I remember when entering Millennium was like opening the doors to a lost city. We were adventurers, spending years starving and broken, searching for the magical elixir that would transform dull, bland vegan food into fine dining of the highest caliber; believing in the existence of a deity that would elevate fermented bean curd into haute cuisine. And Eric Tucker did it, and the place was Millennium Restaurant.

Nestled in the blighted Tenderloin area of San Francisco, at the bottom of the Hotel California, a surprisingly adequate Best Western spot with surfboards over the beds; the sunken dining room provided a street-level view of often unseemly streets, which from time to time included views of public urination or defecation. But, that is part of gritty urban life, and it almost complimented the little oasis of veganism, full of people trying their best to save the planet while indulging their gastronomic lust. Ethical hedonism, one might say.

I will never forget the bean spread they served as you sat, with artisan bread and pink crystal salt. It changed seasonally, and it was always transcendent, something more than a simple smear of hummus. The recipe is unfortunately not included in this cookbook. I own two copies of it, soft and hard back. The softcover is stained with brush strokes of chocolate, droplets of olive oil decorate the roasted garlic mashed potatoes recipe, shallot paper is pressed between pages like bookmarks. The hardcover sits on a bookshelf, untouched. I have yet to replicate the fried oyster mushrooms, the eating of which brought me to near-orgasm, right there at the bar; or the peanut butter mousse cannoli, which I promise my husband I will make one day. I was never able to attend one of their legendary Southern Comfort dinners, where they served veganized versions of American food, complete with buckets of cheap domestic beers brought to each table.

It wasn't all perfect, though. There was an uproar when they wanted to start charging for tap water; and, more disastrously, the sous chef Jason Dunbar died while hiking in 2011. As time went on things were cooked in a more hit-or-miss fashion and some of the flavors they introduced were brighter, more Asian, or tropical; and I was partial to the moles and squashes and kales, things that felt more native to their little island. But, regardless, it is still one of the finest restaurants I have had the pleasure to frequent, and this is coming from a former restaurant reviewer in the Bay Area, a place packed with heavyweights.

I ate here with my ex-husband on special occasions. My mom and I indulged in round after round of food, ordering everything on the menu and boxing up what we couldn't eat, laughing louder than anyone else in the hushed sanctum. I came here with my Dad's family after I graduated college, smoking cigarettes outside with my step-sister who showed up late and drunk and made my dad switch plates with her because she disliked what she ordered. The last time I was there, another boyfriend and I stayed in the hotel and ate downstairs for a friend's birthday; I proudly pulled my Friends & Family card from my wallet to secure the table a 20% discount.

And now, now I read that after more than two decades, and countless memories, it is closing. The hotel was bought by a Seattle-based company that has no interest in preserving Millennium. Chef Tucker indicated they may be priced out and forced to move to the East Bay, which has become the new San Francisco solely because of real estate costs. I myself was exiled due to poverty post-college five years ago and carry around anger to this day. My great-grandparents built many of the iconic homes. They survived the 1906 earthquake. I graduated from SF State. It's my hometown. I had many friends and lovers, and adventures, and mistakes and victories. For a time I was the copy editor for VegNews Magazine, headquartered in a cool little office on Wawona right off the Great Highway, seconds from the ocean. That institution has also crumbled, though it was due to drama, not economics; but it seems like someone is intent at chipping away the foundations of my past, removing street signs and landmarks, making it impossible to ever find my way back.

You can't go home again—especially if you can't afford the fare.

Made some very interesting meals from here but this is definitely a restaurant cookbook - the recipes are not for everyday ( )