This years Christmas got off to an excellent start and it's all due to the Missus. First, we got to stay at home, enjoying the luke-warm San Francisco weather, no traveling anxiety or road rage. Just pure comfort in the privacy of our own home. That matters to someone that is both agora-fobic and more afraid of cold weather than death by starvation.
Secondly, we have been practicing turtle-walking and turtle-execution. You might not be familiar with this latest trend but it's the combination of moving slow and letting the world pass. It's a philosophy that honors being, not doing. So what if we don't have the right colors on the candles this year. We have candles, no? It takes the pressure on and refocus on why and not what. It's more heart and mind than body and soul.
Third and last, my Christmas wishlist was honored and executed with the precision of a West Bank sniper. The Missus nailed most of the key items with excellent accuracy. Sure, I got some weird stuff that I most likely need to return when the Christmas spirit has left the building. But overall, she is getting an A+ on performance, engagement and content.
Merry Christmas!
Saturday, December 25, 2004
Monday, December 13, 2004
Two Days Later
- Knock, knock!
- Who's there?
- It's A-Dog and V-Cat!
Well, that's how it started more than 48 hours ago. I still get chills when I think about it. This is what really happened!
The missus and I had invited over the Dog and his Cat for some spanish wine-tasting. You know, tangle a few reds from overseas. Mix it up a little bit.
We got the idea a few weeks earlier at a french wine-tasting event at the A-Dog's hacienda. We started with a Côtes du Rhône and finished with a Burgundy. Nothing fancy but on the other hand not half bad. We enjoyed cheese in the addition to the wine. Stinky cheese. The kind that grows hair on your chest - and probably other places as well if you aren't careful. The locker-smelling-kind. The-old-trainers-never-washed-but-been-through-hell-and-back-kind. The-what's-that-green-stuff-kind.
Being the last minute kind of guy, I had just come back from the grocery store. Carrying four corniche game hens to broil. I quickly rubbed them with my secret mix and threw them in the oven - 400 degrees for 45 minutes.
- Knock, knock!
- Who's there?
Cheese on the table and the first Rioja - a Marques de Riscal Reserva from 1999 - was decapitated and the party started. A-Cat got promoted 24 hours earlier so there was a real reason to celebrate. We usually just make up celebrations in our statistically irrelevant household.
- Knock, knock!
The hens are dead, broiled and done. White, tender and ready to be had. The meat is falling of the bones and the second Rioja is popped open and the feast can continue.
We talk about chicken tenderness, being a chef and about the wine region of Rioja. I mean, to be fair, we are gathered here today to enjoy the hard labour of our friends in the spanish grape wines.
Then I realize, this is the moment. This is why we head up at 6am every freekin' morning to go to work, why we extend ourselves and go beyond what we thought was possible. Those small moments of true connection, of happiness, of planning the future and exchanging Ahh's and Ohh's with good friends.
Say cheese! It's definitely time for a picture!
- Who's there?
- It's A-Dog and V-Cat!
Well, that's how it started more than 48 hours ago. I still get chills when I think about it. This is what really happened!
The missus and I had invited over the Dog and his Cat for some spanish wine-tasting. You know, tangle a few reds from overseas. Mix it up a little bit.
We got the idea a few weeks earlier at a french wine-tasting event at the A-Dog's hacienda. We started with a Côtes du Rhône and finished with a Burgundy. Nothing fancy but on the other hand not half bad. We enjoyed cheese in the addition to the wine. Stinky cheese. The kind that grows hair on your chest - and probably other places as well if you aren't careful. The locker-smelling-kind. The-old-trainers-never-washed-but-been-through-hell-and-back-kind. The-what's-that-green-stuff-kind.
Being the last minute kind of guy, I had just come back from the grocery store. Carrying four corniche game hens to broil. I quickly rubbed them with my secret mix and threw them in the oven - 400 degrees for 45 minutes.
- Knock, knock!
- Who's there?
Cheese on the table and the first Rioja - a Marques de Riscal Reserva from 1999 - was decapitated and the party started. A-Cat got promoted 24 hours earlier so there was a real reason to celebrate. We usually just make up celebrations in our statistically irrelevant household.
- Knock, knock!
The hens are dead, broiled and done. White, tender and ready to be had. The meat is falling of the bones and the second Rioja is popped open and the feast can continue.
We talk about chicken tenderness, being a chef and about the wine region of Rioja. I mean, to be fair, we are gathered here today to enjoy the hard labour of our friends in the spanish grape wines.
Then I realize, this is the moment. This is why we head up at 6am every freekin' morning to go to work, why we extend ourselves and go beyond what we thought was possible. Those small moments of true connection, of happiness, of planning the future and exchanging Ahh's and Ohh's with good friends.
Say cheese! It's definitely time for a picture!
Saturday, December 11, 2004
For The Distinguished Driver Only
Driving gloves aren't for everyone. Imagine an american-born chinese soccer-mom speeding along in her Mini Van. She is doing about 80 in the right freeway lane just to get in time for drop-off or pick-up. She's got the driving wheel right at her chest and her arms are straight out like an airplane ready to land. Add driving gloves. Wouldn't work.
Image the guy from the hood that drives a souped-up Honda in pastel colors and dices dangling from the rearview mirror. The seat is so far back that his head is hardly visibile. 50 cents is BLASTING out across the neighborhood from his $2000 stereo. Add driving gloves. Even in the most fluorescent pastels they wouldn't work.
Then imagine a Steve McQueen-ish man, a little taller with a more European-styled shirt (well-fitted with confident patterns and a strong collar) and a pair of Italian loafers. He's gently sliding into his roadster, the leather smells raw and powerful. The sportscar reminds you of a panther ready to jump it's prey. Add driving gloves. Fits like... a glove.
There is justice in universe after all. I rest my case!
Image the guy from the hood that drives a souped-up Honda in pastel colors and dices dangling from the rearview mirror. The seat is so far back that his head is hardly visibile. 50 cents is BLASTING out across the neighborhood from his $2000 stereo. Add driving gloves. Even in the most fluorescent pastels they wouldn't work.
Then imagine a Steve McQueen-ish man, a little taller with a more European-styled shirt (well-fitted with confident patterns and a strong collar) and a pair of Italian loafers. He's gently sliding into his roadster, the leather smells raw and powerful. The sportscar reminds you of a panther ready to jump it's prey. Add driving gloves. Fits like... a glove.
There is justice in universe after all. I rest my case!
Sunday, December 05, 2004
Home Alone III
[Dream Come True by The Brand New Heavies is thumping through our pad. A glass of Rodney Strong Merlot is slowly being had. There is no cigar but lots of smoke from yesterday.]
It’s the day after, folks. Don’t expect me to be remotely funny or clever. D-dog came over last night and made me drink lots of excellent red wine, calvados and smoke puros until early morning hours. That's my defense and I'll stick to it.
I had started to grill a whole chicken, just whipped up some Ceviche and was about to soak the basmati rice when there was a knock on the door. I assumed it was my dinner guests for the evening and I was right. Sometimes life can be so simple.
We started our feast with three types of cheese: one Morbier (France), one goat cheese brie (France) and one creamy Californian. Bebel Gilberto’s Tanto Tiempo was humming along in the background. Soothing Bossa tunes that smell happiness, warmth and time-off. Bossa Nova is in my opinion the sweet dream of true harmony; it’s the antithesis of carpools, mini-vans and South Beach diet. It’s the effortless being, living and loving. No strings attached.
[Ping. The pasta is ready. A simple Farfalle with sautéed mushrooms in basil and pepper sauce. Parmesan sprinkled lightly on top. Refilling the Merlot.]
I know what you are thinking. The rascal is using the missus’ absence as an excuse to invite friends and double team the wine fridge and the humidors. True but not true. It’s all in the eye of the beholder. If living life to the fullest is a crime then bring out those handcuffs. I’m guilty as charged. The word extravaganza is the norm in our household as per the most general definition (over the top). Like Don Quijote we all have our windmills to challenge and conquer.
Anywho – the evening ended with a Calvados, a Puro and a discussion around what’s important in life. Not ones did we mention family values. Thank God!
It was much more spiritual and down-to-earth than that.
[Dimitri from Paris’ Disco Forever. Disc 3.]
Protect the old is a defensive game. It’s challenging the anomaly in-between paradigms. It’s like backing into a dead-end street. Live the dream and make your moves speak louder than those words. Shake your bootie is as offensive as it gets. No pun intended.
It’s the day after, folks. Don’t expect me to be remotely funny or clever. D-dog came over last night and made me drink lots of excellent red wine, calvados and smoke puros until early morning hours. That's my defense and I'll stick to it.
I had started to grill a whole chicken, just whipped up some Ceviche and was about to soak the basmati rice when there was a knock on the door. I assumed it was my dinner guests for the evening and I was right. Sometimes life can be so simple.
We started our feast with three types of cheese: one Morbier (France), one goat cheese brie (France) and one creamy Californian. Bebel Gilberto’s Tanto Tiempo was humming along in the background. Soothing Bossa tunes that smell happiness, warmth and time-off. Bossa Nova is in my opinion the sweet dream of true harmony; it’s the antithesis of carpools, mini-vans and South Beach diet. It’s the effortless being, living and loving. No strings attached.
[Ping. The pasta is ready. A simple Farfalle with sautéed mushrooms in basil and pepper sauce. Parmesan sprinkled lightly on top. Refilling the Merlot.]
I know what you are thinking. The rascal is using the missus’ absence as an excuse to invite friends and double team the wine fridge and the humidors. True but not true. It’s all in the eye of the beholder. If living life to the fullest is a crime then bring out those handcuffs. I’m guilty as charged. The word extravaganza is the norm in our household as per the most general definition (over the top). Like Don Quijote we all have our windmills to challenge and conquer.
Anywho – the evening ended with a Calvados, a Puro and a discussion around what’s important in life. Not ones did we mention family values. Thank God!
It was much more spiritual and down-to-earth than that.
[Dimitri from Paris’ Disco Forever. Disc 3.]
Protect the old is a defensive game. It’s challenging the anomaly in-between paradigms. It’s like backing into a dead-end street. Live the dream and make your moves speak louder than those words. Shake your bootie is as offensive as it gets. No pun intended.
Friday, December 03, 2004
While on Vacation: Just Eat It!
I have seen my fair share of churches, museums and historical monuments. In Gertrude Steins words: A church is a church. If you have seen one you have seen them all.
The missus and I have made an agreement NOT to follow the pack while on vacation. No Disneylands. No guided tours. No vacation packages. No churches. Just the two of us enjoying each others company in a new, exciting context. Focusing on what we enjoy the most: breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The way to travel and to meet interesting people is with a glas of wine in the left and a fork in the right hand. Nothing connects people more than food and wine. It's the quintessential hobby for globetrotting aficionados like us. It's the true way, the pure way to world peace.
Wait a second - we are not talking about hanging out with obese trash looking for their next value menu. Oh no, we are all about the pleasure of tasteful portions of local delights.
It's the gastronomique journey where soul, palatte and mind is challenged. It's where all senses are all equally involved. From the first peak at the menu to the signing of the check. It's where the Aahs meets the Oohs and pure vintage pleasure is being made and enjoyed.
Still up for visiting another church?
The missus and I have made an agreement NOT to follow the pack while on vacation. No Disneylands. No guided tours. No vacation packages. No churches. Just the two of us enjoying each others company in a new, exciting context. Focusing on what we enjoy the most: breakfast, lunch and dinner.
The way to travel and to meet interesting people is with a glas of wine in the left and a fork in the right hand. Nothing connects people more than food and wine. It's the quintessential hobby for globetrotting aficionados like us. It's the true way, the pure way to world peace.
Wait a second - we are not talking about hanging out with obese trash looking for their next value menu. Oh no, we are all about the pleasure of tasteful portions of local delights.
It's the gastronomique journey where soul, palatte and mind is challenged. It's where all senses are all equally involved. From the first peak at the menu to the signing of the check. It's where the Aahs meets the Oohs and pure vintage pleasure is being made and enjoyed.
Still up for visiting another church?
Birds, Bats and Boomerangs
Right of the boat (ROB) in Sydney we encounter the funniest bird. It looks like a pelican on South Beach Diet with a cartoonish presence. It's hard to know if the bird is a friend or a fou. It's strutting along in Hyde Park in the middle of Sydney and is an very akward sight for someone that is used to encounter birds on their back, broiled and battered. See, my view on animals is simple - they should be quiet, tender and work well with any medium bodied red.
Halfway through our vacation we walked through the Botanic Gardens. It's the most accommodating and peaceful place in Sydney, right between Woolloomooloo, the business district and the Sydney Opera. There, in a tree, hung hundreds of bats. The missus freaked out a little bit while I stayed absolutely calm. Holy crap, Batman!
But mother of all that's good and pure - we didn't see any Boomerang-throwing Aussies on their Walk-Abouts. I'm a little disappointed I must say. I'm a big aficionado of local culture and would prefer being greated by original tribal folks. Did not happen.
Halfway through our vacation we walked through the Botanic Gardens. It's the most accommodating and peaceful place in Sydney, right between Woolloomooloo, the business district and the Sydney Opera. There, in a tree, hung hundreds of bats. The missus freaked out a little bit while I stayed absolutely calm. Holy crap, Batman!
But mother of all that's good and pure - we didn't see any Boomerang-throwing Aussies on their Walk-Abouts. I'm a little disappointed I must say. I'm a big aficionado of local culture and would prefer being greated by original tribal folks. Did not happen.
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