On Wednesday night in San Francisco I was finally in the safe zone.

I could feel myself relax. I was with my people. Other outcasts of society. Other people with strange palates who like their wines to change in the glass at any moment. Those who like to be surprised. Here were merry terroir jihadists in all stages of development and we were grouping at the Terroir Wine Bar and Merchant on seedy Folsom Street. The purpose: reading, talking, signing, Q&A.

I walked in and saw Mr. Bow Tie's parents. What a surprise. Elvia sat on a crate looking cute. And Ben swaggered over and gave me a hug. Everyone wanted to meet them but they left after the quick goodbye.

There were other surprises, some people had braved the Bay Bridge. Jonathan from Chez Panisse, my friend Val, a few bloggers, some folk from K&L, a salesperson from Chadderon, the wine editor from UC books and Kevin Clancy who brings in a bunch of Louis/Dressner wines. Steve Edmunds! I was too shy to remind him that I was in town and I was really happy to see him sitting at the bar having a bite. “Can you believe someone called this place cold?” asked me. Steve was sipping some Peyra 2005. (Pretty. Gorgeous in fact. One of those walks through the woods in the fall while you can feel the heat of the summer.)

Terroir? Cold? What was the offended blogger thinking? What a lovely non-nonsense, we’re all about the wine and doing our own rough-hewn woodwork because we have to do this. Sorry. No zinc and stainless here. The vibe is, if you’re here, you’re one of us. There is immediate inclusion when drinking here. I felt at home. Off my guard. Time to have fun.

If only the Terroir in NYC -- getting such adoration --would learn a thing or two from the Terroir in San Fran or as I was prompted to say 'Frisco.' The closest thing we have to a wine bar like this in New York is not Paul Grieco’s place but 10 Bells (but best to drink by the bottle and not by the glass). And of course there’s Bette, a great place to go too, especially if I want to stand on toilet line with Uma Thurman. But the list at Guillaume. Luc and Degan’s place holds no inconsistencies, no faux wines. no twists, excuses of confabulations, these are the real wines and they are happy in their bunker. Pacalet and Perya by the glass? I rest my case.

(photo of Guillaume and Luc courtesy of Amy Lillard)