Drive south along the San Diego shoreline in fall, spin inland toward the breweries of San Marcos and Escondido, grab a pint of double-hopped West Coast IPA at a beach-front pizzeria in Carlsbad and you'll deeply comprehend why Southern California beer tingles: It is the epitome of nature in a bottle, from a place where nature means teal waves and blonde babes.

It might seem a little strange to review frozen dessert when it's, to borrow a phrase common in the Midwest, “colder than a witch's booby in a brass bra.” But hear me out. Seasonally resplendent foods are great, but eventually steaming soups and endless turkey reincarnations get tiring. Sometime between Thanksgiving and Christmas, I need to rebel and duck out for some good, holiday-inappropriate chow.

Nursing It Back

Little Sir Dan, sat with his hands, aloft over keyboard with a frown. Along came his boss, and with a crumpled note he did toss, asking “Hey, we doing a Chowtown?!”

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