foodwinesex

Heads or tails?

The list slowly gets smaller. Many of you know that I'm on a mission this year to dine at the top 100 Bay Area restaurants as defined by Michael Bauer in his annual list. Happy to report that I'm making progress. Many of these with BK. Last night we checked Acquerello off the list. Dinner got off to an inauspicious start. No bar. Strike one. We waited 40 minutes for our table. Strike two. There was no strike three. Dinner was great. BK liked it even more than I did and suggested a return visit...perhaps with CH and ChP. We've never doubled and this might be the place to do it. So, dinner...well actually as we were waiting for lingering diners to leave our table we were treated to a couple of drinks. First came an unusual aperitif. A finger sized flute held a combination of fresh squeezed orange juice, sweet vermouth, Pellegrino and bitters. BK suggested it tasted like a creamsicle. Exactly. A few minutes later we were offered a pale rose (Rotari - 25% Chardonnay & 75% Pinot Nero). Fragrant and floral but not overly fruity. With glass in hand we were finally seated amidst earnest apologies.

We had pre-ordered while waiting for our table. I was hoping ChP could come out for a short visit...maybe for a quick glass of wine and I didn't want to call too late. As soon as we were seated an Amuse bouche was offered...a delicate parmesan budin with shaved green asparagus and lemon. It came across as the lightest quiche I'd ever tasted. Good start. For openers we both ordered chopped carpaccio of kampachi with parsley, lemon zest and Gaeta olives. Home run. BK liked it even more than me. We eat a hell of a lot of tuna but this was near the top...same league as Bacar and Michael Mina. Dinner moved right along...my entree was a roast breast of duck with fresh cherries, crispy potatoes and seared escarole. Pretty damn good. They got the medium rare just right. The cherries played against the fatty edges of the duck perfectly. The thin, crispy potato tendrils added a bit of crunch to the plate. Yum. BK ordered the veal (first time I've seen him order veal) and left nothing on his plate. He raved about it.

Dinner conversation was great as usual. We've been attending an Innovation and Entrepreneurship on the Stanford campus. Despite the fact that our company won an award as one of the 100 most innovative companies, its been very disappointing so far. The ideas are stale and having been to TED and EG 2006 earlier this year, this conference is falling flat. Conversation moved to the women. BK is meeting CH in a few days and couldn't be more excited. She's been in Europe for the last few weeks and he's missed her. A lot. They've been texting back and forth and while I don't know what they've been saying, he's been re-reading his blackberry a lot. Conversation evolved and then he said something that hit me upside the head and has me thinking. He suggested that maybe the reason I've been so enamored of ChP is because her values resonate with me. Her values. Where did that come from? This stayed with me all night and was there when I woke up this morning. Shit. There is something to this. Geez...implications are deep here.

This was looping through my head as I was heading out to meet ChP. During dinner we texted back and forth and agreed to meet for a glass of wine at Enoteca Ottimista on Union. I'd been there once before...earlier this year for a local TED event. I parked right in front...my parking karma was on. I walked in, grabbed a table and she arrived a few minutes later looking great as usual. We each ordered a glass of red and chatted a bit when Kelly introduced herself. Surprised, I looked up, mumbled a hello and she was gone in a flash. Meeting her friend's new boyfriend? Dunno...seemed nice enough. I'm sure we'll meet again...hopefully when I'm in a position to make a better impression on ChP's friends. We finished the wine, jumped in my car and talked a bit. Big topic stuff. Fate, chemistry...the stuff I've been preoccupied with. Then she said something that took me back a bit. She knows I don't believe fate put us in that room because we were somehow predestined to be together. Rather, she suggested, fate put us in the same general vicinity to see what would happed. OK. Particle or wave? Nature or nurture? Chocolate or peanut butter? The world is filled with apparent contradictions that somehow are really two sides of a single coin. Gotta think..gotta think...ChP has to go in now. Kiss goodnight and home. Lots to think about. Heads or tails?

g.

Going, going, (grab it before its) gone.

foodwinesex. People who know me know I'm a big Giorgio Armani fan. I tend to shop at either Armani or Emporio Armani. I also know that every time I buy a suit, slacks or a sports jacket, the first place I wear it is at my tailor's. Spending a couple of extra bucks on a $1000 suit makes it look like it's worth $2000 (or more). The custom fit results in a more comfortable wear. Of course the ultimate are hand-made bespoke suits. Such a suit is usually very expensive and takes at least one (and sometimes several) fittings. It might take weeks or months for the tailor to finish the suit and accompanying alterations. I've recently discovered a new nearly custom-sized wearable for men. I speak, of course, of Condomania's new specially sized TheyFit condoms. These are not truly bespoke - there is no tailor offering a custom fitting (although I don't doubt that this is coming). Rather they have a clever "fit kit". Of course when preparing for the fit kit its best to have a bit of help to prep the sizing and the quality of that help could actually change the measurements (so be careful). Its the 21st century variant on Heisenberg's Uncertaintly Principle. I'll lay claim to this one and just say that the act of being measured effects the measurement itself. We shall see just how the promise delivers.

I was not all-Armani Wednesday night for my final visit to Winterland (black Armani jacket, black John Varvatos shirt, black Armand Basi jeans for the Details oriented...does it get any shallower?). This was the fourth time I'd been to Winterland in 5 weeks (see Winterland and later... from 7/9). Once again, BK joined me but in addition we invited an old friend, AL to join us. AL lives in Las Vegas and only occasionally gets back here to his old stomping grounds. It was great to see him. For the first time I got to see what Winterland looked and sounded like when there were actually more than a handful of people there. It was packed. After cocktails at the bar we grabbed our table and began ordering. The Amuse Bouche was once again a melon soup with lime mousse and a bit of powdered chili. Served cold. Same dessert-like response. Again I ordered the roasted white corn soup. AL did the same and BK ordered the salad (and I didn't get the ingredient details). AL then ordered the ribeye tataki in miso, I ordered the Petaluma Poussin Roasted and BK ordered the Seared diver scallops with pea shoots, snowpeas and lemongrass oil. The wine was an unremarkable syrah. As a matter of fact, I don't think I've had a really good glass of wine yet at Winterland. It seems like the grapes come from "outside the fence".

Change is good...right? Trees that can't bend that get uprooted in a storm (winds of change). Winterland can't make it and closes. AL has another opportunity and moves to Vegas. Marriages end and new relationships begin. What a trip this is. When I began my relationship with X the world was a very different place. Video meant a Betamax. There were no PCs or cell phones. No AIDS. No condoms. No crack. Quaaludes was the party drug of choice. Reggie Jackson hadn't yet joined the Yankees. Now I don't know what's changed but relationships today seem to be very different than I've ever known them. A younger friend of mine characterizes what I'm seeing simply as the women in SF are very aggressive...sex is usually on the first date or the second at the latest. A comment on a recent post characterized me (on the strength of just the one post) of being "boastful" and engaging in "meaningless fuck(s)". She missed the point altogether. I'm looking for some sort of connection. Maybe it starts as "chemical", that is a relationship where we start off feeling good together physically and moves quickly into exploring each other emotionally, etc. As I've said in the past, I'm not interested in starting another family...no later-life Ozzie and Harriet lifestyle. Been there, enjoyed it, done. In looking for somebody near my own age I'm finding confident women with lives of their own...with extensive sexual experience, knowing what they want and like...not dependent on men dominating the sexual agenda. They also have been through the whole family thing and have come out the same end as me. Some are looking for the same kind of connection as I seek. Some just want a fuck. Still-prevalent sexual mores lead some into assuming I'm some sort of middle-aged Lothario on the make for ever more pussy. Happy to report that the world...at least the world I'm seeing...doesn't work that way. Every single date I've been on I've seen the woman as what might be characterized by some as the "aggressor". I know this fucks with preconceptions...especially (I find) with younger folks in established relationships. Sorry kids but that's the way it is out there today. Maybe its the fact that women aren't looking to become pregnant...ubiquity of condoms and awareness of risk...familiarity with and appreciation of good sex...realizing that we only come through this world one time and we should enjoy what we can while we can. There...I've said it. We only live once. What are we waiting for?

g.

The Alchemist (no pain, no gain)

Limon. I'd been having foodporn fantasies about their Cervice de Pescado since I'd been there back in early June. BK's solo this week and he suggested checking it out having heard about my previous visit. Limon is a Peruvian place in the Mission...kinda loud, good service, funky tables and a wine-only bar. I was heading over a little early and planned to grab a martini at Blondies, a couple of doors down. As I began looking for parking (and I always feel nervous about leaving a convertible on the street in this area) I got a call from my daughter. "Dad? Yeah honey, what's up? I know you're working on Thursday but I need some help...can I get some time from you? Of course...can your mom help? She's out of town for the next nine days. Where? Long pause. Where? Uhhh...Argentina. Argentina? Very long pause. Yeah."

I hadn't expected this. I started feeling chemicals being released in my brain...one at a time...some kind of alchemist, hidden, resident, releasing emotions that I tried to analyze in real time as they were rushing through my bloodstream...behind my eyes...in my stomach. Shit. Argentina? We'd been to Buenos Aries for the holidays in 2004 and had a great time...warm people, great food, wine...a lovely time. She went back to Argentina? Who'd she go with? Processing...processing...I'd had suspicions she'd been seeing somebody for a long time. Processing...processing...hold on a second...I didn't care anymore...cool. Tick, tick, tick...but she took off and left our daughter dangling here. That totally sucks. Wait...X is a good mom and I'm sure she had things lined up...maybe not with me, jeez, but K should be fine. Hey..wait a second...its a bit of a pain in the ass but I'm OK with this. Deep dizzy breath. Liberation. I hope X is happy.

I'd replay this in my head several times like echoes of an earthquake or some crazy damped emotional-harmonic motion and each time come to the same conclusion. I was really done with my marriage and good with it. The martini at Blondies was a large pour and I was grateful. BK had arrived, we finished our drinks and headed over to the siren ceviche.

The Cervice de Pescado was as good as I'd remembered it. BK ordered the Ceviche Limón and was as pleased with his choice as I was with mine. I passed on wine and BK ordered a glass of the house sangria. For entree we both got the Pargo Rojo (Deep fried whole red snapper basket, served with stir fried coconut rice and rocoto curry sauce). The presentation was dramatic with the skeleton and head of the fried fish forming an arc rising from the plate protecting the diced fish. The neighboring table was oohing and ahhing. Crisp, fresh and fried very hot so that the crust had just the right texture while the fish was moist and flaky. Highly recommended.

Describing our dinner conversation took on fractal qualities. I began recounting reactions I'd been getting to the contents of this blog. They were all over the board and I was starting to see trends across demographics and some interesting idiosyncratic responses. Much of what I've written over the last week or two had already been well known to my closest friends...BK, GP, V...all heard this stuff in real time. I was far more curious about the responses of the women who read me. Reactions were all over the board..."Fucking Brilliant", "I find some of the entries worrisome", "I LOVE it, G! It’s like the grown-up restaurant version of “The Julie/Julia Project,” but with a way more intriguing cast of characters". I had a few face-to-face discussions as well, including one particularly concerned reaction. A woman I know has parents my age navigating the dissolution of their marriage. She is concerned for them. I was touched that she feared her dad might experience some of the emotional turmoil that I've been reporting (and it instantly takes me to what K must be feeling...our daughters get bruised as much as their parents).

On the whole, women tend to react at a deeper level. Younger women have more trouble with it than older women (my biggest fans). Men relate to the those facets that reflect what they've found true in their own personal experience. Everybody focuses on the sex part of the writing (which is the smallest part of the content and by far the least detailed in description). The sexual writing is a ganzfeld onto which readers project their own prejudices and predilections. (What does the quote, "European men don't do that" mean to the reader anyway?) The emotional subtext of the reactions stem from a couple of phenomena I've begun to understand. When an individual exposes themselves nakedly and publicly, people have a hard time not looking while not looking away. It hits them at a very visceral level. Voyeurism is titillating but I would never let myself be so exposed. Emotional confusion. Another insight...people think they know me. There is a persona that everyone we know has built up around us as a shorthand to understanding who we are and to anticipate interpersonal reactions. When a dissonance, maybe a huge dissonance, is discovered some level of discomfort (or panic) ensues. I thought I knew him. My first reaction is to say "if this offends you, turn it off." Too glib. Instead I'll explain that this is the most basic stuff of my creative life. As I process the changes, turmoil, pain, exhilaration of where I am today, I want to use it to build something, to spin straw into gold. Alchemy.

I take it all in but let none of it editorialize my perspective. Tomorrow night will be my last visit to Winterland. Just got word that it's closing this week for good.

g.

I love LA (we love it!)

Back at the gym again this morning. Can't miss a day...the discipline is one of the reasons for being there. The post-workout endorphin buzz is another. When I re-entered the dating world I decided that I didn't want to be embarassed when I took my shirt off. A fourth benefit came as a bit of a surprise to me. The week before last I was with B. I lifted her off the bed and flipped her over in a fluid motion with one arm. Wow. I don't plan on missing the gym again.

BK is back in town after a week and a half with the family in Oregon. CH is off to a friend's wedding in Amsterdam and the two of us are at dinner at Firefly. Gives us an opportunity to knock another restaurant off Bauer's Top 100. I got there first, sat at the bar and ordered a glass of the Sunstone Syrah, Santa Barbara. Nice big red. Chocolate, tobacco, long finish. BK arrived a moment later and we sat to order. Our dinner conversations tend to stay away from work issues and focus on food, wine, sex, women, the nature of relationships, restaurants, sports, music, technology, philosophy, books, etc. Firefly was, as BK characterized it, a good neighborhood place...good for families but not much of a singles scene. It is a temple of comfort food with good wines and a guy behind the (wine only) bar who knows his stuff. I started off with White Corn and Pasilla Pepper Chowder with Polenta Croutons. Great soup. The corn was, if anything, a bit undercooked...crunchy and very fresh tasting. Well done. For the next course I went with Grilled Pork Rib Chop with Spicy Porter Jus, Bacon, Grilled Corn off the Cob and Creamy Grits. This particular chop was good...better than Nopa, not as good as Town Hall. (A brief aside...JK assures me his experience with the Pork Chop at Nopa was very different than mine. "I had it. Was fantastic. While not huge, it was still very moist and tender. Really just perfectly cooked. Any less it would have been too rare." I must have just been there on an off night. I'll give it another shot.) BK ordered the Firefly’s Old School Meatloaf with Crimini Mushroom Gravy, Mashed Potatoes and Blue Lake Beans. By the looks of his plate he liked it quite a bit. Dessert for me was Watermelon-Chai Spice Sorbet and Lemon Granita with Fresh Passion Fruit. Very tasty mix of fruit. BK got the Brebiou Cheese with Almond Crisps, Blueberries and Honey Comb. Firefly is the once-and-done type of place for me.

BK reminded me we have tickets for the upcoming Raconteurs show at the Warfield on the 23rd. He picked them up shortly after our trip to LA over Memorial Day weekend. (Hazy interlude with wild sound effects indicating we are traveling back in time to Memorial Day Weekend.) We headed out of Dodge for a little R&R in SoCal. We ended up staying at the Sunset Marquis. The first morning there I was working out at the tiny gym up in the back by the guest houses and I saw Jack White (of the White Stripes) and Brendan Benson walk by to their cottages. They were dressed in the same outfits as they wore on the cover of their single, Steady, As She Goes...my fave rock single of the year so far. Over the next day or so we saw the band kicking around, doing interviews, etc. Unlike most rockers, Jack White is a big guy. He's gotta be 6' 3" or more. I can see how he might do damage in some of his bar fights that you read about.

Indulging in the full LA experience had us heading out that Saturday evening to LAX, the hottest club in town. I had been assured by Brooke that this was the place to party. Once inside the door we realized that while this was the hip place for Brooke and company, I definitely skewed old here. I'm definitely not looking to party with the beautiful 20-somethings ten deep at the bar. If anything, I'm far more interested in spending time with women much closer to my own age. Boredom set in quickly and we were out of there and heading back to the hotel kicking it in the bar with a dry one.

Sunday in Beverly Hills was sunny and warm. Killing time, BK decided he wanted to buy a suit so we headed over to Armani. As me walked in we were greeted by Alain. I realized there was a pre-sale going on and inquired about it. He asked me how I knew about it (unpublicized) and I assured him I was an Armani guy. He tested me...who was my salesguy in SF? Dude...Dennis of course...you know him? We were in. Now, Alain had some uhhhh...preconceptions about BK and I coming in together. Since it was a bit busy, would we mind sharing a dressing room. Confident in our sexuality we said no problem. Hell...we just left the door open and came and went in various stages of dress. Alain racked up a big sale and was happy as hell when he asked us if he should send everything to the same address. We suggested different addresses. (It wasn't until a couple of weeks later when we spoke on the phone and asked how BK was that I suggested his wife would know better than I. He then asked me what I did for a living and shortly began pitching software ideas to me. Quick on his feet.)

Heading out of Armani, I noticed a Taschen store down the street. Being a big fan of their books we headed in. There was a book signing in the back of the store for Leroy Grannis and his book of surf photography. The store owner introduced himself and we chatted a bit about some obscure design titles. Seeing how much we appreciated his products, he invited us up to the roof where there was a private party in progress. Mexican food, margaritas and lots of beautiful people everywhere. The sun and tequila were lightly toasting everything. Perfect...

g.

The oddest combinations (or how chemistry sets usually result in a mess but every once in a while...)

foodwinesex. Another beautiful day in SF yesterday...another perfect Sunday. Gym, coffee, shower and a late breakfast at Absinthe. I usually go there for the creamy polenta with mascarpone, toasted walnuts, bananas and maple syrup but its better with cool weather. I went with their house-made granola, yogurt and fruit. Light and fresh.

After a bit of work I headed out mid-afternoon to SFMOMA. There were a couple of exhibitions I wanted to check out...particularly Matthew Barney's Drawing Restraint. I had seen some of his Cremaster Cycle a few years ago and knew of his involvement with Björk (who appears in a number of his pieces and who supplied the score for this installation). The breadth of media types and range of scale were both amazing. There is a room specifically set up as an educational appetizer to use before you tackle the exhibit. Highly suggested that you check out this resource. There is plenty about this work on the SFMOMA site.

Being a design maven I also had to check out Xefirotarch/design series 4....cutting edge architecture. (Xefirotarch is Hernán Díaz Alonso's Los Angeles–based architectural firm.) Think Frank Gehry in the form of undiscovered deep-sea creatures. Forces you to rethink basic assumptions about architecture and technology. There was a model of a structure designed for U2. The rest of the design exhibit is on permanent display but they've added a few new pieces. One in particular has been an object of overt lust for me for several years...the Aprilia Moto 6.5 motorcycle, designed by Phillipe Starck. Damn, a nearly perfect embodiment of my ideas of design, sex and masculinity.

As I was leaving the museum I got a call from jevering. He and Brooke were over on Chestnut Street and had reservations at Mamacita's. SteveD and Patrick, two guys who work with jevering (SteveD deserves an entire post himself) were to join us when they got in from the airport. Long story short...lots of appetizers, pitchers of margaritas (all tasty...esp. the pomegranite but mixed on the weak side) and a long wait for the guys. So long that I never got to my entree...too chipped out. Next time...it did look promising. On the other hand, the crowd was great. Lots of women. There was a group of three in a row at a table facing me. (Sidebar...why is it that when three women go out together and sit in a row that the hottest one is invariably in the middle? Is this some under-reported subtlety of Buckminster Fuller's thinking on groups of threes? Is the brain in being wired to appreciate beauty forcing a symmetry in social situations?) As they were getting up to leave I approached the middle woman, gave her my card, made some small talk and waved as they left. She was just my style. I hope she calls (she said she would). She told me her name but I forgot it instantly. Not a good start on my part. (Update - ChP just reached out to me....nice.)

Last night I thought a lot about the whole chemistry thing I've been contemplating and how I might have been affected in my youth. There was a familly across the street and a couple of houses down from where I grew up (Long Island). They were Irish/Italian Catholic and had nine kids. The oldest, Philip was 4 years older than me and the next oldest was Patty and she was 2 years older than me. Patty was my best friend for years. Total tomboy. She (and her sister Kathy) would wrestle me to the ground, sit on me and tickle my balls. Think about what that sets up in the head of an 8-9 year old boy. Philip was my babysitter. He'd come over, play records, show me how the high-school kids danced, turned me on to the Beatles before they hit the US and in short taught me how to be cool. Philip was gay. As it turned out, Patty was lesbian. I adored them both but couldn't get on their bus. But one time and one time only, Patty got on my bus.

I must have been 18. We were at a party. I was hormonally-driven, still pretty inexperienced and in no way prepared for what was coming. We'd had a beer or two (as I recall, Grolsch ceramic caps were the beer of choice then) and sat on opposite sides of the room. Patty leaned over and asked at a volume that insured the whole room would hear, "Hey G...you hungry for a ball?" My astonishment was no match for my hunger. "Wow...absolutely." We headed out and made a stop along the way at a bar. A gay bar. I had never been to one and was again unprepared. Patty wanted to play a game. We slow-danced (actually we sort of stood they and grinded together) in full view of all her lesbian friends. I was oblivious to the animosity. We headed back to my place and had an evening I never forgot (and I never knew how Patty remembered it). I do know that this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience for both of us. What the hell kind of chemistry was in the air that night?

Life goes on. I have two brothers that came out years ago. Philip died of AIDs in the early 90s. I continued to stay in touch with Patty whenever I was visiting my family on the old block until she died about 10 years ago. I'm sure she offered a big contribution to who I am today. Psychological, chemical or something else altogether? I do miss both of them.

g.

Very different kinds of chemistry

Heston Blumenthal, owner and chef of the Fat Duck may be the best-known practitioner of molecular gastronomy today. He examines food at the most granular level and searches for a nexus between seemingly irreconcilable ingredients. (He of the infamous bacon and egg ice cream or the snail porridge.) The combinations sound surprising and to many, off-putting. The revelation is in the tasting. I was fortunate enough to eat in this quaint little reconstructed inn back in February. The restaurant is in the village of Bray (which required a train ride and a cab to eventually get to the door). The interior was pleasant but nothing that might indicate the quality of the dinner and service I was about to enjoy.

The first thing I noticed was that all the service was French and uniformly excellent. Shortly after perusing the menu, our waiter brought us over an Amuse-Bouche which consisted of a whole-grain Pomerol mustard ice cream in a red cabbage gazpacho. I was waiting for the wild pairings to begin and was not disappointed. The temperature of the soup served to tame the edginess of the flavors and the experience was quite unlike anything I've tasted before. Frankly I think the language required to describe this kind of thing needs to be rethought. My next course was the Cauliflower Risotto with Carpaccio of cauliflower and chocolate jelly. I think this was just a bit less successful than the gazpacho but still caused my taste buds to ask what the hell was going on.

I called for the sommelier who was friendly and helpful. I ordered the Venison as my entreé (Saddle of Venison - Celeriac, marron glacé, sauce poivrade, civet of venison with pearl barley and red wine; venison and frankincense tea - yes, that's right - tea) and asked for a pairing. He immediately suggested Jim Barry, The Armagh, Clare Valley 1997. He did the full decanting and let it open. The wine, in a word, was phenomenal. Inky, large, chocolate with long finish. (When I got home I found 2 bottles of the 1996 at the Jug Shop in SF...one signed by Jim Barry himself.) The venison was magnificent...wild but not gamey. The wine supported it quite well (except perhaps the tea). X had the Pot Roast Best End Of Pork with gratin of truffled macaroni (fancy macaroni and cheese with black truffles). The macaroni dish remains one of the best things I've ever eaten - the definition of comfort food. Desert for me was an assortment of local cheeses and for X was the Délice of Chocolate, Chocolate sorbet, cumin caramel. All perfect.

This meal started me on my current ruminations on chemistry. This was the best meal I'd ever eaten. Does a similar phenomenon involving the unexpected nexus occur with humans? Do we just not see it for what it is? We frequently see evidently happy couples and wonder what it is they could have in common or question how nature works in such strange ways. Putting a microscope on the relationship is probably not going to explain the connection but moving it to examine some strange, hidden chemical pairings might render answers to the mysteries I'm feeling these days. Why or how is it that I find a woman's nose to be one of the most important aspects of her appearance? Why is it that I am partial to the type of nose that might be thought to be "imperfect"...you know a nose that you won't find on the wall of a plastic surgeon's office? Why do I find myself drawn to smaller-breasted women (and so few of them believe I actually like them that way)? Brunettes? Why do I find Jewish women appealing on a level I can't explore intellectually (and believe me I've tried)? Why is one type of sexual act more preferable with one woman while another is more obviously enjoyable with another? Might is simply be the way they taste or smell? We traditionally suggest there is something "psychological" in determining taste and predilection. I think it might be more causal. Feel free to let me know what you think and I'll continue seeking answers.

g.

Nopa Number 2 (or why do the Eskimos have so many words for snow and we only have one for "fuck"?)

foodwinesex. Back at Nopa again. It could become a regular Friday thing. I arrived around 7pm and was greeted at the door by plumes of estrogen fanning out onto the street. Chemistry again. The place was packed with women and they skewed a bit older. Nice. I stood behind the bar-diners waiting for an opening. Couples got up and other couples took their place. I couldn't see my way to breaking up a perfectly good pairing so I stood with a very dry Belvedere martini and heard "Hi G". I turned around and NR and his beautiful wife MR (amazing smile and eyes) stood there grinning at my surprise. They live in the area and noticed me through the window as they were walking by. In quick succession they ordered glasses of wine, a seat opened and I grabbed it, we chatted a bit, they took off for dinner at another place nearby (I have to ask about it...they have great taste) and I got down to the business of ordering dinner.

I hadn't eaten all day and felt it. I went with the Baked Goat Cheese, Crostini, Frisee and Pickled Beets as the appetizer. This has got to be one of the best openers in the city. It all works together. The sweetness of the beets offers the perfect counter to the pungency of the goat cheese. The crostini supplies the right counter texture to the soft cheese and beets. Can't recommend highly enough. I ordered a glass of the Roessler Red Label Pinot Noir. Good but only good. (Ordering by the glass really doesn't offer enough of a sample to go into deeper descriptions so I'll hold this to bottles only.) I narrowed the main course between the lamb and the pork chop. My waiter (who I believe I remember seeing at Chez Nous) steered me to the pork chop. The pork turned out to be just good...nothing great. It was just a tiny bit dry and the cut was thin...nothing like the chop at Town Hall. It may have been prepared in the Korean style (marinated in 7-up). Desert was a selection of berry sorbets which was excellent.

Throughout dinner I pondered the role chemistry plays in our relationships and the meaning of "fucking". My time with B has been based almost solely on chemistry (she likes Celine Dion for god's sake). A lover's appearance changes quickly depending on chemistry. We've all been with somebody and our subjective opinion of their appearance changes forever after spending a short time with them. Chemistry plays or maybe I should say chemistry is the magic in sex. B and I got there quickly and with abandon. Every inhibition was shed from the first and in our dizziness we went everywhere. Between rounds I heard "European men don't do that" and so we did it again. Eyes rolled back into her head, mouth barely open, whispering slowly - semiconscious mantra in a tiny french voice - "I love it". This is one description of "fucking".

The fact is, we have little else in common. Two weeks earlier I met MaryAnn. Very attractive...medium height, dark brown hair, great smile, nice figure. We had a drink at the bar and then dinner at Ristorante Capellini (don't get me started) in San Mateo. After dinner I walked her to her car. There was a lot of kissing, groping, etc. but no chemistry. Her car door shut, my heels hit the pavement and despite the fact that another date could have had us flying across her room like the Flying Walendas I had no interest. No chemistry. Could have easily "fucked" her but it would have been a totally different experience than what I had with B.

It's obvious that there are different types of "fucking" but we don't have a language rich enough to describe the nuances. We have synonyms but the language goes broad rather than deep. Eskimos have hundreds of words for "snow". It seems that our contemporary culture is as based in sex as the Eskimo's culture is based in snow and ice. Why is our language so lacking?

g.