The spring evenings in San Francisco are drunk with gold. It pours down the avenues of the Sunset. It ignites each leaf of the acacias along Frederick Street. Gold collects in a rich haze over Ocean Beach. It makes a summer haystack out of Potrero Hill. It gilds the telephone lines on Downey Street, stretching a web of bright metal. Gold blows out the windows of the Painted Ladies. It lays down bright parallelograms under the eucalyptus on the Panhandle. It lights the massive glowing arteries of the 101. It alchemizes the skyscrapers on Market Street, creating a city of gold slabs. I love living in this city, I love the Pacific light, and I love the motto given by the city fathers in 1859: “Gold in Peace, Iron in War.”
Goldschläger tastes entirely quotidian, but the gold flecks approach the sublime.
—Arlo Crawford / @museumy
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