I just got back from our micro vacation in Berkeley, where I drank micro brews while studying up on a few micro cap stocks I’d like to invest in once I get the money back from the micro financing our village did via kiva.org.
The boys headed off to camp this past week and we sent our daughter to spend a few days with friends so the wife and I could elude the disquiet of our daily routine. We had bought a night at the Sir Francis Drake Hotel in SF and a dinner at a charity auction at son #1’s high school last year, so it was time to cash in. We had a great day in the city Tuesday, doing the tourist routine, except that we didn’t wear shorts and T-shirts to shiver in the SF summer clime. We trekked through Chinatown to North Beach, where we had lunch at Rose Pistola. It wasn’t the cheapest option but since dinner was “free”, we decided to splurge. Our dinner that night was at XYZ in the W Hotel. The food was choice but the highlight of the meal was a 1985 Tudal Cabernet that 4M had given me for my 50th. We had a tense moment as the cork came out in two pieces and fell apart upon handling, but the wine was unscathed. It proved to be one of the smoothest libations my untrained palate had ever experienced.
I got out early Wednesday morning to ensure that a low fat latte would be sitting at my bride’s bedside when she awoke. I had to walk an entire city block to find a Starbucks. I picked up our coffee and a Chron, to learn that Barry had hit #756. He also clarified that the record is not tainted. Glad we got that straight.
We checked out a few hours later and headed over to the East Bay. We stopped by the Triple Rock brewery and did a beer tasting. We decided to stay for lunch before we headed over to the Claremont, where we spent two nights. Our first au pair, who came to us as British teenager in 1994, is now on the executive team there, and got us a great room for about 25 cents on the dollar. That along with a dinner at Chez Panisse that was covered mostly with a gift certificate from my in-laws stamp my credentials as a tightwad extraordinaire. The dinner that evening lived up to the hype. Each course was outstanding. We did get a side order of pomposity, courtesy of next table, where a young couple was on what we presumed was a first date. The young man was doing his best to impress with his academic achievements. Was I that pretentious 30 years ago? Probably! The only difference is that I would have taken my date to the fancy Greek diner in Binghamton. I’m a cheap bastard, remember.
We spent most of those two days in the pampered confines of the hotel but we did venture out to greater Berkeley a few times. Of course I had to head out to get coffee for two in the morning. I didn’t want her to have to drink the Seattle’s Best coffee supplied in the room. I had had a cup and now refer to it as Seattle’s Beast. On my way back from Peets I overheard a young man talking on his cell phone. All I really caught was “screaming babies, bright lights, unhappy people”. He may have been making a reference to the early 90’s chapter of my recently released autobiography. We also had breakfast both days at a place call Rick and Ann’s. Our getaway breakfast was at the community table. I was concerned since I had heard a women tell the hostess the previous day that she didn’t want to sit there because she had had a negative experience. My mind raced. What could have happened? Perhaps someone had failed to pass the Tabasco in a timely manner. Regardless, we had a very positive encounter. The folks on either side of us were very friendly and the food was excellent.
Dinner Thursday evening was gourmet Mexican at Dona Tomas in Oakland. We met up with my brother and sister there. I hadn’t seen my brother for a while and he was sporting a new bearded look. He reminded me of one of Castro’s “barbudos” from old photos of the Cuban revolution. He said he bought a trimmer but apparently hasn't mastered the device yet. He and my sister got the Italian complexion from my mom and I got the old man’s lighter look. Although my older brother, he’s often tried to emulate me. To steal a line from a recent beer commercial, my charisma can be seen from outer space. And of course, as with most of my friends and family, the siblings were clamoring for more blog activity, with a smidgen of whining about not being prominently featured lately. Being the oldest and youngest, they are dealing with a passel of issues that I, as the peace making middleman, am not encumbered with. Guilt is one of them. During our savory meal, big bro said he felt kind of bad about putting a beating on me now and then. What horseshit! Although that’s what big brothers are for, I wished he had had this epiphany at least 45 years ago. This talk of our childhood brought back many memories, especially of one particular bath together. This was before sis had arrived. As we sat in the tub, my brother reached down and, with an unhinged grin the ensuing years would teach me to fear, attempted to hand me a fresh turd. As I recall, I refused to accept delivery.
