Monday, June 30, 2008
Somebody Likes Me...or They Want to Sell Me Something
I was curious to see where a visitor to my blog came from, so I clicked on the link that brought someone here today. Below is where that link led me. I'm a skeptic, so I assume the "editor" who "rated" my blog wants to sell me something. Of course, if I'm proven wrong, I will blush and gingerly retract my skepticism.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Birthday Blast
Yesterday was my wife's birthday. I took her to a restaurant that we've never been to and, until recently, I'd not even read about, but which turned out to be an inspired choice. How I missed all the hullaballoo about Bijoux is beyond me.
I'm just glad we went. And I'm even happier that, upon learning where we were going, my wife had the presence of mind to pull out the $100 American Express gift card that had been moldering in a drawer so the sticker shock on my credit card was only half of what it could have been. It's pricey...well beyond my price comfort zone. We did not hold back, but we easily could have gone far beyond what we spent. Good grief, to think there are people who frequent these sorts of places on a regular basis! Here are our respective prixe fix menus:
My Wife's Meal
Appetizer of fresh crab on a tiny, crip shred of potato with cucumber shavings
Crispy Pork Belly, with fava bean "succotash," corn, and tomatoes
Tilefish (not quite sure how it was prepared, but it was good)
Long Island Duck Breast with foie gras fried rice, snap peas, spicy Asian jus
Combe cheese
My Meal
Appetizer of fresh crab on a tiny, crip shred of potato with cucumber shavings
East Coast Oysters, ponzu, tomato, black pepper mignonette
Scallops with pork cheek ravioli, tomato fondue, frisee
Maytag cheese, with potato bellini with corn, pancetta crisp, and caramelized red onion
There was more, of course. The obligatory "palate cleansers" between courses, the special "goodies" from the pastry chef, a half-bottle of 2006 Duckhorn sauvignon blanc.
Despite the snotty menu, the place was very comfortable and the staff were extraordinary. There was none of the snobbery that I associate with the typical "upscale" restaurant (which is one reason I like to avoid "upscale" restaurants). It was obvious that the young owners truly care about fine food and they avoid pretentions (except, I must say, in the descriptions of the food, which I found more than a bit pretentious...but that may be because of living a relatively sheltered life).
The most important part about the entire evening was that my wife really liked the place and felt that it was a special celebration for her birthday. She likes high-end restaurants much more than I do, I think, and she knows how I feel about most of them, so she appreciated that I sought the place out and made the reservations in spite of my normal misgivings. And, of course, I was blown away by the food and want to go back.
But, on my birthday, I want to go someplace I can wear shorts. Or, at least, jeans.
I'm just glad we went. And I'm even happier that, upon learning where we were going, my wife had the presence of mind to pull out the $100 American Express gift card that had been moldering in a drawer so the sticker shock on my credit card was only half of what it could have been. It's pricey...well beyond my price comfort zone. We did not hold back, but we easily could have gone far beyond what we spent. Good grief, to think there are people who frequent these sorts of places on a regular basis! Here are our respective prixe fix menus:
My Wife's Meal
Appetizer of fresh crab on a tiny, crip shred of potato with cucumber shavings
Crispy Pork Belly, with fava bean "succotash," corn, and tomatoes
Tilefish (not quite sure how it was prepared, but it was good)
Long Island Duck Breast with foie gras fried rice, snap peas, spicy Asian jus
Combe cheese
My Meal
Appetizer of fresh crab on a tiny, crip shred of potato with cucumber shavings
East Coast Oysters, ponzu, tomato, black pepper mignonette
Scallops with pork cheek ravioli, tomato fondue, frisee
Maytag cheese, with potato bellini with corn, pancetta crisp, and caramelized red onion
There was more, of course. The obligatory "palate cleansers" between courses, the special "goodies" from the pastry chef, a half-bottle of 2006 Duckhorn sauvignon blanc.
Despite the snotty menu, the place was very comfortable and the staff were extraordinary. There was none of the snobbery that I associate with the typical "upscale" restaurant (which is one reason I like to avoid "upscale" restaurants). It was obvious that the young owners truly care about fine food and they avoid pretentions (except, I must say, in the descriptions of the food, which I found more than a bit pretentious...but that may be because of living a relatively sheltered life).
The most important part about the entire evening was that my wife really liked the place and felt that it was a special celebration for her birthday. She likes high-end restaurants much more than I do, I think, and she knows how I feel about most of them, so she appreciated that I sought the place out and made the reservations in spite of my normal misgivings. And, of course, I was blown away by the food and want to go back.
But, on my birthday, I want to go someplace I can wear shorts. Or, at least, jeans.
Saturday, June 28, 2008
The Story of Steve
Please do not be alarmed. The following is a departure from my "normal" post (if there is any such thing). I just happened to be in the mood to fabricate a new reality and this is what came out.
All About Steve
I once had a friend, Steve, who developed a wonderful talent late in life. He learned to communicate with ants.
Steve would come by the house every so often and regale us with stories about his conversations with ants. He once explained to us why ants so often seem like they’re in a massively-confused state of methamphetamine-induced frenzy as they zig-zag from one place to the next, retrace their steps, almost crash into other ants, and then take off like rockets, just to do it all over again. I don’t remember that explanation, but it seemed perfectly rational to me.
Steve’s cross-species linguistic talent enabled him to die a rich and very happy man. It was just a few years after he started communicating with ants that he told us that ants mourned the loss of their loved ones just like people do. The difference, of course, is that ants’ facial expressions, tears, and cries of sorrow are almost impossible for us to perceive. So we did not know.
Well, Steve knew. And he decided he would do something to comfort them in their times of grief. He created an ant funeral home.
He took the limp little bodies (or crisp little bodies, as the case may have been) of dead ants, placed them in tiny coffins made of hollowed-out coffee beans, and arranged solemn services at which friends and relatives of the dear-departed ants would speak in hushed tones about how wonderfully well the dead ants treated their friends and families. Because there is really no appropriate place for ant coffins to be buried, they would burn them after the services, sending tiny little whiffs of coffee-scented smoke into the sky, carrying the remains of the little dead ants up into the air to be deposited a few feet or a few miles away, depending on the prevailing winds.
The families and friends of dead ants paid Steve handsomely for his highly dignified funeral services. They did not have money, of course, but they did have what amounted to armies of friends and relatives who could find miniscule little scraps of gold and platinum amongst all the tiny grains of sand and dirt they carried from place to place. They deposited those scraps of precious metal in a seldom-used room in Steve’s house.
In short order, Steve realized that he had hundreds and hundreds of pounds of precious metals in his store-room. As fast as he’d sell it (making quite a lot of money each time), the grateful ants would refill the room again. Steve used his money to build a coffee-bean-hollowing factory, along with a lovely house for himself, and to buy a weekly quart of Partida Elegante Extra Añejo Tequila. He also bought a fabulous river boat he named Felicity, where he entertained untold numbers of eccentric women.
Steve truly adored his ant friends and he grieved along with them when their family members and dear friends died. But he was so happy that he could relieve their pain, if for just a little while, that he devoted his attention to keeping the funeral pyres burning.
When Steve died just after his 97th birthday, his ant friends returned his devotion by fashioning a gigantic (in their eyes) coffin of whole, French-roaste coffee beans. After an extraordinary procession, during which billions of ants passed solemnly by his coffin, his best ant friends worked hard to hollow out a large number coffee beans, fill each of them with Partida Elegante Extra Añejo Tequila, drag them one by one to Steve’s coffin, and pour it over Steve. Finally, they lit the pyre and Steve’s happily drunken ashes drifted across the sky, dropping bit by bit onto the ground where his beloved ants toiled so tirelessly.
Steve had trained a number of his ant friends to run the coffee-bean-hollowing factory, so when he died his legacy lived on.
This is Steve’s story and he’s sticking to it.
All About Steve
I once had a friend, Steve, who developed a wonderful talent late in life. He learned to communicate with ants.
Steve would come by the house every so often and regale us with stories about his conversations with ants. He once explained to us why ants so often seem like they’re in a massively-confused state of methamphetamine-induced frenzy as they zig-zag from one place to the next, retrace their steps, almost crash into other ants, and then take off like rockets, just to do it all over again. I don’t remember that explanation, but it seemed perfectly rational to me.
Steve’s cross-species linguistic talent enabled him to die a rich and very happy man. It was just a few years after he started communicating with ants that he told us that ants mourned the loss of their loved ones just like people do. The difference, of course, is that ants’ facial expressions, tears, and cries of sorrow are almost impossible for us to perceive. So we did not know.
Well, Steve knew. And he decided he would do something to comfort them in their times of grief. He created an ant funeral home.
He took the limp little bodies (or crisp little bodies, as the case may have been) of dead ants, placed them in tiny coffins made of hollowed-out coffee beans, and arranged solemn services at which friends and relatives of the dear-departed ants would speak in hushed tones about how wonderfully well the dead ants treated their friends and families. Because there is really no appropriate place for ant coffins to be buried, they would burn them after the services, sending tiny little whiffs of coffee-scented smoke into the sky, carrying the remains of the little dead ants up into the air to be deposited a few feet or a few miles away, depending on the prevailing winds.
The families and friends of dead ants paid Steve handsomely for his highly dignified funeral services. They did not have money, of course, but they did have what amounted to armies of friends and relatives who could find miniscule little scraps of gold and platinum amongst all the tiny grains of sand and dirt they carried from place to place. They deposited those scraps of precious metal in a seldom-used room in Steve’s house.
In short order, Steve realized that he had hundreds and hundreds of pounds of precious metals in his store-room. As fast as he’d sell it (making quite a lot of money each time), the grateful ants would refill the room again. Steve used his money to build a coffee-bean-hollowing factory, along with a lovely house for himself, and to buy a weekly quart of Partida Elegante Extra Añejo Tequila. He also bought a fabulous river boat he named Felicity, where he entertained untold numbers of eccentric women.
Steve truly adored his ant friends and he grieved along with them when their family members and dear friends died. But he was so happy that he could relieve their pain, if for just a little while, that he devoted his attention to keeping the funeral pyres burning.
When Steve died just after his 97th birthday, his ant friends returned his devotion by fashioning a gigantic (in their eyes) coffin of whole, French-roaste coffee beans. After an extraordinary procession, during which billions of ants passed solemnly by his coffin, his best ant friends worked hard to hollow out a large number coffee beans, fill each of them with Partida Elegante Extra Añejo Tequila, drag them one by one to Steve’s coffin, and pour it over Steve. Finally, they lit the pyre and Steve’s happily drunken ashes drifted across the sky, dropping bit by bit onto the ground where his beloved ants toiled so tirelessly.
Steve had trained a number of his ant friends to run the coffee-bean-hollowing factory, so when he died his legacy lived on.
This is Steve’s story and he’s sticking to it.
The Great Clothing Shrinkage
Paralyzed Veterans of America (PVA) got lucky when they called my house the other night, asking if we have any old clothes they could take off our hands. I have an entre wardrobe of clothes that used to fit me, before the great clothes shrinkage occurred. I allowed as how I would be deighted if they would come by and relieve me of those unexpectedly small shirts and slacks and suits that I used to wear, back when they were larger.
I no longer wear suits. Haven't for years. But I did keep a couple that haven't been subjected to the great shrinkage, just in case I need to impress a would-be client.
Normally, we would have dropped off the clothes at a Goodwill station just up the street from us, but I'm guessing that PVA is experiencing a very big upsurge in people who need their help, so all those little-person's clothes will be put to good use, I expect.
I no longer wear suits. Haven't for years. But I did keep a couple that haven't been subjected to the great shrinkage, just in case I need to impress a would-be client.
Normally, we would have dropped off the clothes at a Goodwill station just up the street from us, but I'm guessing that PVA is experiencing a very big upsurge in people who need their help, so all those little-person's clothes will be put to good use, I expect.
Friday, June 27, 2008
Really, Really Bad Taste
Crap! Someone has actually done it...they've made a tequila that I simply cannot drink. My world is now topsy-turvy and my life is upside down. It's like magic happpened, but in a very, very bad way.
I took my wife to a very nice "California style" Mexican restaurant for lunch today. It's a fantastic place, with truly wonderul food, salsas that are out of this world, and an ambience that's sort of..."trendy upscale Mexican from California."
After eating our meals (she had an exceptional dish of camarones al mojo de ajo; I had carne de la diabla), the waitress asked if it was a special occasion (most people apparently ordered their more reasonably priced luncheon plates). We told her that tomorrow is my wife's birthday and she immediately volunteered that she'd like to bring her a tequila shot ("but it's fruity, not strong, you'll love it"). Neither my wife nor I wanted to insult her by saying "fruit-flavored tequila is a sin against man and nature," so we sat silently.
The waitress brought back a tall shot of tequila and a wedge of lime. My wife tasted it and twisted her mouth into what I can only describe as a contortion of agonizing pain. "This is HORRIBLE!" she exclaimed. I tasted it and, yes, it was a sickeningly sweet, foul-tasting mess. The wedge of lime helped eliminate the nasty, nasty flavor, but did not make it disappear. This stuff tasted like a pre-digested mixture of passion fruit and bad apples and corn syrup and mouthwash. Oh my god it was horrendous!
We have no idea what brand, nor what "flavor" this bad batch of pure evil was, but we both pledged then and there to avoid anything like it forevermore.
Tomorrow, I'll take my wife out for a veritable feast at a restaurant neither of us are familiar with. I hope our mouths can feel cleansed of that poisonous swill by then.
I took my wife to a very nice "California style" Mexican restaurant for lunch today. It's a fantastic place, with truly wonderul food, salsas that are out of this world, and an ambience that's sort of..."trendy upscale Mexican from California."
After eating our meals (she had an exceptional dish of camarones al mojo de ajo; I had carne de la diabla), the waitress asked if it was a special occasion (most people apparently ordered their more reasonably priced luncheon plates). We told her that tomorrow is my wife's birthday and she immediately volunteered that she'd like to bring her a tequila shot ("but it's fruity, not strong, you'll love it"). Neither my wife nor I wanted to insult her by saying "fruit-flavored tequila is a sin against man and nature," so we sat silently.
The waitress brought back a tall shot of tequila and a wedge of lime. My wife tasted it and twisted her mouth into what I can only describe as a contortion of agonizing pain. "This is HORRIBLE!" she exclaimed. I tasted it and, yes, it was a sickeningly sweet, foul-tasting mess. The wedge of lime helped eliminate the nasty, nasty flavor, but did not make it disappear. This stuff tasted like a pre-digested mixture of passion fruit and bad apples and corn syrup and mouthwash. Oh my god it was horrendous!
We have no idea what brand, nor what "flavor" this bad batch of pure evil was, but we both pledged then and there to avoid anything like it forevermore.
Tomorrow, I'll take my wife out for a veritable feast at a restaurant neither of us are familiar with. I hope our mouths can feel cleansed of that poisonous swill by then.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
Sushi Star
My favorite wife had a stress echocardiogram done this morning; she has an odd malady of her heart (congestive heart failure) that has kept her cardiologists alert since the 1960s. After the test, she called me to ask if I wanted to join her for lunch. Well, of course!
So, we went to Sushi Star, a place that opened last November; we've never been there before. We got a lunch special (8 California rolls and 8 Spicy Salmon rolls), plus an order of unagi (fresh-water eel, cooked...4 pieces!) and an order of maguro (tuna) sashimi. My god, it was good! We both were astonished by how good it was and how inexpensive (a relative term when talking about sushi). We spent about $31 for the meal, including their iced green tea. That's an outageous price for lunch, I realize, but it was for my wife, for god's sake! And her birthday is on Saturday, so it's OK to do an early splurge.
We decided then and there that this place has instantly become our "special occasion" lunch joint. It's not too far from the office (and will be closer when we move at the end of August) and the prices won't break us unless we go more than once every two months.
I cannot get over how much I love sushi. I just wish it weren't so trendy and popular; I'd like the price to drop into the upper atmosphere at least.
So, we went to Sushi Star, a place that opened last November; we've never been there before. We got a lunch special (8 California rolls and 8 Spicy Salmon rolls), plus an order of unagi (fresh-water eel, cooked...4 pieces!) and an order of maguro (tuna) sashimi. My god, it was good! We both were astonished by how good it was and how inexpensive (a relative term when talking about sushi). We spent about $31 for the meal, including their iced green tea. That's an outageous price for lunch, I realize, but it was for my wife, for god's sake! And her birthday is on Saturday, so it's OK to do an early splurge.
We decided then and there that this place has instantly become our "special occasion" lunch joint. It's not too far from the office (and will be closer when we move at the end of August) and the prices won't break us unless we go more than once every two months.
I cannot get over how much I love sushi. I just wish it weren't so trendy and popular; I'd like the price to drop into the upper atmosphere at least.
I See Through the Window Pain
As we were leaving our house yesterday morning, I noticed that one of the large windows on the side of the house seemed to have a "frost" of water vapor across the very large pane of glass at the bottom. This is one of the many windows that we had replaced a year or two ago to the tune of $10,000 or thereabouts.
Today, after work, I took a close look at it. Sure enough, it's a fog between the double panes. Damn! Now, I'll have to go looking for the guy who sold and installed the windows. I hope he's easy to deal with and fair. I'm not in the mood for a hassle. It would prove to be a very bad day for the guy if he decided not to make good on the window. I wish him well. I really do.
Today, after work, I took a close look at it. Sure enough, it's a fog between the double panes. Damn! Now, I'll have to go looking for the guy who sold and installed the windows. I hope he's easy to deal with and fair. I'm not in the mood for a hassle. It would prove to be a very bad day for the guy if he decided not to make good on the window. I wish him well. I really do.