foodwinesex

Surrealistic Pillow (with apologies to Jefferson Airplane)

foodwinesex. This past week saw plenty of food and wine but the sex was all abstract (at least until Friday night...jeez, we went six nights without). ChP and I had a "discussion" of the Indulgence post. Actually, she was really pissed at me. She made some good points. As it turns out, last Sunday evening her friends really let her have it over the entry. "I didn't know you were multi-orgasmic" and so on. "How could he post that kind of stuff." That was part of it. Another is that I probably over-rotated on the guilt part of it. The indulgence was actually part of a much larger picture that I under-represented. I'm glad we actually talked about all this because initially I think ChP was going to hold back. It didn't take much to set her into motion and she let me have it. Good.

The discussion generalized into sex in San Francisco...specifically as discussed in the latest issue of 7x7 Magazine. In one of the articles, actually a round table discussion titled Sex, Truth and Audiotape, the SF singles scene was dissected. As part of the discussion the male/female dynamics are discussed and the men are characterized as unmanly. "Men...aren't allowed to be men anymore. Men move here and they lose their balls. They get San Franciscanized. Check your balls at the Golden Gate." Women are characterized as the aggressors in the sexual marketplace. Interestingly, ChP offers an insight. The overwhelming numbers of women competing for the available straight men force the women to be more aggressive. This means the men often wait for the women to come to them. They can afford to be lazy. This means the most aggressive women frequently win. (No wonder sex on the second date is de rigeur.) There is a name for the type of woman who usually wins...a "cougar." The cougar comes in many forms but each stems from the Felinae Generalus, the older woman, typically early thirties to mid-forties, who has abandoned traditional rules of romantic engagement and taken as her mission the seduction of as many game young men as she can possibly handle. (Look...I'm sorry if I'm coming off as Rip van Winkle here but I feel like I'm on an anthropological study folks.) Where, I wonder, does that leave women just looking for a guy for a traditional relationship? Fucked.

ChP suggests one night I go by the Balboa Cafe. It seems that the Balboa is ground zero for cougar sightings in SF. Now I'm guessing if she's pushing me to the Balboa I must be way outside the target demographic. "What, me worry?" (Actually she says I'm not and that she's really not pushing me there. Huh?) In the same neighborhood is The Matrixfillmore. In 1965, this was a club named, simply, the Matrix, It had been converted from a pizza parlor by Marty Balin who needed a place for his new band, The Jefferson Airplane, to gig. It closed in 1972 but was reopened in 2001 and is now part of the young and restless SF singles scene. (It's interesting to note that both properties are part of the Plumpjack group, founded by our own Mayor Gavin Newsom - himself young and single.) I'd been to TheMatrixfillmore some months ago with a handful of friends (GNP, EmM, DN, SP) and we'd had a bit to drink before coming. Having been ready to enjoy ourselves we found (I found) a club full of young, self-absorbed, pretty singles. Then, of course, I didn't have the context to actually read the social language being spoken and didn't really enjoy the place or the crowd.

I gotta admit, I find the whole scene slightly surreal. I'll be traveling a lot over the next few weeks but when I get back and with ChP's encouragement, I'm gonna check this out at a deeper level and learn the language though I don't know that I'll ever speak it.

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.