Arise very late (in spite of the fact it's Easter, and you really should go to the Anglican Cathedral that is very close to your hotel, and has five services). Crack open the Easter Chocolate that your friends sent along with you. MMMMM. Lindt Eggs. Meander down to the Concierge, checking that it's not the same one as the Fish and Farm Fiasco last night. Take her suggestion to to to Cafe De La Presse. Order the eggs Benedict with salmon and the regular eggs Benedict. Drink Cafe Au Lait out of a bowl, like you should. Joke with the charming waiter about the "french" names on the menu (lost bread = french toast), and tell him that Dames just isn't french. Exchange stories about your dogs, sit and just be.
Take the cable car down to the wharf - standing on the back, watching the scenery go by. Meander through tiny shops at the wharf, score a very good deal on SFO rain jackets, find the last of the gifts for everyone on your list, watch the sea lions, cruise on the bay, wander through some more shops, find a coffee place that roasts its own beans, drink another latte. Sit and people watch. Go to Ghiardelli square. Have a chocolate accident (honest, no idea how I bought that much. Really, none. Honey, just pay the man. We'll eat it.)
Meander some more. Show up at the crab house. Know it's a good seafood place. What does the crab come with? Well, crab. They throw some butter in as well. Eat 1 pound of shrimp, 3 pounds of crab. Wear a bib. Eat with your hands. A platter piled high. Great lashings of butter. Walk back to the coffee place, get another amazing latter. Go through the Aquarium of the bay. Touch a tiger shark. Wander more. Take the cable car back up the hills. Stop in at Cafe de la presse again. Have une pot du chocolate and chocolate mousse. Share bites, watch the others in the restaurant. Trade scotch stories with the bar tender. (His wins. He opened his dad's 25 year scotch. He wasn't supposed to. I think you get written out of the will for that.) Walk home.
A perfect day. There are big miracles, and small ones. Thanks be to God, Alleluia.
Showing posts with label The Spits CA Tour 2008. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Spits CA Tour 2008. Show all posts
If you're going to San Francisco,
Be sure to wear some flowers in your hair. Or, just show up with a rash. Honestly. At first I thought it was the sunscreen, the salsa, the car, but no, it's the sun. Yes, that's right, I have an awful, nasty rash on my legs and hands and chest, and it's from the sun. Which is more of a problem than you might think in California. Us pale northerners just don't do so well at making vitamin D. So, I'm splotchy. But not so splotchy that I'm going to risk my life the American Medical system.
So, we showed up at the Concierge, and asked for an eccentric restaurant for dinner. I'm a big fan of concierges. Back when I was an EA, I sent people all over the world, to restaurants and theatre events and in cabs, solely on the advice of the concierge in a local Hilton Hotel. We are at a Hyatt, but I'm still willing to place myself in a concierge's confident hands. She suggested a place called Fish and Farm - they do local cooking, a variant of the 100 mile diet. It sounded exciting, so we duly made our reservation and carried on, walking down there. Mr. Spit refused to let me anywhere near the front door of Saks, Macy's, Luis Vuitton, or even
this guy. So, we arrived at the restaurant a scant 10 mins early, and were shuttled off to the bar. We got the last 2 seats, in the corner. I ordered a mint julep with small batch Bourbon, organic sugar and organic tarragon. Mr. Spit rather sensibly ordered the 12 year Talisker. His was the better choice. We sat the 10 mins to our reservation. We sat 15 mins past. Then another 30. Then another 5, while they set our table. They finally seated us. We entertained ourselves by asking the front desk where the washroom was.
Me: Excuse me, could you tell me where your washroom is?
Confused Front Desk Guy: We don't have a washroom.
Me: No, really, I'm in the restaurant. How can you not have a washroom?
Confused Front Desk Guy: You mean the bathroom?
Me: Yes, the washroom.
I sent Mr. Spit to ask for the lavatory, just because.
So, back to our meal, now that we are finally seated. The Chef sent out cream of artichoke soup. Which you would think would be good. You'd be wrong. But, because I am polite, and Canadian, I made Mr. Spit drink mine too. You know, so the chef wouldn't be offended. Then our meals arrived. I had the gnocchi. Now, I must confess, I'm a bit of a gnocchi connoisseur. I love gnocchi, so when I saw that it was homemade, I was excited. Mr. Spit had the salmon, and we ordered a side of fava beans. The salmon was really, really rare. Like, sushi rare. Which is fine, if you are ordering sushi. When you've ordered the poached salmon, well you expect it to have seen enough water after it's demise, that you aren't wondering if it's still going to swim.
Now, about the much awaited gnocchi. Good gnocchi is plump, firm, slightly chewy to the taste. Not rubber, but a bit of a resistance when you bite into it. There shouldn't be much flavour to the gnocchi, it's mostly potato and flour, so the sauce should have some good flavour to it. Note, I said flavour. So, when I took a bite of the odd, limp broccoli and spinach mixture, very artfully arranged underneath, and my mouth burned, that would be a signal that we were past flavour, and into wallop. I made Mr. Spit have a bite, and he choked on his water, trying to cool his mouth down. So, I ate my 12 gnocchi, and left the green bits behind. I ate one of the fava beans, which are generally served out of the pod. Unfortunately, they were an heirloom variety, so they still had the string attached to the pod, which makes them like eating beans with a side of dental floss. I carefully pulled the beans out, and tried to eat them, but they were crunchy, and stuck in my teeth.
They brought us the dessert menu, but dessert is one of my favourite parts of any meal, and I just couldn't bear any more disappointment.
Cost of the drinks - free, the bar paid for them during the 50 minutes we were waiting for our reservation.
Cost of the gnocchi - free, after Mr. Spit horrified the waitress when water came out his nose while he choked.
Cost of the beans - 8.00. Approximately $4.00 a bean.
Cost of the Sushi Salmon - $22.00, but they didn't provide any rice, kelp, or wasabi to make sushi.
Cost of the Tip - $10.00, because we tipped on the entire meal's price, cause we are Canadians, and we are like that. We would have apologized, if we could have found someone to listen.
Cost of confusing the front desk guy over bathrooms - worth the entire price of the meal.
I have to go now, I'm waiting for my nachos from room service to arrive, so that we don't starve to death. The Moral of the Story: we are making our own reservation for dinner tomorrow. Mr. Spit has drawn my attention to the in-room guide about SFO's restaurants.
So, we showed up at the Concierge, and asked for an eccentric restaurant for dinner. I'm a big fan of concierges. Back when I was an EA, I sent people all over the world, to restaurants and theatre events and in cabs, solely on the advice of the concierge in a local Hilton Hotel. We are at a Hyatt, but I'm still willing to place myself in a concierge's confident hands. She suggested a place called Fish and Farm - they do local cooking, a variant of the 100 mile diet. It sounded exciting, so we duly made our reservation and carried on, walking down there. Mr. Spit refused to let me anywhere near the front door of Saks, Macy's, Luis Vuitton, or even
this guy. So, we arrived at the restaurant a scant 10 mins early, and were shuttled off to the bar. We got the last 2 seats, in the corner. I ordered a mint julep with small batch Bourbon, organic sugar and organic tarragon. Mr. Spit rather sensibly ordered the 12 year Talisker. His was the better choice. We sat the 10 mins to our reservation. We sat 15 mins past. Then another 30. Then another 5, while they set our table. They finally seated us. We entertained ourselves by asking the front desk where the washroom was.
Me: Excuse me, could you tell me where your washroom is?
Confused Front Desk Guy: We don't have a washroom.
Me: No, really, I'm in the restaurant. How can you not have a washroom?
Confused Front Desk Guy: You mean the bathroom?
Me: Yes, the washroom.
I sent Mr. Spit to ask for the lavatory, just because.
So, back to our meal, now that we are finally seated. The Chef sent out cream of artichoke soup. Which you would think would be good. You'd be wrong. But, because I am polite, and Canadian, I made Mr. Spit drink mine too. You know, so the chef wouldn't be offended. Then our meals arrived. I had the gnocchi. Now, I must confess, I'm a bit of a gnocchi connoisseur. I love gnocchi, so when I saw that it was homemade, I was excited. Mr. Spit had the salmon, and we ordered a side of fava beans. The salmon was really, really rare. Like, sushi rare. Which is fine, if you are ordering sushi. When you've ordered the poached salmon, well you expect it to have seen enough water after it's demise, that you aren't wondering if it's still going to swim.
Now, about the much awaited gnocchi. Good gnocchi is plump, firm, slightly chewy to the taste. Not rubber, but a bit of a resistance when you bite into it. There shouldn't be much flavour to the gnocchi, it's mostly potato and flour, so the sauce should have some good flavour to it. Note, I said flavour. So, when I took a bite of the odd, limp broccoli and spinach mixture, very artfully arranged underneath, and my mouth burned, that would be a signal that we were past flavour, and into wallop. I made Mr. Spit have a bite, and he choked on his water, trying to cool his mouth down. So, I ate my 12 gnocchi, and left the green bits behind. I ate one of the fava beans, which are generally served out of the pod. Unfortunately, they were an heirloom variety, so they still had the string attached to the pod, which makes them like eating beans with a side of dental floss. I carefully pulled the beans out, and tried to eat them, but they were crunchy, and stuck in my teeth.
They brought us the dessert menu, but dessert is one of my favourite parts of any meal, and I just couldn't bear any more disappointment.
Cost of the drinks - free, the bar paid for them during the 50 minutes we were waiting for our reservation.
Cost of the gnocchi - free, after Mr. Spit horrified the waitress when water came out his nose while he choked.
Cost of the beans - 8.00. Approximately $4.00 a bean.
Cost of the Sushi Salmon - $22.00, but they didn't provide any rice, kelp, or wasabi to make sushi.
Cost of the Tip - $10.00, because we tipped on the entire meal's price, cause we are Canadians, and we are like that. We would have apologized, if we could have found someone to listen.
Cost of confusing the front desk guy over bathrooms - worth the entire price of the meal.
I have to go now, I'm waiting for my nachos from room service to arrive, so that we don't starve to death. The Moral of the Story: we are making our own reservation for dinner tomorrow. Mr. Spit has drawn my attention to the in-room guide about SFO's restaurants.
Moonlight on Oceans
We left Los Angeles at 12:00pm, after driving for 2 hours. People here are crazy. They move randomly. They don't signal. They are going 70 miles an hour, then they slam on the brakes. Mr. Spit did great - except for the one time I screamed at him, when he turned his head to look at the map, I seemed unable to figure out. (I am convinced than San Francisco is south of Los Angeles, in spite of all evidence to the contrary)
We arrived at the mission at San Luis Obispo, in time for the Good Friday Service - in Spanish. Given that our Spanish is limited to such helpful things as Senor, Gracias, and Cervecas, we genuflected at the front, and scuttled out the side door, looking like we meant to do that. We went shopping down the street, and I had another latte.
We continued down Highway one. I contributed to the conversation by pointing out the cows, and telling Mr. Spit which kind they were. He didn't seem to fully appreciate my knowledge, but I digress. We arrived at the Ollalieberry Inn (It's a berry, a hybrid, with blackberry and blueberry. I'll tell you how it tastes after breakie tomorrow). I looked at the garden, and wished the owner were around. I identified the nasturtiums, they were the large things growing like weeds. We had Mexican at a hole in the wall place, which was incredible. I ate the salsa (I"m allergic to tomatoes, salsa and I don't get along). It was incredible. I wanted to take the cook home with me.
We drove off to the Hearst Castle, for the evening tour. It was enchanted. Glorious, magical, uplifting and wondrous. WE left behind today and went back to the 1930's, and enjoyed every moment of it. We drove down and stood by the ocean in the moonlight.
My life has been so much like the rocks on the beach, almost drowning as the ocean washes over me each time. It has been an exhausting struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Tonight, I stood above the ocean, and saw the waves not just wash over the rocks, but play and dance on the shore as well. I saw the beauty of the moon on the water, and the size of the ocean, and realized that I am not the only rock on the shore, and the ocean is much bigger, and much more beautiful than I ever realized. I looked at the stars above me, and realized that I am surrounded by a million tiny points of light. I understood a bit, that a human heart, a mother's heart is so much larger and deeper than I will ever know, and it heals in ways I do not fully understand. Joy is so much more than sorrow.
In the midst of winter, I discovered within me that there was an eternal spring. Albert Camus.
We arrived at the mission at San Luis Obispo, in time for the Good Friday Service - in Spanish. Given that our Spanish is limited to such helpful things as Senor, Gracias, and Cervecas, we genuflected at the front, and scuttled out the side door, looking like we meant to do that. We went shopping down the street, and I had another latte.
We continued down Highway one. I contributed to the conversation by pointing out the cows, and telling Mr. Spit which kind they were. He didn't seem to fully appreciate my knowledge, but I digress. We arrived at the Ollalieberry Inn (It's a berry, a hybrid, with blackberry and blueberry. I'll tell you how it tastes after breakie tomorrow). I looked at the garden, and wished the owner were around. I identified the nasturtiums, they were the large things growing like weeds. We had Mexican at a hole in the wall place, which was incredible. I ate the salsa (I"m allergic to tomatoes, salsa and I don't get along). It was incredible. I wanted to take the cook home with me.
We drove off to the Hearst Castle, for the evening tour. It was enchanted. Glorious, magical, uplifting and wondrous. WE left behind today and went back to the 1930's, and enjoyed every moment of it. We drove down and stood by the ocean in the moonlight.
My life has been so much like the rocks on the beach, almost drowning as the ocean washes over me each time. It has been an exhausting struggle to put one foot in front of the other. Tonight, I stood above the ocean, and saw the waves not just wash over the rocks, but play and dance on the shore as well. I saw the beauty of the moon on the water, and the size of the ocean, and realized that I am not the only rock on the shore, and the ocean is much bigger, and much more beautiful than I ever realized. I looked at the stars above me, and realized that I am surrounded by a million tiny points of light. I understood a bit, that a human heart, a mother's heart is so much larger and deeper than I will ever know, and it heals in ways I do not fully understand. Joy is so much more than sorrow.
In the midst of winter, I discovered within me that there was an eternal spring. Albert Camus.
Disney Land - Day 1
My feet hurt. Space Mountain was great, at least the part I had my eyes open for. Did I mention my feet hurt. Loved, loved, loved the Matterhorn. Wow, my feet are aching. Autopia was grand. Ouch, my feet. Took the train, loved the train. My heart did a back flip when we walked out on to main street this am. Owie, my feet. Dinner at the House of Blues was great. Whew, it felt good to sit down, did I mention how much my feet hurt.
Disney = sore feet.
Did you catch that?
Disney = sore feet.
Did you catch that?
San Diego, we hardly knew you
Left sunny San Diego for sunny Anaheim today.
Drove down the interstate with the top down, and loved every moment of it. Sea world was incredible - well kept, well laid out, impeccably clean, with flowers everywhere. I saw birds of paradise, in a bush, as opposed to lowly singletons, in my florists' cooler, for $15.00 a stem. C'est Incroyable. Really liked the Zoo, although some more time would have been nice. We felt kind of rushed.
Drove down the interstate with the top down, and loved every moment of it. Sea world was incredible - well kept, well laid out, impeccably clean, with flowers everywhere. I saw birds of paradise, in a bush, as opposed to lowly singletons, in my florists' cooler, for $15.00 a stem. C'est Incroyable. Really liked the Zoo, although some more time would have been nice. We felt kind of rushed.
Shamu was magical, and feeding the sea lions reminded me of feeding the dogs. Especially the guy who sat on his rock and waved his flipper at you. Obviously he had this down pat. Kind of reminded me of two mutts at home . . . Waiting for dinner.
I am a big fan of this stuff, courtesy of Patti,my supplier, err, dealer, err beauty consultant, and I thought she had a lot of beauty stuff, then I set foot into the wonder that is Sephora, in downtown disney, and wow. Wow, who knew that eye shadow came in yellow, or lime green, or hot pink (no, not me either. I'm not so sure about wearing it either). I only bought body butter for my very dry legs. (No Patti, I didn't buy lipstick. Honest, I didn't. You can even ask Owen. I don't trust these people, they sell yellow eye shadow). We had dinner with Owen's brother and sister in law, at a lovely Mediterranian place called Catal. Go with the Salmon, and the gelato for dessert. Very nummy.
I am a big fan of this stuff, courtesy of Patti,
Tomorrow is the Mouse, and more mouse, and International House of Pancakes for breakfast. Time to go to bed.
Oh, and Cheryl S-R - 20 degrees and sunny - driving down the interstate with the top down. But you wouldn't have enjoyed it . . . . .
California Dreaming
So, when Mr. Spit and I lost Gabriel, the Social Worker at the hospital suggested that we try to go away for my due date. We were supposed to have gone to Denver for Christmas. We had Gabe's funeral instead.
So, today we are in San Diego, as part of the Spit California Tour, 2008. We thought about having T-Shirts made, but as it turns out we were barely organized enough to get all the hotel reservations organized.
We are in the 2 days of San Diego portion of the tour. We are madly in love with the Red Mustang Convertible that is ours until we leave (but, perhaps less in love with the hour spent waiting in line to get her).
We like our hotel, quite like In-N-Out burgers and fries, and the prices were astounding. 10.95 - for two people, for a 2 x cheeseburgers, 2 x milkshakes and 2 x fries - holy crow!
And I just wondered - did anyone else notice that San Diego drivers are a wee, tiny bit crazy? They move randomly. And they honk when stuck in traffic. Canadian drivers just wait patiently.
If you were the black car behind us, we're really sorry we cut you off. It's a really un-Canadian thing to do, I know - but you see, our lane just ran out. No sign, no warning, no nuthing!
And to the lady on the Hertz bus, who will almost certainly never read this, who gave me her daughter-in-law's red dress button, so I could give it to my mother, because I can't find them in Canada, and mom had a stroke a year ago, I thank you. You have probably done more for my good opinion of American's than any other person I have ever met. I was starting to get a bit weepy, thinking about how I would much rather be pregnant, and you created a wonderful tiny point of light, and I didn't really get a chance to say the "thank-you" you deserved.
No pictures, just snow in windy prairie city, the Denver airport (Very Cool) and palm trees. Sea World tomorrow.
So, today we are in San Diego, as part of the Spit California Tour, 2008. We thought about having T-Shirts made, but as it turns out we were barely organized enough to get all the hotel reservations organized.
We are in the 2 days of San Diego portion of the tour. We are madly in love with the Red Mustang Convertible that is ours until we leave (but, perhaps less in love with the hour spent waiting in line to get her).
We like our hotel, quite like In-N-Out burgers and fries, and the prices were astounding. 10.95 - for two people, for a 2 x cheeseburgers, 2 x milkshakes and 2 x fries - holy crow!
And I just wondered - did anyone else notice that San Diego drivers are a wee, tiny bit crazy? They move randomly. And they honk when stuck in traffic. Canadian drivers just wait patiently.
If you were the black car behind us, we're really sorry we cut you off. It's a really un-Canadian thing to do, I know - but you see, our lane just ran out. No sign, no warning, no nuthing!
And to the lady on the Hertz bus, who will almost certainly never read this, who gave me her daughter-in-law's red dress button, so I could give it to my mother, because I can't find them in Canada, and mom had a stroke a year ago, I thank you. You have probably done more for my good opinion of American's than any other person I have ever met. I was starting to get a bit weepy, thinking about how I would much rather be pregnant, and you created a wonderful tiny point of light, and I didn't really get a chance to say the "thank-you" you deserved.
No pictures, just snow in windy prairie city, the Denver airport (Very Cool) and palm trees. Sea World tomorrow.
