Franklin took me out to dinner for my birthday tonight. I was pretty much a zombie after work, half conscious after my fitful night of near-sleep. We went over to Campagne and went with their tasting menu. This is a long-standing tradition between the two of us, to indulge in fine cuisine on the occasions when we get together for dinner.
It was outstanding. Oysters, sauteed foie gras on golden raisins, pearl onions, and some amazing reduction, salmon with a potato cake and watercress and radish, some type of ravioli with shitake mushrooms and tarragon infused chick peas, pan seared scallops and some sort of lobster sausage, and a sick dessert of chocolate/gelato and a cheese plate.
After dinner we strolled across town to find him a smoke. Then we cabbed over to my place, drank some more, watched Keb Mo and Suzanne Vega on DVD (Best of Sessions at West 54th), watched the Eagles, then reminisced about the old days at the house in Fremont. We had some good times out there, sitting on the roof, playing guitar, drinking wine, making long distance phone calls, watching the sunsets over the Olympics. You could always start counting as soon as the bottom of the sun hit the mountains, and 20 seconds later it would disappear completely over the horizon. I think in all our time there we each only convinced one girl to join us out there. Too smart, they were.
This other time, we threw a party at our house, bought a gigantic keg, invited the world, and about 10 people showed up, one of them being Aaron Best in a tutu. We had to empty the entire keg in the front yard, killing a bush in the process.
Okay, Keb Mo is in town tomorrow, what am I doing missing the concert? Oh yeah, we're in a recession and I'm in debt.
Sweet article about pitching and defense which Rob Neyer pointed out.
Robo and I looked up some plane tickets. For around $600, we could fly to Amsterdam for a weekend. Leave Friday, get in Saturday morning. Stay up all night running around, then fly back Sunday. Gosh, I'm tempted. Except I think I'd drop in on Aaron in London instead, and make it a four day weekend. Aiya, Robert brings out recession-proof Epicurean in me.