Every Christmas, in the grand tradition of our fathers and their fathers before them, we pull on the London Fog mackintosh, hop on the Powell Street cable car, and roll on down to Union Square. There, after feasting our eyes on the window displays and partaking of the Compass Rose high tea, we take it upon ourselves to compare and contrast the gingerbread houses that are as much a part of our yuletide hotel lobbies as a freshly butchered evergreen and the distant strains of a Vince Guaraldi... More »
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