Awesome dinner at Kate Purdy and Joe Kelly’s place. They have a funky tabletop grill from Amsterdam (its actual Dutch spelling is odd and Ikea-ish) where you each cook your own small pieces of food - like a fondue pot, but grilling. We did pieces of ribeye (topped with crumbled bleu cheese and Smith & Wollensky sauce), scallops basted in lemon butter, and lots of yellow squash and zucchini. The grill has a middle rack with these individual oven pans, which was great for portobello mushrooms. We’d baste ‘em with olive oil and then melt some parmesan and mozzarella on top. (Later, we eschewed the mushrooms all together and just started toasting up heaps of cheese.)
Sorry, Dr. Bold, but I’m not really in need of a second opinion.
I ordered a medium coffee. I received an unsolicited ego boost.
Wanna make love to this club.
Horror movie night at Dipps’ - she maintained that smile, unblinking, throughout my entire enchilada. “El Orfanto” was significantly less creepy in comparison.
A Lombard Street wings-stitution supplied my Pistons game meal: nine wings, homemade potato chips and a Coke. (The wings came in one of those Chinese takeout cartons - there was a pool of sauce at the bottom at least two inches deep.)
Sought out the Pistons game at a San Francisco bar called Final Final and found not only Chauncey and Sheed but also cheap Bud Light and FREE popcorn.
Like Albert Einstein wearing the same outfit everyday, I have reached a point where for every lunch I reach for soup and salad. Simple. Economic. Tomato-based.
