I was born in San Francisco, CA., but I grew up in a little town about 30 minutes outside of the city. Kentfield, the little town that absolutely no one has heard of.

Kentfield borders Ross, which is another – slightly bigger – town in Marin. Our street in particular connected, beginning at a market in Kentfield, and ending at the Ross school. Kent Ave., if anyone lives near there.

As a family, we knew every inch of that street. So often we would climb on our bikes and go to the park, where we would sit, play with the dogs, or climb the play structure. That’s where I first learned to ride a bike without training wheels.

Another of our favorite destinations was Marche aux Fleurs, a small French restaurant situated comfortably in a petite plaza, with a deck looking out. We went there so many times, that I got tired of spaghetti with butter and parmesan.

Who knew you could ever get tired of that?

One time at Christmas, we went for dinner, and I ordered a steak. I can’t remember what cut it was, or what delectable sauce they listed on the menu, but my god it was good. Every time we went back I would ask the owner about it. Sadly, it was a one time thing.

Then there was Woodlands Market. If you are ever in Marin, please please please make sure you go there. You will never find a better place to shop for food, I promise you.

Woodlands was also my favorite deli. Every so often we would go get a sandwich. I would immediately unwrap it, looking for the square of chocolate enclosed in the parchment paper.

On Saturday mornings, my brothers and I would plead with my dad, begging him to treat us to a breakfast of mickey mouse pancakes at the nearby Willie’s Cafe.

I hold so many memories from growing up in Kentfield. Some small, others more significant to me. I haven’t been back since we moved away, and over time I have lost the desire to. I want that small California town to remain exactly as remember it, not as the disappointment it may be if we were to visit.