Tonight we are going to take the magic train under the Bay all the way to Oakland.
Elvis Costello and Alan Touissant are performing together at the historic Paramount Theatre.
Tuesday, June 20, 2006
The Magic Train to Elvis
Tonight we are going to take the magic train under the Bay all the way to Oakland.
Elvis Costello and Alan Touissant are performing together at the historic Paramount Theatre.
Sunday, June 18, 2006
Psapp likes cats.
Saturday, June 17th
Slow morning, with our regular trip to the Alemany Farmer's Market - although we are (for shame) very late. Again, by the time we make it, they are out of the crimini mushrooms. Next week we will try harder. We will wake up early and not lounge about reading the newspaper with furry cats on laps. Maybe. However, we do score blueberries (hooray for blueberry season) and Chef L'Erique is overcome with the need to make guacamole and loads up on avocados. Tonight he is going to grill.
Later that afternoon, we forget to buy tortillas at the grocery store, which gives us a good excuse to buy them at our favorite Central American Market - El Ahorro De Barraza on Mission Street. When we get there it seems that the streets are deserted, we remember that it's The World Cup and decide that everyone is home watching soccer. The people in El Ahorro are listening to the game on the radio. Along with flour tortillas, Chef L'E also finds a juice there that makes him happy. "Aha!" he says, "They have this here?" as he is holding it in his hand. It's cashew juice. He buys it immediately. On the sidewalk he points to the label and tells me the story of the weirdo nut called the cashew. How it grows on the top of the apple-like fruit (he points to the picture on the label. look how weird it is! he says). He tells me that the cashew grows there in a hard shell that is filled with toxic oils (similar to poison ivy). Who knew that cashews were threatening at one stage in their transformation to salty delicious nut? I did not, but now I feel suspicious about this cashew juice. I bet he is going to make some cashew juice cocktail, that "nutty" guy. I hope it doesn't kill us when we drink it.
I do other things around the house to make myself worthy, but Chef L'E - well, he is the Chef - and all respect and admiration and big giant smootches to him. Just know that he LIKES to do this kind of thing and decides to make salsa and guacamole from scratch (when I recommend buying it, he INSISTS that it is so easy that he will make it himself). I selfishingly ask if it involves the blender, because that's my involvement in the salsa making. Blender washing. However, as long as the Chef is making guacamole, he has my blessing to make the salsa in the same blender and I will wash it with a big smile on my face.
The Chef also grills all the onions/chilis/tomatoes involved in the salsa. He grills the chicken too. We have a tasty grilled fajita dinner at our kitchen table with giant bowls of Chef L'Erique salsa and guacamole. Yum. However, we can only drink two Pinka's organic pilsners from Munich because we are going to a concert later at Bimbo's - to see that cute English band Psaap and from Argentina, Juana Molina (and Jose Gonzalez, who I like, but you know, he's the third act and we don't plan on staying much after midnight - for we are old and creaky and love to sleep.)
We decide to take BART to North Beach as today is the North Beach Festival and parking is always a curse in North Beach. It's a long walk but I distract Chef L'E by telling him we'll walk through the Stockton Tunnel and ogle the Chinese markets on the way there. Oops, but they are closed. We remember that Marybeth never let us walk through the Stockton Tunnel and once we are walking through it (stinky, full of trash, claustrophobic) we remember why. It's much longer than it seems.
We get to Bimbo's and despite the long and inefficient "will call" line - we make perfect timing as when we walk in Psapp is just starting. I like Psapp, and they like cats - the extent of which we discover tonight. They LOVE cats! They mention cats several times and then they throw out little pipe cleaner cats (of which we are not lucky enough to catch so we have to buy our own at the merch table for $5) they dedicate several songs to cats (or say, "this song is about a cat"). Several times they also ask the audience, "Who likes cats?" at which I respond by yelling YAY! ME! but not too loudly as to reveal myself as the crazy cat lady kook who should be institutionalized. Last year one of the things that endeared me to Psapp was a very charming video for their song "About Fun" (which, ahem, made my "best of 05 " list). If I haven't already e-mailed it to you, you can find it right here: http://www.posteverything.com/leaf/psapp/about-fun.mov
Anyway, the finished their marvelous set (involving a calvacade of noises emenating from kazoos, t0y typewrites, stuffed owls purchased at truck stops and much, much more) with a song from The Aristocats, "Everybody Wants to Be A Cat." Can you believe that? I suddenly became overwhelmed with how much Psapp loved cats and I had a hard time paying attention I was giggling so hard. I kept looking over at Chef L'E - oh my gosh, are you listening to this? Cats! Chef L'E was still scoping out the floor hoping that he would discover one of the home made cats that had gone missing during one of the toss outs. I think he even touched some stranger's shoe hoping it was a pipe cleaner cat.
After Psapp finished, we had to stand around and listen to drunk people who just wanted to go out, no matter if they didn't know a thing about the bands who were playing tonight. There were some particular stupid idiots next to us (because in exhange for my happy life, I am constantly surrounded by idiots at shows and movies - a fair enough trade.) One was talking on his cell phone loudly, he said, "I'm at the Joe Gonzalez concert" even though that's not the name of the headliner. When Juana Molina came on stage, he said, "Is that Neko Case?" I'm not kidding. But that's enough about idiots.
Juana Molina was wearing a lovely yellow dress. She was surrounded by electronic knobs and machines of all sorts. She made some bleeps and blurps and then she sang some nonsense and sent it off to be repeated in a loop and then she sang along with it. She reminded me of the little elf that is Bjork, but Juana Molina sings in Spanish. Later Chef L'E mentioned that he did not approve of her crazy skatting ways, but I did not mind it one bit. I was glad to watch her make all the crazy noises.
After Juana, I told Chef L'E that we had to say for at least one Jose Gonzalez song. I was curious to see what he looked like. I thought it was odd that he was headlining as I assumed he would just play acoustic guitar, and well.. him, this was a crowd of people who just came to see some music OUT and didn't know who he was. Well, okay, probably some did - but there were a lot of idiots there. During our wait we went to look at all the cute Psapp merch, where I was thrilled to see that I could buy my own pipecleaner cat - and postcards and buttons! The guy at the table smiled at us, as we were old folks obviously excited about the pipecleaner cat and Psapp buttons.
Jose Gonzalez starts, he is sitting on a chair and playing his guitar. He is often compared to Nick Drake, but as he starts I can only think that he reminds me of Jose Feliciano - despite the fact that he is Swedish and not visually impaired. The song is only half over and I poke Chef L'E - "let's leave" I say. I've now seen him, he looks like an average fellow and it's not worth standing in a packed crowd of idiots to witness more of a guy playing a guitar. Plus it's 11:30 and we are starting to argue about the time when BART stops running. We hit the street - and walk A LONG WAY back to the BART station, through desolate Chinatown and past a crazy guy who I think is foiled from mugging us because of construction in the street that is blocking his path to cut us off. We leave him yelling at the contruction as we reach Powell Street Station. There we hear on the loudspeaker that BART stops running at midnight, so we are happy we are not still at Bimbo's watching Jose Gonzalez, folk singer. The BART train is full of Oakland A's fans and we are all out way past our bedtimes.
zzzzzzzzzzz.
We Live Here
It's summertime - we took Friday off to frolic like tourists in San Francisco.
First stop: The Commonwealth Club to see Anthony Bourdain crack jokes and answer questions about his new book "The Nasty Bits." He is funny, self-effacing (although I'm not so fond of the chain-smoking recommendation as a tip to stay thin. We've all see you huff & puff up the stairs Tony.) Afterwards we stood in the chef groupie line to have him sign our books and take photos of him signing our books. Sorry Mr. Bourdain, but we are chef groupies. Should have quizzed him about the celebrity playlist and told him how much we enjoyed the most recent No Reservations episode about Korea...next time.
Next, it's off to the Ferry Building Marketplace to point at mushrooms, eat fancy Japanese bento boxes and then cautiously peek into Boulette's Larder. Boulette - we are almost brave enough to visit you, almost, but only if we don't have to sit at the big communal table. We are shy folk. Today we discovered that during the week you set up tables for two out in the hallway. yay!
Oops - Chef L'Erique bought wine and mead (?) at the wine shop, which means that Chef L'Erique is now lugging two hardcover books autographed by Anthony Bourdain and three bottles of wine.
Today is an unusual day in San Francisco because it is HOT out. Lugging things for six blocks down Market Street on a hot summer day in San Francisco makes for grumpy (and sweaty) companions. We are happy to reach our next destination, if only to check our coats and packages.
We reach the new MOAD museum that we haven't yet visited - it's shiny from the outside. However on the inside it's quite tiny. Tiny and vacant. The staff is bored and we are uncomfortable to be the only visitors. The Gordon Parks display is interesting, but um, tiny. The man has certainly taken more than 5-8 photos in his lifetime. We head upstairs to the "exhibit" room, but it's also deserted and tiny. All the artists are ex-pat Africans who now live in exotic cities in Europe. Ho hum. We turn the corner and end up in an "interactive" computer room that features a few of the interactive exhibits that are already in the other room?
MOAD. Tiny and uninspired. Chef L'E declares it a Willie Brown boondoggle.
At this point we decide to head home. Because we live here and we need to free ourselves from heavy bags before we continue our day of fun in San Francisco. I guess that's the bonus to not being a tourist, we can go home, check the mail, pat the kittens and drink a big glass of water. At home, where it's comfy.
Tonight we are dining at Cafe Jacqueline - the place that always gets written up as "most romantic restaurant in San Francisco." The woman who runs it, Jacqueline, only makes souffles, and does everything. We were surprised that we could even get a reservation calling a week ahead of time, but today we are lucky, we are taking the day off to frolic like tourists and decided to have dinner at Cafe Jacqueline. A cute, tiny and romantic restaurant in North Beach.
However, when we made the reservations, we did not know it would be one of the hottest days of the summer in San Francisco. Why? Because that hardly ever happens. We take BART back downtown and hike over to North Beach - we hoped that it would roll in by now, but our friend the FOG is nowhere to be seen. Uh oh, we remember why we enjoy NOT living in a hot place. We are dressed up and hiking and trying to hide from the sunshine, we are hot. The idea of a piping hot souffle in a tiny "romantic" and un-airconditioned restaurant suddenly seems insane. But we are taking the day off! To frolic like tourists in San Francisco.
We are seated at Cafe Jacqueline and all I want to do is take off my shoes and have a beer. But we are in one of San Francisco's most romantic restaurants and we must order piping hot things. Now, it is I who am grumpy. We opt for white wine, despite being usual fans of the RED, anything chilled will do. The special souffle is oyster, spinach and garlic. Sounds hot. But delicious. We order it immediately. Dessert souffle they ask? Oh my gosh, TWO piping hot souffles would be insane. We refuse, thinking it will be all we can muster to split the one savory special. However, the waiter goes to fetch our wine and we reassess. We are here and Jacqueline only makes souffles. How can we NOT order a dessert souffle, when in fact, we are HERE! We must eat MORE piping hot SOUFFLES and not REFUSE THEM! The waiter returns and Chef L'Erique requests, "Blueberry! Dessert! Blueberry!" Uh oh, now the order is in - we cannot change our mind as the souffle, she takes hours to make, all by Jacqueline, alone in the kitchen aside from two helpers who seem to just be doing the dishes. Two souffles is our destiny.
We wait and wait and I am grumpy and whine to Chef L'E that I must go home and take off my shoes and drink cold beer. I ask him to go across the street to get me a beer. I tell him I think the chairs are uncomfortable and this is not very romantic at all! We discuss what makes a restaurant romantic. I whine that these tables for two are too big and he is not close to me and that is not romantic. I apologize because I am the one to blame for suggesting souffles and that if I had known it would be so hot out I never would have suggested a restaurant that only serves souffles. I make excuses - as I had no warning of this heat wave, just the same old sun with cloud every day, all week in the weather section of the newspaper. I tell him I'll try to make it up to him and again, apologies for what a horrible a mistake I've made.
Then, after waiting, and waiting and trying not to drink our Sancerre for the sheer "chilled" factor alone (in fact, our waiter takes it from us to "put in the refrigerator" but we think he is just trying to save us from ourselves), I'm still complaining - the Sancerre is sour I whine. I like red wine. Did I mention that it's hot and we are in a very tiny restaurant (in uncomfortable chairs) trying to feel the romance?
Anyway, after all this - the oyster/spinach/garlic souffle arrives. It's steamy. The waiter, who I'm sure has years of practice serving souffles and only souffles at Cafe Jacqueline, serves the souffle to us. It's like ballet. It involves two big silver spoons, leaping into the souffle, just so - here and there. Artfully arranged slices of lemons land on our plates with dollops of souffle shortly following in the souffle dance. Our mouths are hanging open in awe. It's hot, and steamy and oh, so beautiful. We look at each other and smile. Then we start our ecstatic mutterings. How perfect, the lemons - the lemons were arranged on the top and now they are placed on the bottom of the plate - providing the perfect above/below lemon love to the delicious oysters. It was not that long ago that we thought, on a hot summer's day, we would just be able to taste the souffles and not even attempt to finish them, but now we have gobbled up this shared oyster/spinach/garlic souffle and it's completely gone. Oh, and the Sancerre? It goes perfectly with this souffle and I salute Chef L'E for ordering it. He is a genius and I am glad I married him and that we live in San Francisco and go out and eat souffles. Romance is in the air. Now we can't wait for this blueberry souffle to arrive. But now we wait with happy souffle anticipation.
We are smiling and giggling and watching how fast the other diners are served their souffles. We are listening for the bell in the kitchen to signal that the small number of souffles made at a time are ready to be served. We are smelling traces of recently created souffles in the air and trying to guess which ones they are. We are ogling other plates and taking guesses on which people are cranky that their souffles are taking so long, and who in the restaurant has been served, and how that effects our place in the order for the next delicious souffle that is up and out of the kitchen. I think by this time it's 8:30 and we are commenting how pleased we are that we had a 6:30 reservation, without realizing, in the world of souffles, that means we might be able to eat our first course at 8:00. A couple shows up at the door and they are told to wait next door. Ha ha, we say, they will never get in before 9:00! The majority of tables in the place have not yet received their first delicious souffle!
During this wait, Chef L'E says "oh right, I have to go to the bathroom." I respond, "why? is it fancy?" He tells me that he heard that if you go to the bathroom you get to walk through the tiny kitchen and see Jacqueline herself, making the souffles! Wow! I wish him him luck and he is off. He returns with the full exciting report. He starts with "There is a large bowl of eggs!" and then "The kitchen is tiny. She seems to be making only one or two souffles at a time" and then "She is tiny and she is doing all the work. She even answered the phone when I walked there and I heard her telling someone that they were crazy to call so late for a reservation." This Jacqueline, she sounds super-hero impressive. I am in awe.
We listen through several more bell rings from the kitchen, hoping it is ours, when our waiter arrives with a giant dessert souffle towering with a half-pint-of-blueberries-on-top, making us both gasp. Wow! We say, as what can you say to something so unbelieveably lovely that involves a mountain of blueberries. That's a lot of blueberries we say, because damn' it sure was.
Talk about romance - the dessert souffle is only offered with two long spoons. Two spoons dipping into a delicious fruity souffle. One with a mountain of blueberries on top, one with blueberries also discovered inside like little molten-filled surprises. How many times can two people say wow and smile and not be able to stop eating even though they advertise the dessert souffles as being "shared by three or four." Well, we couldn't finish the whole thing, but we tried, happily, we tried.
I couldn't leave Cafe Jacqueline without also sneaking in to see the amazing Jacqueline. I must have been beaming with newly-filled-with-souffle-goodness because she gave me a big smile. I regret not gushing to her about our wonderful evening at her restaurant, but I felt speechless. I blame the souffles. I saw the big bowl of eggs too, but at this point of the evening it was reduced by half.
We floated out of the restaurant, both agreeing about the romance magic of Cafe Jacqueline and now total souffle converts. We had big smiles on our faces all the way home, through drunken North Beach, our ride home on BART, then back at home from our day as tourists in San Francisco, and how lucky we are that we actually live here. While I think we could have a romantic time sitting on the couch with kittens on our laps and ordering take-out, that Jacqueline...what an amazing egg lady.
First stop: The Commonwealth Club to see Anthony Bourdain crack jokes and answer questions about his new book "The Nasty Bits." He is funny, self-effacing (although I'm not so fond of the chain-smoking recommendation as a tip to stay thin. We've all see you huff & puff up the stairs Tony.) Afterwards we stood in the chef groupie line to have him sign our books and take photos of him signing our books. Sorry Mr. Bourdain, but we are chef groupies. Should have quizzed him about the celebrity playlist and told him how much we enjoyed the most recent No Reservations episode about Korea...next time.
Next, it's off to the Ferry Building Marketplace to point at mushrooms, eat fancy Japanese bento boxes and then cautiously peek into Boulette's Larder. Boulette - we are almost brave enough to visit you, almost, but only if we don't have to sit at the big communal table. We are shy folk. Today we discovered that during the week you set up tables for two out in the hallway. yay!
Oops - Chef L'Erique bought wine and mead (?) at the wine shop, which means that Chef L'Erique is now lugging two hardcover books autographed by Anthony Bourdain and three bottles of wine.
Today is an unusual day in San Francisco because it is HOT out. Lugging things for six blocks down Market Street on a hot summer day in San Francisco makes for grumpy (and sweaty) companions. We are happy to reach our next destination, if only to check our coats and packages.
We reach the new MOAD museum that we haven't yet visited - it's shiny from the outside. However on the inside it's quite tiny. Tiny and vacant. The staff is bored and we are uncomfortable to be the only visitors. The Gordon Parks display is interesting, but um, tiny. The man has certainly taken more than 5-8 photos in his lifetime. We head upstairs to the "exhibit" room, but it's also deserted and tiny. All the artists are ex-pat Africans who now live in exotic cities in Europe. Ho hum. We turn the corner and end up in an "interactive" computer room that features a few of the interactive exhibits that are already in the other room?
MOAD. Tiny and uninspired. Chef L'E declares it a Willie Brown boondoggle.
At this point we decide to head home. Because we live here and we need to free ourselves from heavy bags before we continue our day of fun in San Francisco. I guess that's the bonus to not being a tourist, we can go home, check the mail, pat the kittens and drink a big glass of water. At home, where it's comfy.
Tonight we are dining at Cafe Jacqueline - the place that always gets written up as "most romantic restaurant in San Francisco." The woman who runs it, Jacqueline, only makes souffles, and does everything. We were surprised that we could even get a reservation calling a week ahead of time, but today we are lucky, we are taking the day off to frolic like tourists and decided to have dinner at Cafe Jacqueline. A cute, tiny and romantic restaurant in North Beach.
However, when we made the reservations, we did not know it would be one of the hottest days of the summer in San Francisco. Why? Because that hardly ever happens. We take BART back downtown and hike over to North Beach - we hoped that it would roll in by now, but our friend the FOG is nowhere to be seen. Uh oh, we remember why we enjoy NOT living in a hot place. We are dressed up and hiking and trying to hide from the sunshine, we are hot. The idea of a piping hot souffle in a tiny "romantic" and un-airconditioned restaurant suddenly seems insane. But we are taking the day off! To frolic like tourists in San Francisco.
We are seated at Cafe Jacqueline and all I want to do is take off my shoes and have a beer. But we are in one of San Francisco's most romantic restaurants and we must order piping hot things. Now, it is I who am grumpy. We opt for white wine, despite being usual fans of the RED, anything chilled will do. The special souffle is oyster, spinach and garlic. Sounds hot. But delicious. We order it immediately. Dessert souffle they ask? Oh my gosh, TWO piping hot souffles would be insane. We refuse, thinking it will be all we can muster to split the one savory special. However, the waiter goes to fetch our wine and we reassess. We are here and Jacqueline only makes souffles. How can we NOT order a dessert souffle, when in fact, we are HERE! We must eat MORE piping hot SOUFFLES and not REFUSE THEM! The waiter returns and Chef L'Erique requests, "Blueberry! Dessert! Blueberry!" Uh oh, now the order is in - we cannot change our mind as the souffle, she takes hours to make, all by Jacqueline, alone in the kitchen aside from two helpers who seem to just be doing the dishes. Two souffles is our destiny.
We wait and wait and I am grumpy and whine to Chef L'E that I must go home and take off my shoes and drink cold beer. I ask him to go across the street to get me a beer. I tell him I think the chairs are uncomfortable and this is not very romantic at all! We discuss what makes a restaurant romantic. I whine that these tables for two are too big and he is not close to me and that is not romantic. I apologize because I am the one to blame for suggesting souffles and that if I had known it would be so hot out I never would have suggested a restaurant that only serves souffles. I make excuses - as I had no warning of this heat wave, just the same old sun with cloud every day, all week in the weather section of the newspaper. I tell him I'll try to make it up to him and again, apologies for what a horrible a mistake I've made.
Then, after waiting, and waiting and trying not to drink our Sancerre for the sheer "chilled" factor alone (in fact, our waiter takes it from us to "put in the refrigerator" but we think he is just trying to save us from ourselves), I'm still complaining - the Sancerre is sour I whine. I like red wine. Did I mention that it's hot and we are in a very tiny restaurant (in uncomfortable chairs) trying to feel the romance?
Anyway, after all this - the oyster/spinach/garlic souffle arrives. It's steamy. The waiter, who I'm sure has years of practice serving souffles and only souffles at Cafe Jacqueline, serves the souffle to us. It's like ballet. It involves two big silver spoons, leaping into the souffle, just so - here and there. Artfully arranged slices of lemons land on our plates with dollops of souffle shortly following in the souffle dance. Our mouths are hanging open in awe. It's hot, and steamy and oh, so beautiful. We look at each other and smile. Then we start our ecstatic mutterings. How perfect, the lemons - the lemons were arranged on the top and now they are placed on the bottom of the plate - providing the perfect above/below lemon love to the delicious oysters. It was not that long ago that we thought, on a hot summer's day, we would just be able to taste the souffles and not even attempt to finish them, but now we have gobbled up this shared oyster/spinach/garlic souffle and it's completely gone. Oh, and the Sancerre? It goes perfectly with this souffle and I salute Chef L'E for ordering it. He is a genius and I am glad I married him and that we live in San Francisco and go out and eat souffles. Romance is in the air. Now we can't wait for this blueberry souffle to arrive. But now we wait with happy souffle anticipation.
We are smiling and giggling and watching how fast the other diners are served their souffles. We are listening for the bell in the kitchen to signal that the small number of souffles made at a time are ready to be served. We are smelling traces of recently created souffles in the air and trying to guess which ones they are. We are ogling other plates and taking guesses on which people are cranky that their souffles are taking so long, and who in the restaurant has been served, and how that effects our place in the order for the next delicious souffle that is up and out of the kitchen. I think by this time it's 8:30 and we are commenting how pleased we are that we had a 6:30 reservation, without realizing, in the world of souffles, that means we might be able to eat our first course at 8:00. A couple shows up at the door and they are told to wait next door. Ha ha, we say, they will never get in before 9:00! The majority of tables in the place have not yet received their first delicious souffle!
During this wait, Chef L'E says "oh right, I have to go to the bathroom." I respond, "why? is it fancy?" He tells me that he heard that if you go to the bathroom you get to walk through the tiny kitchen and see Jacqueline herself, making the souffles! Wow! I wish him him luck and he is off. He returns with the full exciting report. He starts with "There is a large bowl of eggs!" and then "The kitchen is tiny. She seems to be making only one or two souffles at a time" and then "She is tiny and she is doing all the work. She even answered the phone when I walked there and I heard her telling someone that they were crazy to call so late for a reservation." This Jacqueline, she sounds super-hero impressive. I am in awe.
We listen through several more bell rings from the kitchen, hoping it is ours, when our waiter arrives with a giant dessert souffle towering with a half-pint-of-blueberries-on-top, making us both gasp. Wow! We say, as what can you say to something so unbelieveably lovely that involves a mountain of blueberries. That's a lot of blueberries we say, because damn' it sure was.
Talk about romance - the dessert souffle is only offered with two long spoons. Two spoons dipping into a delicious fruity souffle. One with a mountain of blueberries on top, one with blueberries also discovered inside like little molten-filled surprises. How many times can two people say wow and smile and not be able to stop eating even though they advertise the dessert souffles as being "shared by three or four." Well, we couldn't finish the whole thing, but we tried, happily, we tried.
I couldn't leave Cafe Jacqueline without also sneaking in to see the amazing Jacqueline. I must have been beaming with newly-filled-with-souffle-goodness because she gave me a big smile. I regret not gushing to her about our wonderful evening at her restaurant, but I felt speechless. I blame the souffles. I saw the big bowl of eggs too, but at this point of the evening it was reduced by half.
We floated out of the restaurant, both agreeing about the romance magic of Cafe Jacqueline and now total souffle converts. We had big smiles on our faces all the way home, through drunken North Beach, our ride home on BART, then back at home from our day as tourists in San Francisco, and how lucky we are that we actually live here. While I think we could have a romantic time sitting on the couch with kittens on our laps and ordering take-out, that Jacqueline...what an amazing egg lady.
Sunday, June 04, 2006
cheese wrapped in nettles
Sunny weekend spent in Point Reyes with a stop in Sausalito on the ride home:
The highlights:
Pinecone Diner (mmmm....trout salad!)
playing CDs on KWMR (Neko Case, Tilly and the Wall to Dubtronics)
Ogling cheese at Cowgirl Creamery (nettle wrapped St. Pats)
Dinner on the outside deck at Fish w/ mason jars full of Anchor Steam
Sunday: Part two
DMC's adoption story
Walking the stairs on Bernal Hill
June beer club selections
minus: overprivileged Marin kids
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