The other night I was up in Healdsburg and ate at Cyrus--one of four restaurants to receive two Michelin stars in the Bay Area (see article). From start to finish, the experience was sublime, more like a tightly directed performance than mere dining.

I operate under a strict card-only policy, absolutely refusing to carry cash. Even though the ban has left me stranded at toll booths a time or two, digging for loose change as cars line up behind me honking their horns, my wallet hasn’t seen a dollar bill in ages. I’m also the one who slows the line at Starbucks to put that $3 cup of joe on my American Airlines AAdvantage Card. Yup, you guessed it: all in the spirit of earning a mile.

A friend of mine is on the management team at one of California’s most beloved ski resorts. When I told him that I was going to write my blog post bemoaning the lack of snow in the mountains this winter, he howled at me not to jinx them any further. Indeed, East Coast resorts are reporting their bleakest season in 25 years, alpine resorts across Europe have cancelled hundreds of race events due to lack of snow, and West Coast resorts are being forced to advertise top-of-the-line snowmakers and groomers rather than the usual eye-popping base depths and abundant powder stashes. And with the ten-day forecast offering no glimmers of great white hope, folks whose income is dependent on the snow are understandably edgy. However, once I explained to my friend that my timing (or lack thereof) is such that the moment I write about the dearth of snow, it will dump like no tomorrow, he acquiesced. So I’m offering this one up for all of my snow-seeker friends out there.

Last weekend while at an interview on THE EARLY SHOW, the anchor, Jim Axelrod, scoffed at my suggestion of Newport Rhode Island as a fantastic wintertime getaway. But Jim, I stand by my claim. I love a winter weekend getaway! You can drive or fly to a popular summer spot and enjoy the off-season trifecta. Better prices. Fewer crowds. Great sales!

I admit it, I’ve always been an airplane seat recliner. As soon as that “fasten seatbelt” sign goes off, I push my seat back that extra inch. But on a recent flight, my seat wouldn’t budge. Trying to get some momentum, I tried rocking back and forth and using my strength. Still no give. Finally, when the person seated next to me asked if I was okay, I realized she probably thought I was having convulsions, so I stopped.

Chances are, the reason I wasn’t able to recline is because the person sitting directly behind me had installed a Knee Defender™. Designed with the express purpose of preventing airplane seats from reclining, this new invention is causing quite a stir among those who believe in the right to recline and those who believe in the right to spare their knees and laptops.

Maybe I've read too many women's magazines in my lifetime, or maybe I'm a just a sucker for a quiz. So when I was reading an article in the January issue of Condé Nast Traveler that had a test in it, I immediately jumped online to take the 15-question Travel Personality Test. I mean, who doesn't want to know what their travel type is, right?

I’ve gotten close to Cuba a time or two. There was that time my girlfriends and I ventured through Miami's Little Havana, absorbing the rich culture of this ethnic enclave, where Cuban traditions infuse everything from its bustling eateries and coffee stands to its vibrant murals, music and art galleries.

As if it wasn’t bad enough that subway delays made me late for work this morning, en route, I got BlackBerry’d that British Airways’ cabin crew have backed a strike plan to ground service over the dates when I’m scheduled to go to London and Copenhagen next week. I know the world doesn’t revolve around me, but come on, but it’s my birthday!

As you can imagine, I’ve been busy dealing with this, so I haven’t had time to dig into the specifics of why the union is striking (something about sick leave and pay), and I haven’t had a minute to formulate an opinion. What I can tell you is that I have an eight o’clock reservation at Wilton’s next Tuesday night, and I’ll be damned if I have to miss it.

Every time I think of the year 2007, I can't help but think of James Bond. (Go Daniel Craig and Casino Royale.) Perhaps it's fitting since I'm talking about traveling the world and Mr. Bond always appears around the world in order to save the world.

The latest series of stunning Bond backdrops were filmed in the Czech Republic, the Bahamas, Italy as well as in the UK. It kind of makes me itch to hit the road...

If you’re feeling something in the air, it’s because the crescent moon and the planet Venus are gearing up for a torrid flirtation in plain sight this weekend. Saturday night, both will be paired up in the sky. If you’re into the voyeurism thing, breaking out the telescope will reveal little Mercury shining just below, as if trying to get in on the rendezvous. Those of you lucky enough to be traveling in South Africa or the Southern tip of South America will be treated to the most provocative views (the moon will actually appear to blot out the planet with its body).

My movie-watching style is more Netflix than film fest, but one day I'd like to rub elbows with Hollywood celebs and film buffs in and around Park City and catch a glimpse of the latest indie flicks. After all, I've loved Napoleon Dynamite, An Inconvenient Truth, and Hoop Dreams, plus getting outdoors in Utah is a blast.

Today's the kickoff for the Sundance Film Festival, which is the largest film festival of its kind in the country. And although I've never attended this event, our U.S. version of Cannes in France, I have been to the Sundance Resort--and would return in a heartbeat.

Who isn’t confused about security regulations these days? Returning home from a trip last week, even I got held back at the airport security checkpoint (and I track this stuff for a living!). As soon as the monitor lifted my bag off the conveyer belt (giving me that discerning Ha! Gotcha! look), I realized my mistake: I had forgotten to take the plastic bag that held my liquid containers out of my carry-on. Doh!

The lady behind me groaned and rolled her eyes. (Something I’ve been guilty of doing, too. It’s a common, involuntary action when the only thing standing between you and your gate is an inexperienced traveler.) Only this time, I was that traveler. Not a good feeling.

In spite of the fact that there will always be travelers who inevitably slow the line, TSA is making strides to speed up the security process for those of us who (usually) know the ropes. The most recent of which is Clear Registered Traveler, a program that, among other efficiencies, introduced a new technology that detects explosives and allows passengers to keep their shoes on during the screening process.

We Are Marshall has nothing on the real-life comeback story that’s unfolding in the wake of the New Orleans Saints’ playoff win over the Eagles. Last weekend’s game had me on the edge of my couch, swearing like a sailor, desperate for a win for my adopted city. No place needed it more.

When I was a child, I was lucky enough to have neighbors who were born and bred in New Orleans. In my hometown of Brentwood, L.A.--with its stately homes and well-manicured denizens--Auntie Gayle and Unkie Ralph's zany ways were a departure from the norm. In short, they were more fun than anyone I had ever met. For Christmas, they wrapped their front door in gleaming, metallic paper with a giant bow like an oversized present and tangled themselves in battery-operated tree lights and bulb ornaments for my parents' Christmas Eve parties. When my brother and I watched scary movies at their house, they would jump up from behind the couch to incite even louder screams from us kids.

From an early age, I saw them as the embodiment of New Orleans, a bewitching place where music courses through the city's veins, where you dare not utter the word "voodoo," lest wandering ears "put da curse on you," and where the convivial spirit of Mardi Gras abounds all 365 days of the year.

If I were a betting woman…I might be tempted to say yes. But then again, at the beginning of 2006 I might have bet that a major airline would file chapter 11 and we all know that didn't happen. Ripe as the landscape appears for a merger in '07 I'm reluctant to put down any money.

Since we evolved out of the primordial soup, we humans sure like to keep our gaze fixed firmly on the water--and we’re willing to pay more and more to keep it there. Take the case of the double-wides over in Briny Breezes, Florida. In December, a group of trailer home owners were offered millions of dollars. Why? The lots overlook a spectacular stretch of Florida beach. This week, by an overwhelming vote, the mobile home owners ratified the agreement. And that’s the way it goes. Whether it’s a cruise ship or a Maui hotel, rooms with a view always fetch a premium price.

I recently embarked on a journey through the regions of France, not just to see the sites, but also to experience the culture through its yummy cuisine. Mmmmm, heaven!

I started planning this eating extravaganza before I even booked my ticket – mainly by working out and eating healthy. Hey, I needed some wiggle room if I wanted to pig-out on vacation! One thing I didn’t plan for was the fact that I’d be traveling to France, the land of cheese, with my vegan friend.

The other night a few of us were at a bon voyage dinner for a buddy who was taking off for three months to study ice cells in Patagonia. This time last year, I went to Buenos Aires, but I couldn't take the extra time to fly down for glacier viewing at the tip, and I've regretted it ever since. Back at the restaurant, we were trying to feed our cravings for adventure with summer rolls and clay pot salmon, but it wasn't working, so we started to plan our own trip: Kilimanjaro in 2008!

There are a handful of constants I employ in all of my travels--everything else, I leave to chance: I always visit museums, ride the local transportation, learn to say “hello,” “please,” and “thank you” in the official language, and I always explore the markets. According to my husband, who has been dragged to countless farmstands, grocery stores, and open-air stalls around the world, no kitchen-related item is too mundane to peak my curiosity. (To that I say, “Have you seen the scrub brushes they use in Seoul?”)

Sussing out ingredients unique to far-flung corners of the world is my kind of treasure hunt, one which makes good use of my Kiva convertible duffle bag. This is why I check the mail every single day in January, desperately awaiting the arrival of the Saveur 100, a compendium on insider food finds from the editors of Saveur magazine--kindred spirits in all travel-related ingredient quests.

Did you know that in Mexico you can visit a place where you go through a mock border crossing? Uh, yeah. That's right. For extreme tourists or practicing wanna-be crossers there is a tourist attraction that is luring (and also is alluring) to some who are looking for an, er, escape.

Last week, the Godfather of Soul shimmied on up to the big boogie-fest in the sky, and I paid my respects in the only way I could: By roller skating in Redwood City. For this brilliant idea, I can only thank a friend of mine who passed along the news of a roller rink jam tribute to James Brown, with the promise of music and costumes. Even though I hadn’t been on skates in years, how could I turn that kind of homage down?

Few things are more decadent than starting a day opening gifts, ending it with a steak dinner accompanied by a hearty bottle of Syrah, and filling up the hours in between at the spa. That was my Christmas.

Don't get me wrong. I love a Christmas back home surrounded by family and home-cooked meals, but every now and then it's nice not to lift a finger, or step foot in an airport.

Respite for our hectic lives can no longer be found from a mere Saturday walk in the park. Have you noticed? Seriously. It used to be that I could take a walk on the beach for an hour and feel renewed. But not anymore. And it's not just me. I see it with my friends, colleagues, and in the industry. People need something more than a yoga class, something that stretches beyond an hour of downtime. And that, my traveling friends, is what the Minimoon is all about.

If I had a nickel for every time a fellow transplanted Californian and I had this conversation...

What good is a Steve Hanson-ish up-market Mexican restaurant in Manhattan--with its artisanal tequila tastings-this and wood-fired mole-that--when all I want is a $3 burrito? Sure, I’ll order one of their burritos for lunch, just to sate the craving for something carby and rectangular that’s topped with guac and sour cream. But nothing satisfies like a burrito from La Taqueria in San Francisco’s Mission.