As I write this, a thick blanket of fog covers the city and a barge bellows out in the bay. This is the San Francisco I remember living in – constantly grey, a jacket always on hand and a fog always threatening to descend.

I decided to come into the city a few days before my flight to Europe. Being that my last day at the old job was on a Tuesday and my flight from San Francisco on a Thursday, the idea of twiddling my thumbs at home seemed less than exciting. Patience has never exactly been a virtue of mine.

I’ve had a mixed relationship with the city by the bay. I moved here to go to college, but left it to do my last semester abroad. For a long time San Francisco was tainted for me by past memories and experiences. At one point I even uttered the words “I hated San Francisco”.

Yeah, I’m not sure what I was thinking either.

Over the last few years, though, that’s changed, a change I’m truly glad for. Living so close to one of the worlds greatest cities and not being able to enjoy it was awful.

The change began when an old friend of mine from college invited me out. I took him to a place called Dave’s for a few drinks. That turned into a five bar pub crawl on a Tuesday night as he re-introduced me to the city I had once called home.

I began remembering why I had wanted to move to SF in the first place.

The key with any great city, big or small, is its secrets. It’s both the places no one knows about yet are discovered together or the places you refuse to tell anyone about because you want to keep them to yourself.

SF is a labyrinth of back alleys, hidden courtyards, phantom staircases and concealed gardens. Discovering them isn’t hard – take an afternoon and pick a neighborhood. The Mission is especially great for this, but North Beach and Alamo Square are fantastic as well and the old warehouse district in the Embarcadero has some of my favorite hidden places in the city.

Walking through the Mission one afternoon I smelled something incredible. I wasn’t even hungry but I’ve never let that stop me before. The smell took me to the most blue collar dive bar I have ever seen in San Francisco – every one was male, everyone was over 60, everyone was watching the baseball game and everyone was talking about the ‘the good ole days’ under the union.

Hidden in the back corner was a kitchen. Walking up to the counter I couldn’t believe what I’d stumbled on: beef tongue soup? Fresh pasta with house cured pancetta? I had died and gone to heaven – the bar served Jameson and Anchor and the kitchen served two different dishes with the word ‘confit’ in it.

I ended up ordering something called a french onion soup sandwich. No, not a french onion soup and sandwich – a sandwich that had all the characteristics of french onion soup.

I don’t care if you believe me, I don’t care how good a restaurant or a chef you want to put it up against, I will place this sandwich in the running against any dish ever made, ever. It may not win, but it will come real close.

And no, before you ask my dear reader, I will not tell you where it is, I will not tell you how to get it, nor will I tell you anything else about it. Because this is my secret in my San Francisco.

Go find your own.

San Francisco is an escape for me – a friend calls it my “San FranVegas” and that’s not entirely inaccurate. Over the last few years, the city by the bay has become a place of displaced reality, a place I can go to and disappear in. I think this is one of the reasons so many people fall in love with this city – you can live here for years, but wander down a new street and you can be a complete stranger.

Yet beyond it’s secrets, it’s food, it’s architecture, it’s neighborhoods or it’s bars or its history I’ve found something else to love here. The people.

My friends have all been fantastic during the last few months of transition, but my friends here in San Francisco have shown me a special level of care. It must be something in the water: it’s no surprise that the entrepreneurial sprit is appreciated in the Silicon Valley, but what was surprising was the level to which my friends offered to help over and over again. Offers of employment, offers of introduction, offers of monetary support, offers of a bed or a couch or a floor or a room, offers of anything you can imagine. As more people heard through the grapevine what I was working on, more offers came through.

For that they deserve this public shout out and thanks. They know who they are.

When you begin working on your own project, you have a deep and unsettling fear that resides inside: that you’ll be going through this alone, that you’re the only one who will be checking in on how you’re doing, that you’re the only one that you can count on,. That simply hasn’t been the case for me. i think if you’re honest about what you’re doing and show people your passion, those close to you will go out of their way to help support you. I sure hope it’s not just me who’s been this lucky.

There are only three places in the world that I would call home and SF is one of them. From the friends, to the secrets, to the food there is quite simply no other city like it in the world. And it will always have a place in my heart.