i took my heart to san francisco, final chapta

it feels pretty gross to wake up in your adorable black vera wang lavendar label frock. not to mention it's terribly uncouth. at the ritz. at motel 6. wherever. why am i in 14.5's room [rather than my rain man suite]? great. the walk of shame at the ritz-carlton san francisco. and i don't have a reason to feel shame except i've mistreated one of my favorite dresses. made exclusively for bergdorf goodman's.

quick like a bunny i scurry into the elevator up a floor and back into the cozy and private embrace of my suite without a soul seeing me. lucky again. gosh i keep getting lucky in san fran.

of course there's no real time to relax. 14.5 and i are going for a run. he tried to weasel out with the old "let's have breakfast and run later" strategy. yeah right. wrong donkey kong. in 15 we meet in the lobby, donned in work out gear; he forgets his ipod. and why the hell do i have my purse? am i planning to run with black gucci? think not. clearly we're having trouble today getting it together. brain cells were damaged last night, no dispute there. regrouped, we're in a taxi to the marina. plan is to run to the golden gate and back. approximately 6 miles. impressive, no? it's a great way to avoid a hangover. it is. a little tired, but it's invigorating because it's cold as hell in may in sf. perfect running weather. gorgeous setting, passing families and runners and doggies at the beach. who gets to do this? lucky me, that's who, suckas.

later that day we meet up with another of 14.5's friends. really cool dude down from marin. we're off to a great place recommended by none other than cool wife from last evening. bar jules. this casual bistro with new york attitude is my kind of place. a bottle of wine and yummy food [me i had squab with polenta and cherries] in our tummies, how is it possible it's time to get ready for tonight?

what's on tap for tonight is baseball. st. louis cardinals at san francisco giants. i love a baseball game [not on tv - in person]. i'm happy to report that i didn't freeze my arse off because i broke out the jeans and sweater at last. more of 14.5's friends met up with us. i don't have much to say about the game. i chatted the entire time like a girl. the stadium was freakin awesome, dude. there. there's my baseball knowledge. and the giants won. and our seats were kickass. and i got a yummy hotdog.

i coulda looked at all of this surrounded-by-friends business as a romance-killer, but if you read chapta 4 you know i'm keen to this situation and there wasn't any romance to kill. moreover, i was totally and completely delighted and won-over by friends. this boy has a lot of friends. i respect that and believe that people with lots of good friends usually make for good friends. these guys are cool and fun and funny. after the game we decide to embark upon what might be the silliest thing i've participated in lately. notice i said might. we headed to bar none specifically for beer pong. i happen to like a rousing game of beer pong. who doesn't? this bar was incredibly disgusting [see cap lounge review for other gross bars i frequent]. hole in the wall would be a step up. once i saw the bathroom, i was wishing they had port-a-potties. sadly i never got to play beer pong. not sure how that happened. perhaps it was because i was enjoying the company of my newfound friends.

stumbling back to pimpdaddysuite, for the life of me i can't remember what happened next. [sorry because i know after all this reading you want details but i remind you that even if i could i don't dare share because that wouldn't be ladylike.] i know there was some browbeating on my part and i'm sure i mentioned the word rebound. or karl [the mailman] malone. and some such childish discussion of who knows what that led to his getting one of my 10 pillows and heading to the sofa in the parlor of my suite. we had our first/last fight i think. see? i'm not perfect.

i don't really know where i'm going with this or how to wrap it up. 14.5 years is a long time to not see someone you didn't know in the first place. i haven't the foggiest if this was a date weekend or just a friend weekend. or a let's see weekend. sometimes it's just good to have a good friend. 14.5 put himself in the friend box because that's what he can manage right now. the good thing is i have a new old friend. $hit, could i mention the words "good" and "friend" more in one paragraph? crappy writing. my brain is fried.

i took my heart to san francisco. i didn't leave it there. for me it would be easier to accept that i wrecked something than to know this has nothing to do with me. [control freak?] in life timing is everything. this i know. i get the sense i'm not gonna see 14.5 again. for a long time. oh and i'm real sad to leave my baller suite at the ritz even though it was a tiny financial speedbump.

i'm really happyproud that once again, i can't be accused of not giving it a whirl.

i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 4

sad, so sad to be leaving the astonishingly beautiful countryside and hills of the napa valley and sonoma, i look ahead to what might lie ahead tonight. or not. pahleeze. who gives a frog's fat ass, i'm having a fabulous time.

i enjoy a leisurely drive. i'm not in a hurry, savoring my visits to bouchon bistro and the oakville grocery. i feel lucky. which is only slightly better than feeling cute. which i also feel. an electrifying combination. the bloody marys didn't hurt either.

as i reach the fog/golden gate, burr, it's jarringly cold and cloudy again.

i did just leave behind the best place on earth. where i had a lovely hotel room, paid for. and my potential dream man that i did not meet in napa. [he was probably working in his winery and i didn't make it there due to over-imbibing last night].

i got a little lost finding my way back to my home-pimpin-home known as the ritz. under normal circumstances i'd get a little stressed, if not full-on frenzied on the verge of crying, i'll admit. i know it's a small town though, san fran. plus it's really just a cooool town, no worries getting lost. nothing wrong with getting acquainted. due to the run i took earlier this day i easily recognize the track i need to get on, but not before meandering through the rolling streets and gardens around presidio boulevard - which is enchanting, romantic and i don't know, i think reminded me a little of newport for lack of good comparison.

how strange timing is though, and i pull up to the circle drive at the ritz directly behind 14.5 as he's removing those silly golf clubs from his rental. lucky for him he gets to admire my cute tibi dress. in the elevator on the way up i bestow upon him his winegift as well as two macaroons i picked up for him at bouchon bakery (situated btw right next door to bouchon the bistro - so totally darling). sweet of me, no?

because i got lost, i don't get to catnap like i would normally like to do. instead i need to get my fanny in the shower and get ready for exciting night out with a couple of his friends. hell. nothing that another $4 minibar red bull can't fix.

oh and if you're wondering, of course i donned the ritz-carlton bathrobe. duh. i contemplated having one of the ritz-angels come draw a bath for me [a cool bargain at $75] except that the bath menu states that it takes an hour and i don't have that kind of time. [yes, i just said "bath menu".] i didn't even have time to unwrap the ritz-carlton slippers. i love everything about this suite. i love that i can plug my ipod in and blast it like i'm at home. i love the lighting in the bathroom. i'm having a love-hate with the lighted 40x magnifying mirror; mostly love. i love the iron, i love the blowdryer, i love the fact that they're always coming to turn down your bed and leaving chocolates, water, more towels [more towels? what the f do you think's going on in here - believe me 18 towels is plenty]. i don't want to leave and if not for my dog philippe i think i could stay. is it my imagination or does everything at the ritz work better than my stuff at home?

so be-bopping down to the lobby, i'm gorgeoused up and we pop into a taxi to michael mina's latest greatest, rn-74 in the millennium tower on mission st. michael mina is one of those chef gods. not to the level of thomas keller or michel richard or my beloved wylie dufresne, but right up there. almost. i'm on the edge of my seat. rn-74's been open only a month. long enough to hopefully have ironed out any grand opening kinks. it's a resto that is heavily focused on wine - with a wine list long enough to impress even the snobbiest - 80 some pages. the restaurant is the benefactor of a sf gentleman who has opened his private collection to their patrons. it's very very dark in here. i like it. cool bar and bar scene to the right, we meet up with 14.5's friends, a charming, funny, sweet couple, and did i mention funny. and cool. i'd like to be a part of a couple like that. i'm envious. after a cocktail we're seated in the dining room situated to the left. of interest, perpendicular walls have high hanging, old-school train signs highlighting wines of tonight. one of them, supposedly, features wines of which there's only one bottle left - priced to move. cool concept, no?

i order for my appetizer the beef carpaccio. something raw is always on my list it seems. must be the wild animal in me. [roar.] goodness gracious - not only beautifully presented, categorically yummy. charred scallions, kohlrabi (ah ha, couldn't place it that night), macadamias and black truffle [that you could in fact taste] creme fraiche. a true gift this appetizer and one i couldn't be happier with.

my entree: grilled cobia amandine. served with sauteed blue foot mushrooms and romaine hearts and nicoise olives. and lots and lots of crunchy almonds coating the fish {perhaps too many?}. i really loved this dish too. i have no complaints. almost everyone loved their dishes as a matter of fact. except that 14.5 ordered the pan-seared halibut which was disappointingly overcooked to the point that it coulda been called fish jerky. ick. poor thing was terribly let down. huge bummer. i can only imagine what woulda happened to me working the fish station at citronelle if i'd sent that $hit out. i would have been sent home for the night. but not before receiving a bollocksing that would surely leave emotional scarring.

for dessert, i went what i'll call "off the registry" and mistakenly ordered the kumquat confiture. there was nothing confit about these kumquats. i might as well have been gnawing orange peels. son of a biatch. i think they should have been brunoised, or tiny diced and the dessert would have been better. back to the positive, 14.5 ordered yummy vanilla bean gelato that was a homerun. [more on homeruns later.]

wife of fun cute cool couple is really in the know. a girl after my own heart. she suggests that we head to a speakeasy not too far away. sadly they won't join as they've gotta baby at home. i'm pretty sure she's got the number in her cell phone, which is tres cool. she calls ahead to [warn] let them know we're coming and asks for the password: gatecrashers.

we head to bourbon and branch, a door without a sign. ring the doorbell, give him the gatecrasher password and host lets us in, leads us to very old, tiny booth table. good thing we're skinny. i ate a $hit-ton today and that could've been embarrassing trying to squeeze my non-spanxed arse in there.

hmm. i ordered a fruity something - you know you have to get extraordinary drinks at a speakeasy. none of this vodka soda nonsense. we had a nice time. i think at least. 14.5 likes deep discussions, as he's taking this period in his life to do some reflective introspection after icky buzzkill breakup. i'm pretty patient about this stuff. it's been a few conversations since the topic's been brought up. i gotta say though, to me, when someone continues to bring up the old ball and chain, it's a neon-flashing-honking-screaming sign that reads: i'm not gonna be into you no matter how cool you are. [this of course doesn't make me any less cool.] i'm just sayin. beware these people, people. and whatever you do, don't get yourself all lost and wrapped up. because it's a train headed to heartbreak city [population: me]. i'm saying this to myself mostly, because as outsiders, you already know this.

we're really sleepy after this long long day. we head back to spike lee's place [the ritz] and fall asleep. seriously. we do. that's it. i swear.

the oakville grocery co, 7856 st. helena highway, oakville, ca

love at first sight.

{it's not just a song by kylie minogue}

some would argue that love at first sight is horsepuckey fairytalery. it's not possible. it's silly and nonsensical. well it is silly and nonsensical but you can't help it when it happens.

[if you must know, i think it's happened to me many times: matt damon in mystic pizza, dude from columbus, mr. strong, geez could i go on? i should really get a handle on this boycraziness.]

believe it when i say it's possible. i've somewhat successfully achieved it. at times. but i've preserved a love at first sight love for only one thing. and it's a place. here i go again sappy-sentimental me.

people wanna know why i'm a chef. well here's the real story. what sparked what i do today. i'm not makin this up. you never know what might inspire you.

as i was experiencing career-boredom in an irksome and dead-end corporate marketing job, my girlfriends and i took a trip to the napa valley. giggling, hungry, buzzed between wineries [and driving a rust-colored and heinous pontiac aztec i recall, that we were inebriatingly referring to as "the ass tec", which we thought quite funny] we happened upon the oakville grocery co., where we found the motherload of all things snacky to indulge in as we went about our winery tours. a happenin' place, the oakville grocery. it's packed with people. it's completely and utterly overwhelming with stuff you need and then there's a whole bunch more stuff you don't. but you know someone who might.

in a merryhappy wine-induced state [kind of like beer goggles i guess], little did i know i'd started obsessing about this place. long after i came back to dc, i was still harboring romantic feelings for the oakville grocery co.

the oakville grocery might be the best market ever. the idea is you stop in to grab some bread, snacks, gifts, whatever, between wineries. they have everything from wine to charcuterie to fresh salads and sandwiches. all to go.



then they have an inundating array of jams, tapenades, oils, vinegars, baking ingredients, chips, salsas, sauces, i could go on and have.



officially in love with the oakville grocery, i resolved to bring a similar concept to the dc area.



but once i started investigating what i thought i needed to do to get this endeavor going, i got sidetracked. you see, i am an all-or-nothing chick. overwhelmed by the fact i didn't know enough about food to open a market, i got paralyzed and gave up. that is, until my job pissed me off to the point of no return.



next thing you know i'm in culinary school. in order to graduate, i have to do an externship at a restaurant for 6 months. two years later i leave what was going to be a 6-month stint. and, i'm teaching at the culinary school. and then i cook at another restaurant for a year. all the while catering on the side to make ends meet. [never did miss a mortgage payment but there were some scary close calls].



blah, blah, blah. a major detour off highway 29 north. enough of that boring stuff.



i revisited the other afternoon before heading back to san francisco. it's exactly the same as i remember it. and i'm still head-over-heels.

i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 3

a.k.a. bouchon, 6534 washington street, yountville, ca

fog or no fog it's scary as hell to photograph the golden gate bridge whilst driving across it.

you know how i know going to napa must be like going to heaven? because it's 80 degrees and sunny as you get past the bridge. curious weather phenomenon of the bay and the valley, low pressure, warm air getting trapped, blah, blah, blah.

gracious me and speaking of fog, i feel one of those nasty delayed hangovers coming on. entering sonoma, viansa winery and marketplace captures my wandering eye. i can have a picnic here, signs indicate. in exchange for buying two bottles of wine per couple. [seriously. does everyone have to be a couple?]

right now i need a picnic like you read about. and a view with some vitamin d shining down, making girl brown. the property is breathtaking really. wandering aimlessly-yet-adorably through the market/wine tasting room i realize i can't stomach any wine. how very sad to be in wine country without my big girl panties on.

crap i can't focus. i settle for a baguette and brie. most importantly i got a requisite handle on some pellegrino. and, so the winecops didn't come after me, i sprung for a $45 sangiovese for 14.5. i hope he appreciates my thinking of him, especially since he better-dealed me. [and what, btw, could be better than this day?]. boys are silly.

for 45 minutes i bask in the rays, overlooking a valley of endless rows of grapevines. the grapes are small right now, barely recognizable babies. but the grapeleaves are full and lush, providing a stunning view for my picnic. i don't mind an iota that the cutest couple is having a picnic next to me. nor do i mind there's a family of 8 just over yonder livin it up. i stretch my legs out for some quiet peaceful sun [paying no mind to the flocking birds eyeballing my baguette. i can't even be bothered when i realize my table resembles a jackson pollock spattered with bird doo-doo]. ahhhhh. this is the life. i wonder what the poor people are doing today.

yountville: this is where i stay when i come to the napa valley. in fact, i have a room reserved for me here tonight, because my original plan was to spend the night in napa. 14.5 was invited, but plans for golf got in the way [see chapta 2]. his hardsell tactic to come back to sf and join him and another couple for dinner probably worked, evidenced by the fact that i have already secured my suite at the ritz for the night.

snuggling amongst thousands of acres of vineyards yountville is tiny and just a pleasantly sweet curb-free road of restaurants and shops and inns, including michael chiarello's bottega, napastyle and thomas keller's french laundry. it's my dream to eat at the french laundry. i called in a favor to get a reservation this trip but no joy. too last minute - you really have to get reservations two months out and even though i have some notable connections, i couldn't manage it.

next best, i pop in to thomas keller's bouchon bistro. charming inside and out. so welcoming. psych myself up i do, to go eat by myself for the first time ever.

did i mention, i spent 5 hours on the plane mapping out my wine tour plan? due to hangover and late start to my day, i have wholly abandoned it for bouchon the bistro. belly up to the bar.

the bartender, jeremy, is a sweetiepie. what's a cute girl like you.... geez, i can't think, jeremy, just make me a bloody mary please and then you can ask whatever you like.

his hangover theory is you have to start with what you ended with: white wine. no way, man. no can do. this is the kind of day where only a bloody mary can hook a sistah up.

so i'm at a thomas keller restaurant for the first time ever and not hungry. you think that's gonna stop me? i've read that you must order the bibb lettuce salad at bouchon. i do. please add crumbled roquefort. jeremy suggests i also get the salmon tartare, as does man at end of bar. ok. send them to me. my salad, it's superb. little sprigs of surprise tarragon tucked in between layers. it's perfectly dressed. like me.

jeremy gets annoyed with me when he finally finds out i'm a cook. and formerly for michel richard. he's kind of pissed at me "michel comes in here all the time, why didn't you say something?"

well i don't want to be a name dropper. how trite.

my salmon comes. it's a pretty dish. it needs salt. i think it has gelatin in it but jeremy denies this.

something is binding it together perfectly damnit, jeremy, what is it? for the love of young boys without direction or money living in group houses in napa, what's in the salmon tartare?

next thing i know the kitchen sends me the red wine poached egg with sweetbreads and wild mushrooms. it's about to be removed from the menu. so rich, i'm so full. so yummy.

for dessert they send me a tiny bouchon (chocolate brownie with melty gooey chocolate chips in it), normally it comes with three on the plate. i asked for a "tasting". oh my - i could've forgone everything for three of these. not really. no really.

"would you like a tour of the kitchen?" jeremy asks. hmm, let me think. does a one-legged frog hop in a circle? i'm wildly excited by this. i know that's odd to the readers; but to me it's like going back stage at a concert. he's off to arrange it when thomas keller himself walks in. the thought of meeting thomas keller sends shivers. i'm all palms sweaty nervous, heart pounding. i can't think of anyone i'd rather meet. well, matt damon would be slightly above thomas. especially if he was single.

i don't get to meet thomas because he's gone just as soon as he'd arrived. i do enjoy a mesmeric tour of the kitchen. which is brand new. and quiet. and clean. the walk-in houses same-sized containers labeled with green tape the contents and the date. all containers lined up just like the perfect rows of grapevines. 90 degree angles. not a sprig of thyme out of place. i should inform you that there are some hotttiesss workin in that kitchen. i'm drawn to guys with knives or guitars, which you already know.

a measly $28 tab and a considerable 4 hours later i'm on the way to my next stop. my day's not over. not by a long shot. i have to make a stop at my inspiration and the reason i'm a chef today. my muse.

sorry this one was so long-winded, friends. please bear with.

i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 2

disoriented, i wake up in my absurdly luxe pad to the doorbell. room service at 6:45 am seemed like a good idea the night prior because i can't function until i'm mainlining the french roast. that was before i knew i'd be whoopin it up til three. my $30 pot of coffee was magically here, delivered by an angel of the ritz. actually i think the coffee was $23, but the cream was $6.50. [they do provide a single rose with your coffee, for free]. it's exceedingly early; i hop back into cushy big bed for a little more sleep. as tired as i am, the little hamster's on his wheel racing. i think, what have i done? bygones. more importantly, what am i going to do?

let me just say too that i'm asked if i regret prior night. i find that question to be a really peculiar one. gimme a chance to wonder if i regret it, man. it's too damned early. briefly i'm wondering if i do. should i? am i to discover something that'll make me regret? regret is a word we could all live without. do i wish i handle things differently sometimes? well, of course. regret? not so much. i beat myself up for too many things as it is. i'm not gonna beat myself up for maybeperhapsalittlethoughishouldn'tbe liking this person. not today anyway. i'll save that for later.

i've got places to go today: sonoma and napa. alone. by myself. and spend the night in a quaint but luxurious spot called velaggio, in yountville. this could be the most grown-up day so far in the life of miss tye, guest, ritz-carlton san francisco. i've scheduled this because i cannot and will not go within 45 minutes of napa and not go to napa. 14.5 put the hard sell on me last night to at least come back and join for dinner. today, he's playing golf with some very important people. or some such nonsense. practically every guy i've ever dated is a golfer. i think it's weird if a guy doesn't golf, even if he's a really bad golfer. [annoyingly i am always attracted to good golfers, i.e. addicts.]. however, being a golfer also makes for some really ill-timed interferences in life. such a fine line that golf thing.

i have slight apprehension about the day ahead. i've never eaten at a restaurant by myself. i don't do anything by myself that is more socially acceptable doing in groups of two or more [pretty much]. i'm excited, but can i handle it? what will people think of the wine tour girl all by her lonesome? maybe i'm on what was to be my honeymoon. but i got left at the altar. maybe i'm a food and wine expert conducting research. maybe i'm a local, enjoying the day off. i can be anything i want today i suppose. i think i'll just be a stylish cute foodie taking it all in.

did i mention that i have for some time secretly believed the man of my dreams lives in napa? i do, i really do. he looks like a young sun-kissed robert redford and owns a boutique vineyard, that only produces 3000 cases a year, but is highly acclaimed. you have to be in one of those clubs to acquire his wine. there was a feature on him in food and wine magazine. for once i don't care he wears old cowboy boots. he'll never sell out and get mondaviberinger big. he's just looking for a little lady to join him in his dream. this notion squashes any anxiety i have because i do believe in fate. i also believe you have to put yourself in the way of it.

my car arrives at 9 am. when you stay at the ritz you can order a rental car to be delivered at specified time. they handle everything. except the cost of course. and hertz doesn't bring guests of the ritz those wimpy and embarrassingly small subcompact jobbers, no offense if you drive one, but i'm a big car kind of gal. suv all the way {i did turn down the lincoln navigator, before you think i'm shamelessly wasteful and vain}.

firstly i'm going for a run, which i'm real intimidated by and certainly don't feel like it. because leaving the ritz if you look to your left: huge hill. look to your right: 90 degree angle hill. i'm so tired. i think my head hurts just a tad. poor me.

not.

for the love of burt lancaster, birdman of alcatraz i'm at the ritz. no time for poor babies.

so, i'm off like a prom dress - or in my case - lbd - for what promises to be the shortest run in history. i'm tired, not feeling too great. somehow - and it must be my fabulous ipod mix, called "marathon" - i accomplish 4 miles. the streets of san francisco look menacing - but they're not as bad as you think. upon my return, i see 14.5 at concierge, so i turn down the ipod's blaring volume. he's saying something about his friend being a chef so he wants to go somewhere really good. nice. making plans to impress me behind my back. this is delightful. but don't read too much into it.

i haven't mentioned yet that it's f-ing freezing in san fran. this i do not remember from my last trip. i am ill-equipped for cold weather, having packed nothing but super-cute summer dresses. today i am wearing a darling blue and gold tibi circa 2008 to go wine touring. getting my car, i hit the road in search of the golden gate bridge. i heart san fran. and the ritz. and those guys in top hats.

i took my heart to san francisco, chapta 1

for some time now i've been wanting to revisit both san fran and napa valley. haven't been in three or four years. recently an occasion presented itself to get my little behind out there. so i hopped into a taxi, onto a few planes and there i was, some silly 9 hours later. what was i thinking not flying direct? thank goodness for 10-minute manicure and massage at jfk. a good way to kill time fyi. (though the massage is a tiny bit creepy and painful, beware. i'd like someone to try the teeth-whitening and get back to me.)

you should know firstly that i'm meeting a boy there i haven't seen or spoken with in 14.5 years. and 14.5 years ago i spent all of 36 hours with him. not really "with him", gutterbrains, just staying at his place in pensacola florida with a couple of my girlfriends for a crazy new year's eve way back in 1994. to say he is/was an acquaintance is accurate.

weird, absofreakinlutely, but thanks to facebook, you can befriend someone and moments later find yourself checking in at the ritz-carlton san francisco in search of what, hoping for what, if anything. who knows. me, i'm simply going to enjoy the sights, sounds and food one of my favorite places on earth has to offer. crazier things have been done by more educated people than me for less money. right?

i'm gonna go ahead and be honest and say there was a teeny tiny part of me hoping for a great love to be ignited here in san fran. what's more romantic? you never know what can happen. and san fran has been known to ignite. i like to call this being skeptimistic. you probably call it futile but those of you who think i'm a cold-hearted unromantic buffoon might be wrong about me.

as you well know, "give it a whirl" is my life's motto. who wouldn't cougar-pounce at the chance to visit sf and napa for a couple of days and stay at the ritz?

do you know how cool it is to have a hottie in a top-hat and tails open the door of your taxi? i could get used to it. i could. i'm not lying.



well, get this. i'm checking in with the ritz-angel and she informs me they've upgraded my room to a suite. hearing this, i'm doing the white girl cabbage patch dance on the inside. but i have to maintain the level of reserved sophistication one expects of a ritz-carlton guest so i smile and thank the kind woman as if it happens all the time. i do like being referred to as ms. tye. (normally i prefer miss, but i probably look a little haggard after the long flight.)





holy mother of steve mcqueen, this suite is pimpin. once inside i can unleash the dance i've been dying to do since walking through the brass doors of this superswank. and i do. i can run and jump and if i was more limber i could do three backflip pikes and a backflip tuck with a 1/2 twist down the center of this suite. i feel like a little girl. an unsupervised little girl in a huge phat p. diddy suite. i'm so lucky sometimes. someone remind of this next time i'm bitching and moaning about life not being fair.

anyway, enough about this room. suffice it to say i feel like a rockstar and all future hotel stays will likely pale in comparison.

so boy, whom i haven't seen in 14.5 years arrives shortly after i do. he pops up for a hello cocktail before going to dinner. i'm not too nervous answering the door (my suite has a doorbell btw - you can't hear knocking from the back bedroom), though it feels a little like that show, the ugly duckling, when they do the big reveal after the girl gets teeth implants, chin/cheek implants, boob job, tummy tuck, lipo, butt lift, etc. opening the door, nervous, do i look cute to him?

yes, of course i do. duh.

choking down a red bull and vodka lindsay lohan style (i know, what a loser, but hey, i'm exhausted and have a long exciting evening ahead, i can't be yawning), he enjoys a cocktail from my minibar. $12 for an ounce of grey goose and $4 for a bottle of tonic. hmm. oh hell you only live once [me i went for the cheapo $7.50 absolut and $4 red bull]. i am hostess with the mostest so i'm happy to part with $16 for his cocktail [better be damn good though]. sometimes i think it's funny that i look at the prices of things at the mini bar and then don't blink an eye spending a mortgage payment on a bag. indeed a reckless spender i am.

later we meet in the lobby to head off to san francisco's slanted door. a much-talked-about resto located in embarcadero at the restored ferry building. prime location. perfectly lighted, hip vibe - bustling and lots of energy and loud in a cool way. a mix of young, old, stylish and not so fashionable, dates and groups. it's uber-casual - waiters have jeans on. i like that the guy from 14.5 years ago notices and appreciates the chairs in the resto. how observant [and girly]. i believe it would be considered asian-fusion by some, though it's not overly so. i would say it's clearly influenced by the euros as well as the asians. either way, i'm thrilled to be seated in a booth on a platform with a great view of most of the spacious dining room. slanted door is one of those places it's cool to say you've been.

waiter suggests we each choose an app and split an entree. boy from 14.5 years chooses the wood oven roasted manila clams and i choose the kona kampachi. both are delicious - the clams really have a lovely woody flavor. the raw fish is unquestionably fresh and light.


we ask the waiter to choose our entree. neither of us is picky and clearly i'm adventurous or i wouldn't be here in the first place. he brings us grilled grass-fed Anderson Ranch rack of lamb with tamarind sauce (i love tamarind but don't taste it too much here to be honest. damn). it's delicious, not too lamby- i've never heard of lamb from oregon [and i'm happy to hear about it - we need more lamb states]. he pairs with it a pinot from oregon. ponzi vineyard, chehalem mountains, 2007. oregonian lambs drink oregonian wine - that's why they go so well together.

we're happy with this dinner. i don't notice much the goings-on around. you can't when someone asks what you've been doing the past 15 years. this requires focus on the conversation at hand. daunting, no?

back into a taxi to my new home sweet home. you know i hadn't a clue what to expect from this meeting. boy in question's on a rebound like kobe bryant. i have less than zero expectations. since nice girls like me don't kiss or not kiss and tell, i'll leave the rest of the evening to your imaginations. btw, did i mention i have a kickass bose ipod docking station in my suite?

p = mv

one of my friends/readers keeps asking me to post miscellaneous stories of funny events that happen - more specifically sans food and for the love of tom ford, devoid of anything related to fashion. and to please be more succinct. well firstly, you can kiss my creamy saffron grits. i can't help that i'm long-winded. i've got a lot to say.

this one's for you, friend.

i dread a trip to costco. i really avoid it but sometimes ya gotta go. if i went more often, smaller trips would be more manageable. this trip is a must though. and it's gonna be a doozy.

i'm at costco yesterday. i knew i had to buy enough soda and water alone to fill an entire cart. i hate the idea of having to get one of those huge, flat, unwieldy carts for "professionals" or whatever they're for. you know, the ones that you put 100 lbs of dogfood on or 10 cases of soda and then struggle to maneuver it around the people who go strictly to fill up on bull$hit snacks at costco. [i don't judge people for the most part, but why in the sam hill do people stand in line for a sliver of a nuked bagel bite or a shot of monster energy drink. i'm so judging you. get a life.]

i picture myself trying to drive that thing and think, i'd rather fill up a cart, check out, take the sodas to my car, then re-enter costco for the remaining items on my ever-loving grocery list.

instead, i called an audible, and decide with some clever packing i can make it happen in just one trip. in fact all that water, sparkling water, ginger ale, sprite, diet sprite, coke, diet coke, et al. did fill the cart.

i go about my annoyedmerry way, questioning this decision somewhat, but plowing through. eventually this cart's so damn full i can't see anything in front of me. i'm nearly mowing people down because i can't see them standing in line for diced processed cheeses with toothpicks. like mice, they have no idea they're in harm's way.

at this point, the in-cart mass i've accumulated, plus the velocity at which it's traveling causes this crazy train to gather uncontrollable momentum. it takes so much force to push the cart that once it gets going, all bets are off. people better stay outta the way of this thing.

next thing you know, the cart crashes itself into a gigantuous corner display of alli, you know the diet drug that makes you {well i needn't go into that here}....i just hope people weren't thinking that's where i intended to go next. the cart just wouldn't go after that. i had to call in for back up. like when a metro bus breaks down on the highway and another has to come rescue it, all the passengers have to deboard and get on a new bus.

cool. what a joyous day of shopping. thought ya might like that one.

le menu

my life pretty much revolves around food. food is my life. it's not always my best buddy but we usually get along quite well. i'm either thinking about it, preparing it or eating it when i'm awake. and perhaps in my sleep, who knows.

(of course, in reality my friends and family are most important to me but until y'all start paying my bills....)

a relatively interesting thought has entered my pea brain. i think my eating habits are curiously akin to my dating habits/lovelife/escapades.

wtf, jt? let's discuss, shall we?

as you may know i'm an appetizer girl. mostly. i like to get a couple different things from the appetizer menu so i can taste more than one thing. and i'm not referring to jalapeno poppers or mozzarella glue sticks, sampler platters or any of that tgi-applebees bullhonkery. i appreciate a refined and sophisticated snack. usually it's lighter fare that doesn't bog you down and leave you feeling like a big fat stupid tick in need of a gurney.

because as you know, once you order the entree, that's all you have. and for many, you're ok with that. i'm ok that you're ok with that. i wish i was too. i resolve to be more like you. if only i could find one that i love. a lot of people order an entree and though they're not perfectly happy with it never stop to think - this isn't really all that great, in fact, it sucks. they've shoved the whole thing into the old piehole and washed it down with drink of choice.

but come on, the problems that can arise with an entree are copious.

what if you don't like the sauce with the meat?
what if the risotto gets stiff half way through your meal?
sometimes the asparagus is overcooked and slimy. nast.
sometimes the carrots are undercooked, and cwunchy vegetables are for wabbits.
what if you have your eye on the chateaubriand but goshdarnit it comes with hen-of-the-woods mushrooms and you hate mushrooms? oh yeah and there's no substitutions.
what if the whole damn dish is bland and there's no salt on the table?

and for the love of paula dean and giada delaurentiis, what if you finally decide on something only to find out they just sold the last one?!

so many things can go wrong with the entree, yet you've committed to it. and so there you are. f-ed.

it's so stressful for me. i usually have the waiter choose.

not appreciating your entree, you start looking around the table checking out the other dishes. you study whether friends are enjoying their meals or if something's wrong there too. is his tenderloin still hot? are so and so's pommes puree creamy? rats, you think, i shoulda ordered that. can i have a bite of your {blank}?

next thing you know you're not-so-subtly gazing at neighboring tables to see if what they have looks better than what you ordered. you think, perhaps yes. now you're full-on questioning your decision, beating yourself up for making the wrong choice, secretly wishing you had a do-over but too nice to say something, you've eaten half of it and you can't send it back. i'm thinking maybe it's just me and i'm picky [i am a chef you know]. you might even leave, bitching about the place, recommending that others not order an entree.

hell, i'll just run by mcdonald's on the way home.

that's on the one hand.

the other side of me - the crap-i-can't-decide-on-anything-so-i'll-get-it-all side of me loves to order what's known as a chef's tasting menu. 3, 6, 9, 13 courses. bring it. and i'll also take the wine pairing for $300.

why, you ask? why spend all that time and money on one meal? you're crazy. well {yes, i am but you already know that} aside from being a chef who loves to be inspired by others' cooking, i think that the tasting menu is a symbol of hope.

yes, yes, i've gone all sappy and sweet on you.
so un-jt. so un-jennifertye [my newest nickname, wink].

stay with me on this: when you order the tasting menu, if one little thing isn't to your liking, it doesn't spoil the entire meal.

the next item you know is coming will be better and the next dish even better and so on and so forth, culminating with the best damn thing you've ever put in your mouth. hopefully. i mean, that's the idea. these multi-course dinners have more flavors and textures and layers than you could ever really understand. perched on top is something crunchy, whimsical and fun and unexpected. and wonderful. and delicious. merry happy food smile. i still savor a couple tasting menus i had to this day.

quite deliberately, the tasting menu is designed to be a symphony that leaves you completely sated. {after these multi-course outings, just make sure you work out or you'll turn into a big fat ass and believe me, your dinner partner(s) didn't bargain for that}.

lastly i guess what i'm secretly notorious for is complete and utter indulgence in one thing. like nutella. or peanut butter. or chocolate chips. cookies, cake, ice cream with treasures in it - a la ben & jerry's anything. the whole jar, pint, box, whatever. in one sitting. to the point of being disgusted and frankly, sick to my stomach after such an endeavor. then i have to vow off that thing for an undetermined amount of time, til i fall off the wagon again.

showing restraint with some dishes isn't possible i think. when really if i just allowed myself a taste of something regularly i wouldn't go crazy when i got a hold of it and eat the whole blinkin thing. dieting/dating 101, right?

what's my point? bollocks, i haven't the foggiest.

i can't decide if i'm looking for that one extraordinary entree and i just need to realize it, embrace it and stop expecting it to be perfect because it probably is perfect the way it is. perhaps it's a nicely prepared rack of lamb? tony's original crust frozen pizza {extra crispy crust}? a corn dog with mustard? something that surprisingly makes me happy every time.

or should i hold out for the french laundry - the mac daddy of all tasting menus?