BY MICHELLE TEA

I PAID A visit to Chronicle Books the day before our gloomy last election. As I leapt off the 14 bus and made my way to Chronicle's Mission Street offices, the air felt charged with hope and optimism, and my crush on Matt Gonzalez was peaking. I had his face silk-screened on my T-shirt, and more of his face was clattering on buttons pinned to my coat and purse. I looked and felt like a groupie and was too busy enjoying the new rush of idealism to worry about putting the fan back in fanatic.

Inside Chronicle Books I was nabbed by Andrea Burnett, a woman who possesses a supernatural abundance of enthusiasm and is putting this gift for excitement to work as the publishing house's P.R. person. I do hope the lady commands a strong salary, because her effusive delight for all things Chronicle – its flashy products, its creative work environment – was sincere and contagious. As caffeinated as I was, I could not keep up with her power walk through the winding halls of her workplace, a workplace teeming with artsy employees, well-groomed metrosexuals, and good old-fashioned queers, many of them wearing their own Gonzalez merchandise. I gave them bonding smiles and restrained myself from dorkier displays of camaraderie such as the thumbs-up. Oh, had I only known that the man whose campaign speeches had included the thrilling phrase "fucking liar" was on his way to Chronicle Books, the very place I was, to be grilled by the rather large workforce. I was, like the race itself, so close to glory and yet so far. Sigh.

Let me tell you right now that you know Chronicle Books – even if you have never found yourself browsing its stall at the overstimulating Metreon while waiting for your expensive movie to start. Chronicle produces not just regular books of the fictional and nonfictional variety; it also churns out bunches of gifty, impulse buys such as note cards, journals, and address books, and you have seen these wares sprawled around the checkout counters of every bookstore in the city, not to mention at the occasional novelty store and gift boutique.

Things take a merciful turn for the sour when Andrea whips from her colorful jumble of show-and-tell a Yoshitomo Nara postcard set. "Don't you love Nara?" she asked. "I love Nara!" Of course I do love Nara and his sulky, pissed-off, cigarette-smoking children. "Wouldn't that make a great baby announcement?" Andrea asked, considering one of the cherubic misanthropes. "We really go outside the box with our stuff. Chronicle Books just has a wonderful, warm and fuzzy feel to them – lots of kitschy, funky, cute stuff."

Chronicle's mission statement declares the house's objective is to "create and distribute exceptional publishing that is instantly recognizable for its spirit, creativity and value." Though these cartoony gift pieces might be empty of the value aspect – not that eye-candy doesn't have a merit all its own – the bulk of Chronicle Books' publishing does live up to its inspired trinity.

"I think our cookbooks are unparalleled," Andrea bragged. Starting back in the 1980s, Chronicle began its innovation of the food-publishing field with Mia Detrick's styley Sushi, introducing the visually arresting staple of Pacific eating to people whose only previous exposure to the stuff was as culinary proof of Ally Sheedy's deep weirdness in The Breakfast Club. The press is now at work on a series of guides to Asian delicacies for the uninitiated or easily confused – the tiny, crimson pocketbook Dim Sum works as a field guide, with color photos, explanations of what lies inside the buns and rolls, and pronunciations for those who need extra help. "Phonetically," Andrea pointed out. "How cute is that?" A companion guide that demystifies sushi is also on the way.

With a list eclectic enough to include Napa Valley wine mysteries, Nick Bantock's endless Griffin and Sabine series, and a host of vaguely Buddhist self-help card decks tackling everything from yoga to meditation to sleep, where does this press find its writers? "So many Chronicle employees write for Chronicle Books," said Andrea, cracking the mystery. "One of the best things is that sense of community. Ninety-five percent of reception end up getting jobs in editorial. There's a lot of mentoring."