N. tells it best:
"So, for the last couple of Tuesdays PJ and I have worked out some sort of carpool arrangement because her class, which is only a couple a blocks away from my Kaplan course, lets out at about the same time. Today I get this text message while in class and it says,
'Going to dinner with T., take my car, meet you at your place.'
I text back, 'your car?' thinking that she'd get the hint.
So then at eight, right after my class was over, she calls and says, 'We're at my place right now, can you pick up my car and we'll meet you at your place.'
I say, 'PJ. The keys?'
'Yeah, you remember where we parked right?'
'Yeah. But your keys?'
'Yeah, use my keys ... uh....'
'PJ. I DON'T HAVE YOUR KEYS!'
'Oh ... riiiight.'"
When I'm at work I'm usually in a hurry. Occasionally, when I turn one of the many blind and often unlit corners in my office, I'll mutter a slight, "oop" as an apology or and excuse. I always mean to say "oops," but the full word never seems to come out. And I'm sure a proper "Sorry" or "Excuse me" would be more appropriate, but in the hurly-burly of the work place, a simple "oop" seems to suffice. It makes me wonder though, does anyone else say "oop?" I strikes me that that should be the proper exclamation and that only when it is uttered by both people should they be "oops." Makes sense doesn't it? One "oop," two "oops."
If ever there was a weekend that was too short it was this one. Had I video camera I could of made a Visa commercial out of it, "Parking in San Francisco? Three dollars. Crossing the bridge four times? Eight dollars. Getting to spend 37 hours with my baby? Priceless." Of course, from her point of view it was more like, "Travel to and from JFK airport? Thirty-six dollars. Round trip airfare to and from San Francisco? Two hundred and twenty dollars. Getting to spend 37 hours with my baby? _______"
I remember the days when time seemed in abundance, the afternoon hours spilling like heat into the summer nights. I tired of the languid days without end, wondered what it would be like to be grown up. For the first two decades of my life I wish for time to pass faster. Back then I was not afraid. Now, fearful of each passing day, I try to pack as much as I can into the hourglass moments that run through my hands. Even still, if it were possible, I'd give these fragile sand castles of time to her, so she might have a little more of it to spend.
When my alarm clock goes off I usually try to turn on the tv. Not because I'm a television addict, but because the noise helps draw me out of that blissful wonderland, where my stays are always too short. Then for the next hour or so it's news, news, news. I hear the traffic report several times, which never helps because apparently my congested freeway isn't important enough to mention. There was a over turned semi on the the 580/680 interchange, which seemed to me to be straight out of a Simpsons episode. Speaking of which, the other day, in front of a room full of contractor's I quoted an episode which seemed pertinent since we had a 10" utility line, which may or may not be filled with molasses that's probably at least a decade old, that we had to cut. (Everybody say, "Ewwwww")
Of course I also catch a bit of the weather, which these days is usually about the weather in Florida, not the local weather. To be honest, I barely blinked when this Jeanne passed through. Call it hurricane news fatigue. Not unlike news from Iraq, it seems to be constant and unrelenting. More damage, more devastation, more deaths. I sometimes hear people compare the occupation (or rebuilding if you prefer) of Iraq to the war in Vietnam and usually the word used to compare the two is "quagmire." I wonder how true this comparison is, but unfortunately my knowledge of the history of the Vietnam war is much too thin. I'll draw one incredibly biased juxtaposition however; a man comes out of the war and speaks out against it, talks of the atrocities, speaks about his nation sending young people to die for no good reason and then years later, that same man speaks out against another war, a war he against had no small part in. Perhaps he had his regrets, perhaps he feels though pangs of guilt, but he speaks. Unlike so many others, regretful or guilt ridden, he speaks. It strikes me as odd however, though I paid little attention to history and am fully aware of how biased the books I had in school were, that as a child most of the history I was taught spoke of how bad Vietnam was and all the horrible things that happened there. And now, years later, when the question is asked again, the story they tell us is that there was no widespread atrocity and that we did a service to the world in sending our military there.
My favorite part of the drive in to work is listening to NPR. In one of the segments today I heard a teenager who had been on anti-depressants for a year now use these words, "...as monstrously beautiful as a drug addict..." I feel that way about Charley, Frances, Ivan and Jeanne. I feel that way about the kidnappings and beheadings in Iraq. I feel that way about this divided Novemeber. I remember when I was a child and we used play tug-of-war, I never wanted to participate. I wasn't very strong and I felt that I couldn't lend much help, plus I was always afraid of failing. It was silly really, just a game that kids played, but you know, if I could go back, I think I'd pull a little harder.
Mom arrived on Thursday. When dad died, I told myself that I'd go to visit more often and for a while I did. Time takes it's toll on everything though. In a little over a month it will have been three years. This year I don't think I'll make it down to mark the day; mom won't be there anyway, she'll be on her way to Taiwan to be with her mother -- each visit now perhaps the last.
I had to work on Friday, I couldn't get the day off as I had wanted to, so my mom spent the day at my house. They say at a certain point the children are supposed to start taking care of the parents, I don't know what I'll do on that day because honestly I still need her to take care of me sometimes. In typical mom fashion, she cleaned everything that she thought was dirty and did a little work in the garden because that's her favorite place to be. She'd be gone by Saturday night, back down to my brother's place to be with my eight month old niece, but I was glad that she was able to help me out for a day.
On Saturday, I drove her down to Campbell after my cousin's son's birthday where, for a few hours, we were three generations, great aunts to grand nephews, and all of us littered in-between. She asked to ride there in Clementine, even though I knew she hated, as she likes to say, "Sitting on the floor." Maybe she just wanted to see what all the fuss was about, but that's probably not it, since I don't think it'll ever make sense to her. When my dad retired, we had three cars in the garage. My sophomore year in college, he let me have his Honda Prelude. For the rest of his life he ended up driving cars that my mom wanted, bigger cars like a Lincoln Town Car, even though she had told him to go ahead and by the car that he wanted. Early in their marriage they had a tiny Fiat. At the end of his life all he wanted was a small roadster with a truck just big enough for a golf bag. I can fit two golf bags in Clementine if I try hard.
Sunday was mom's birthday. I was down there again for the third time in four days. People ask me if I like being an uncle. Honestly, when mom's not here, I don't see Amelia that much. I think about her a lot though. I think about the world that we live in with all it's faults. I think about war, the damage we do to the environment, the growing divide between rich and poor ... I think about the future and uncertainties and all the things that we're leaving for our children. I often here people ask, "What kind of world are we leaving to our children?" I don't know how much I can really do for the world, more than I have been perhaps. I love my niece though and I plan to be there for her when she needs me and I plan to do all I can to make sure that she's a good person. Because there's really only so much each of us can do to change the kind of world that we leave for our children, there's much more we can do to determine the kind of children we leave for our world.
I knew I should have listened to NPR this morning. Of course I might have crashed my car trying to figure out how to solve that tricky little math puzzle. As it is, I've wasted quite a bit of the morning trying to figure it out. And that's time that is as well spent as, well, interviewing for a job that I don't really want and can't possibly get. The real impetus is that some foolish part of me thinks that I should be able to do it and some even more foolish part thinks that it might yield the secrets to life's greatest mysteries (like calculating pi in base 11 or multiplying six times nine in base thirteen).
The reason I wasn't listening to NPR is because I've been getting a bad feeling about this upcoming presidential election. First let me tell you how much I hate polls. I hate polls like I hate reality tv, which means that I take a peek now and then. Lately the polls haven't been too good. Of course that depends on what poll you look and what side of the fence you happen to be on. Now I don't talking politics to most of my friends, a) because I'm slightly more center than about half of them, and b) because I'm much more interested in what's going on than the rest of them. Now, when I do get the urge to educate myself (and trust me I try to limit those urges) I try to stay off the beaten path. About two weeks back I had an interesting discussion at a wedding reception, some one at the table mentioned that they liked to listen to Radio Paradise because they played music that you could hear on the fm stations. I speculated that perhaps getting art and information off the internet was becoming increasingly popular because the public was becoming more aware that their usual sources are dominated by media outlets whose sole purpose is to make money. By now everybody realizes that there a certain amount of art in truth and that any item of news has an angle. For me, I'd rather read opinions off of blogs than editorials. I can't change the fact that both are biased, I might as well read the guy that isn't getting paid for it. I'd rather get my news off of small independent sites, because although I know that they will probably be even more biased, I know they aren't trading truth for profit.
Anyway, sorting through all the spin and counter-spin is beginning to hurt my head and I blame google. So if any one out there can sort this out for me or figure out how to do that nasty math problem, please let me know.
Namesake - Jhumpa Lahiri: He remembers closing the book at some forgotten hour past midnight, the openness of it like caffeine. After the lights are turned out, he tosses in his sleep, uncertain of what to make of the uncertainty and suddenly shattered dreams. It will remind him weeks later of a fitful night in early November where sleep came too easily and the reality of morning too suddenly, but for now he begs for sleep for the long day ahead. In the morning he will drive his family to a wedding and he will see there in certain empty chairs the people missing from a bridge table which used to bring them all together.
At the wedding he looks about him at friends reunited, friends formed from the steel of a friendship over half a century old. The pictures he takes will yield a common theme, the passing of old to new, uncles and aunts pouring over his niece, just more than seven months out of the womb. Weeks later, he will show these pictures to friends who have come to stay for a weekend and together they will go to a charity concert in the park. Then, midst the ten or twenty thousand people, he will be reminded of the politics he has neglected even though November looms near. He will consider his good fortune and think of his obligations, remembering how, years ago, his father had asked if the war had started and the disappointment that followed. For weeks now he has look at the blessings bestowed upon him, now he turns his attention to the responsibilities ahead. Inheritance is not only the wealth you receive, but also the debts you assume.
If I'm ever to catch up, I'd better do it before the weekend actually gets here. If ever there was a a weekend where I planned to do to many things, it was this past one. It actually started on Thursday night with Davey's weekly poker night. Aviarx was supposed to show up, but she couldn't make it until Friday. Since she's only on loan from New York we had to arrange poker for Friday night too. So the weekend had barely started and I was $17 down and about 5 hours short on sleep. I woke up at eight on Saturday to wash my cars (obsessive, I know) since Clementine hasn't been washed since the week before I drove down to LA and the Camry hasn't been washed ... well I don't really remember. After a sloppy job of washing and drying I hopped in Clementine and sped over to SF where I was to meet up with PJ for tea and then get my haircut. After speeding back to CV, I had an hour and a half before I was to meet up with a few friends at Cafe Esin for dinner. After reading about it, I was dying to try it especially their famous baklava. Most of our party staggered in a bit later than our six o'clock reservation, but the service staff was very accommodating. I enjoyed a Martini L'orange (Grey Goose l'orange with Grand Marnier and a touch of sweet Vermouth) which was a good value at $8. Entrees ranged from 16.95 for the Filo wrapped chicken and spinach to 24.95 for the Rib Eye. My hanger steak was beautifully prepared and on the whole I thought all the dishes that were ordered were plated well. I enjoyed my steak and I thought that it was a good for the price, $18.95. As we were already running late, I had to skip out before dessert came although B. was kind enough to bring me some Baklava when they were finally done. I rushed home to open my house for game night and that ran until about 2:30 in the morning.
I woke up on Sunday morning about three hours shorter on sleep than on Saturday and proceeded to don my suit for my long day ahead. Leaving a generous 2 hours to drive to Auberge du Soleil in Napa, I ended up being about half an hour early which was a good thing since one rarely wants to be late for a wedding. S. and A.'s wedding was a very intimate affair with no more than 50 people in attendance. It was a scorchingly hot day in Napa and by the time 3:00 rolled around I was quite dehydrated from the alcohol and the heat. It was nevertheless nice to catch up with old friends and see these two friends married after seven years. I left Napa about a half an hour late, and as I predicted, ended up missing the ceremony for my second wedding of the day, at the Fort Mason Chapel. I arrived in time to see the pictures being taken and congratulate Uberkatie. At the reception I reconnected with the maid of honor, Arborvitae, whom I hadn't seen in ages. I was lucky to be seated at a table with some very friendly folks, who apparently knew me as soon as I said, "Well, we used to date." After a few libations, they were urging me to go up and say a few words, hoping I think, that I would embarrass her thoroughly. I declined these invitations politely, and luckily I didn't have to decline them forcefully. I stayed until the end and drove home with the warm summer sky overhead and the rush of wind at my back to fall blissfully a sleep around midnight.
Monday came with only one thing on the agenda, an early morning drive from Tilden, around San Pablo Reservoir, though Moraga and Orinda, back over the hills to Oakland and then back to Lawrence Hall of Science where we started. Since we were close by we drove up to Tilden Golf Course to hit a few balls. Afterward Scritch was headed over to Wheel Works to fix a flat so I figured it would be a good time to fix the slow leak that I had discovered on Saturday on my way to Cafe Esin. On the way we stopped at Yami Sushi to grab lunch. On Friday before Poker and I had stopped there to pick up a few rolls and some Beef Teriyaki which I thought weren't bad. On Monday, however, I made the mistake of ordering their Ultimate Sashimi which was horribly bland. I ended up at Scritch's for a quick game of Croquet, which I won and an impromptu BBQ where poker was thankfully banned. I ended my weekend at 10:00 having done none of the housework I had planned to do. As my co-worker commented, "Do you ever have any quiet time?" No. It doesn't seem that way.
This weekend's been an incredibly hectic one and with any luck I'll be able to record it properly, but first things first, the rest of the restaurant reviews (Abridged):
Tabla: The decor at Tabla isn't much to speak of, which isn't to say that it was shoddy or bad in any way, but I might be tempted to say that it was uninspired, except that did had the most interesting tableware of the any of the restaurants that we had been to recently. As befits the cuisine, the dishes had a dash of Indian flair and was a welcome relief from the overly large, overly white plates that one normally gets at top-notch restaurants. The service was crisp and professional and though it didn't win any extra points, it certainly wasn't lacking. Carol's organic green salad with crisped rice and lime chutney-sherry dressing was good, a better thought out combination of flavors than the salad at Morrells and better plated with two cucumber pieces formed to serve as a holding ring for the salad. My soup (a cold tomato soup like a gazpacho, but called something else which I have forgotten entirely) was excellent. Not quite as tasty as the corn chowder, but with it's hints of various Indian spices, a welcome relief from the usual. Carol's chickpea flour crisped skate with summer squash and zucchini curry was also a winner. Lightly fried, the skate was very tender and the zucchini curry was wonderful. My dish was a pork dish the details of which I've forgotten. I remember that it wasn't bad ... but that's about it. We finished lunch with a vanilla bean kulfi and a chocolate pistachio tart. Both of these were excellent the kulfi having the edge because of it's signature cone shape topped with 24k gold. The tart in contrast, while delicious, looked somewhat unappetizing with it's slightly greenish-brown filling. I don't know that I'd go back with all of the other places in New York to try, but I definitely enjoyed the experience.
Union Pacific Restaurant: When you first step in to Union Pacific you might think you've walked into a zen garden. Water cascades quietly behind the hostess. Warm, plush cushion sit low at the edges of the waiting room and a quaint bridge takes you over a pebble lined brook to a airy dining room that is half tropical and half theatre. One thing struck me as odd, the presentation plates had a splash of color that matched the dark magenta ceiling. While well color coordinated, it gave me an uneasy feeling that the plates were not clean. Once these were replaced by our appetizers however, that wariness was a thing of the past. My escarole and lotus salad with chamomile vinaigrette was very simple and yet some of the best salad that I had ever had. The vinaigrette was simply marvelous. Carol's fluke carpaccio with yellow chives and cashews was no slouch either. The textures of velvety sashimi and tender cashews complemented each other perfectly. This was followed on Carol's side by two soft shell crabs, lightly fried, with watermelon and charred mustard sauce. Again, perfect pairings of flavor and texture. I wish I could say that Chef DiSpirito worked magic with the chicken, but honestly I can't even remember how it was prepared. Carol seems to think it was herb crusted ... in any case, I do remember it being adequate, but nothing more than that. Dessert was a mixed bag. My Chocolate-hazelnut parfait was an delicious play on a Kit Kat and was almost too much too eat at about eight inches long. Carol's ice creams, thai basil, ginger, and lemongrass were inventive, but almost had to be forced down. We ended our meal with a latte and a cappuccino, both of which were exceptional. But then, at $5.50 apiece, they'd better be. A word about the service. Professional and pleasant, it nevertheless seemed off that day. They brought us the wrong check and the table next to us complained unceasingly about their dishes. Despite this, I'm looking forward to trying their tasting menu one of these days.
Sushi Sen-nin: This is likely the most expensive sushi that I have ever eaten. From the decor, it looked like a dozen other sushi restaurants we had gone to, but the service was indicative of the high prices. We received hot ginger scented towels to clean our hands with and we were never pestered as we waited for my tow other friends to arrive. When we were all finally assembled, we searched through the steep menu which included $18 Udon and Nigiri priced by the piece. Carol and I ended up getting the sashimi dinner and two rolls, a spicy hamachi maki and a unagi maki. My friends ended up choosing a similar set to split. first the Miso was served and we all agreed it was too salty. As we waited for the sushi to arrive, chopstick holders and small sauce dishes were brought out. One of the dishes didn't match and the server exchanged it for a matching one. After an extended wait (because of a large to go delivery that we ended up behind) we received our dishes. I can some it up in one word. Extraordinary. Maybe I haven't had that much good sushi, but I'll tell you what, it was the first time that I enjoyed maguro in years. The marveled and the thin strip of pesto on the sake that hit like a revelation. Each and every piece was exceptional. It was all small, but nevertheless top notch. After this, I had to run to catch my bus to JFK. I definitely want to come back for the $150 Omakase for two, but I think even when I do, I'll eat a little before I get there.
I really ought to say something about the Republican National Convention, but I've been so remiss about describing my trip to New York that I ought to do that before I forget entirely. I suppose I could go into detail about all the pedestrian things we did during my stay, but I'd hate to seem boring. Our main theme this trip was food. To that I present my review of the following four restaurants.
Last Wednesday night, Carol and I decided to have a nice meal to celebrate belatedly our one year anniversary. We had called ahead and so we were seated immediately, although I think we might have been seated even without a reservation since there were tables to spare. With it's blacked-out industrial ceilings and recessed orange and yellow neon lights, not to mention the catwalk which bridges the two sections of the wine stacks, Morrells Restaurant is what you might call hip. I think the seats were white, but given the lighting, I couldn't really tell, a theme that would repeat itself as the night progressed. We were presented with the menu and wine list by our waitress whose sweet demeanor proved to be endearing throughout the evening. Since Summer Restaurant Week had been extended, we frugally chose the $30.12 prie fixe menu. The wine list was of course, exceptional and since it was our anniversary I decided to indulge a little. The overflowing list had a special section of Bordeaux under $100 and I decided it was time to live a little. The sommelier helped us pick an excellent wine, a 1996 Chateau d'Arsac (Margaux) As I attempted the wine tasting ritual, I was slightly peeved because the lighting made it impossible to judge the color. This slight irritation was erased the moment the wine touched my lips. Being familiar with only California Reds, I can only describe the Bordeaux as being refined. It was incredible easy to drink and left a pleasant and lasting flavor on the palate.
After two rounds of bread service, our appetizers arrived. My corn chowder was topped with a fried green tomato displaying an M written with a deliciously spicy sauce. One taste of this and I began to believe that this dinner was destined for the top 10 list. Without the potent sauce mixed in, the soup was delicious. With it, it was an experience. My only complaint would be that the fried green tomato, which was good, was difficult to cut with a soup spoon. Carol's arugula and jicama salad with oranges & honey-cumin vinaigrette in contrast was merely tasty. The jicama and oranges simply were not potent enough to balance the bitterness of the arugula.
After we had finished these and made our way half way through the Bordeaux, our entrees arrived. I ordered the grilled salmon (rare) with steamed mussels and clams in coconut curry sauce. The mussels and clams were good, and while I preferred the clams and Carol the mussels, I couldn't really get into the sauce. Of course it might have something to do with my odd dislike of Thai cuisine. Carol thought they were good. The salmon wasn't terribly interesting, but they cooked it for me rare so I was appreciative. Carol's bacon wrapped chicken with creamed corn and chanterelles turned out to be a wonderful complement to the Bordeaux. While the meal was turning out to be more than adequate, it had long since fallen from my top 10 list.
We were almost all the way through the bottle by the time dessert came. At this point Carol was struggling to finish her glass. I had the cheesecake with fresh cherries and blueberries which Carol commented was reminiscent of some other cheesecakes that we had had (Watercress and Tallula) which is to say that it was halfway between being spongy and pudding. And Carol had the macaroon creme brulee, which was nice, but the coconut gave it an odd bumpy texture. Both desserts were fine and dinner as a whole was good. I would definitely go back because of their great wine selection. Also, while they didn't wow us, all of the dishes left a good impression. As much as I loathe to, I must point out one gaping flaw. The latte that Carol ordered was bad. It was so bad that it started a discussion on when you should send something back and whether or not you should be required to pay for the replacement. Actually, I'll go farther ... it about as bad as the coffee (w/ non-dairy creamer) in my office.
Tomorrow, my review of Tabla. (I really need an editor don't I?)