now, I’m not married, but this month I’ve entered a union of a different kind: editing this magazine.

Time seems to be moving quickly this year. The moment the Great Bay Area "Heat Dome" dissipated, coffee houses were suddenly serving up pumpkin spice lattes. And then, like 15 minutes later, the autumnal itch apparently scratched, it's the holiday season. I'm afraid if I blink, I'll miss New Year's.

People go to the East to reinvent themselves; they come West to be themselves. And nowhere else can someone do that with more freedom of expression than in the East Bay. From the campus to the curb, it’s in our DNA to be true to one’s self and vision. But it doesn’t stop there—we share it: The walls of our galleries and museums are lined with area art; our venues and stages thunder with local voices; and our streets are an ever-evolving canvas of murals and more.

When it comes to conversations with kids about race and racism, the most dangerous choice parents and caregivers make is saying nothing at all.

With apologies to Mr. Tony Bennett—sure he may have left his heart in San Francisco—but anyone who’s been in Oakland for more than two beats leaves a bit of their soul there. That goes for the greater East Bay, from (alphabetically) Alameda, Albany and Berkeley all the way to Union City—under the right conditions, something spiritual happens to you here that changes you. Moments, even small ones, can feel epochal to one’s own personal timeline.

The East Bay has long been the epicenter of the gourmet universe. From Alice Waters introducing the Bay Area to the farm-to-table concept nearly 50 years ago to Alfred Peet kicking off the American coffee revolution from a Berkeley storefront—it seems that everyone in the East Bay has always had a prescient palate.