Santa Barbara

You can buy me this poster here.

I don’t know about you, but I plan my days around food. I plan my schedule around what I’d like to eat, when, and where. Can you imagine how jam packed a weekend can be with so many of my favorite places, with so little time to eat them all? Multiply this problem by 27 billion when I find myself home for holidays in the Napa Valley. Opting in for a last minute trip to Santa Barbara, my schedule was completely full with sushi, sandwiches, cupcakes, and cocktails.

If you’ve ever spent any time in Santa Barbara, or Ilsa Vista for that matter, there are certain places you just need to go. Bagel Café is just one of those places. Why are bagels always so much more delicious when someone else is toasting them for you? I like to think it’s the same reason your hair never looks as good as it does when a hairdresser styles it. Some things just need to be left to the professionals. Bagels are one of those things. Throw in some kind of cheap, greasy burrito with French fries and sour cream and I’m a happy girl.

However, now that I’m so old and mature, these IV spots aren’t the only things on the menu. Enter Cold Spring Tavern.  Just off the 154, this old stagecoach shop feels like another planet. Or Frontierland. Or a stop on the Oregon Trail. I can’t decide. In any case, this is the Sunday Funday place to be for anyone with a motorcycle, fringed leather jacket, or impressively tangled facial hair. I obviously fit right in. Our one common bond – love of tri tip. And you can only find these bad boys – the sandwiches, not the bikers – on Sundays. I’m pretty sure the bikers are always there. Walking out to the smokey outdoor grill, you’re handed slabs of tri tip smothered between the most deliciously toasted bun. I opted out of bbq sauce, and instead loaded up with horseradish and a spicy fresh salsa, as per the scary samoan bbq grill master. And seriously, who wouldn't take advice from that guy? He looks like he knows what he's doing. If I weren’t so afraid of the beer bellies that hung over most of the middle aged biker's chaps, I could very well do this every Sunday - dining outside, on tree stumps and picnic tables, cold beer in hand, sandwich remnants all over my outfit, listening to the musical stylings of the Gary Foshee Band. If only I drove away on the back of a motorcycle. How cool would that have been? And I’m thinking next time, I should be wearing these badass boots. Maybe I should add them to my birthday list.

I'm surprised I even waited long enough to snap a picture of this sensational sandwich before chowing down. Thanks for thinking of snapping the atmosphere, Betty. I was obviously to busy eating and drinking.