Just like college again
Our dear friend Margaret lives at Carlton Senior Living, an assisted living facility in Pleasant Hill. We joined her there today for the monthly Sunday Brunch. It was just like going back to UC Davis, with some very grown up dormies. And better food and service.
The suites all have tiny efficiency kitchens, but meals are included so there isn’t much cooking going on.
There were 5 of us at lunch–Margaret, her bridge partner Ernie, Ernie’s sweetie Flora, Gail and I. Tables were set with tablecloths, good napkins and decent flatware. The staff were close at hand to help people to their seats or carry their plates, fetch drinks, go back for seconds or clear used plates. They know everyone by name and habits, of course, so it’s all quick and friendly.
Margaret, Gail, Ernie and Flora at lunch
The brunch buffet is excellent, with salads, fruits, veggies, eggs benedict, chicken, pasta and prime rib.
This looks like a fun place to live. There are always things going on–a semi-permanent poker game, somebody playing piano while the group sings along, exercise classes geared to a crowd with lots of walkers and wheelchairs. Read the poker tournament blog here at mining.com if gambling interests you. There is a regular shuttle service to local stores and civic centers. It’s like summer camp for grown ups, all year long.
Last month Margaret’s grand-nephew got married, and there were no children available to strew flowers down the aisle, so Margaret was elected flower girl.
When the preacher was asked to speak a few words at the reception, he said it was the first time in 33 years he had seen a flower girl drinking a martini.
Margaret and her grand-niece. It isn’t supposed to rain at outdoor weddings in southern California.
Small business survives
Hard at work at the most casual of offices.
America has always been a land of entrepreneurs, forging small business out of grit and a small bankroll. Here’s another example.
iPhone Joe repairs iPhones and iPads. Most of his life is spent replacing the glass when someone drops her phone, again, and the screen shatters. Again. Nobody that I know personally, of course.
You can take your iPhone to Apple, wait for a few days and pay them a fortune, or you can go to the Berkeley Coffee shop on Shattuck avenue, look for the guy in the black visor, and in 20 minutes or so your phone will be as good as new, with a fresh glass and a complimentary new screen protector.
Joe was a Berkeley student when his phone broke 7 years ago, and he found he could fix it himself cheaper and faster than Apple would. Other people needed help, too, and so a business and career were born.
For years, Joe worked in the window of People’s Coffee. When they lost their lease, the independent coffee shop moved across the street, becoming Berkeley Coffee in the process. Joe moved with them, bringing his bike helmet, backpack full of tools and genial manner to a tiny round table where he conducts business daily.
As you can guess, Joe has been keeping our iPhones working for some time now. I like having a guy I know and trust, and I like being able to get my phone fixed in the time it takes to enjoy a chai latte and a blueberry muffin right on site.
Yes, his name is really Joe.
Another winner in Napa
Spur of the minute dinner at Basalt, on the corner of 3rd and Main in Napa last Saturday night. The Rip called us; we don’t seem to know how to say no to an adventure, any adventure.
Cowboy Mike, wrangling a glass of red.
Basalt is a beautiful new facility in an old stone building right on the river. Main Street in Napa is already home to a number of world class places to eat–Morimoto, Torq, 1315, Angele and Cole’s Chop House. How one mostly agricultural town became such a force in the culinary arts is a mystery, but we’re awfully lucky to have all this magnificent food so close by.
At first we were told there were no tables except in the bar, where the player piano was blaring, but then a table miraculously opened up in the loggia, a covered area open to the outdoors and the river view. Indeed, there were a goodly number of open tables, which made the entire exercise seem bizarre. There is a very long table inside, which seats 22. No restaurant needs a dedicated table for 22; it’s a huge waste of space. These places really should ask me first.
I started with the heirloom tomatoes and burrata, accompanied by fried squash blossoms stuffed with mascarpone cheese. It was excellent, fresh and simple yet complex. A wonderful starter.
Heirloom tomatoes, burrata cheese and fried squash blossoms.
Gail tried the ox tail tamal, which she felt was small, dry and overcooked. She seemed to be a fan of the king trumpet mushrooms that accompanied the dish.
Ox tail tamal
Although I have no photo of it, I must mention the Chilled Corn Soup, which was spectacular. I’m a sucker for all chilled soups, and this one was superb. The spiced créme fraîche made it seem like the soup was made with buttermilk. This is a brilliant invention, don’t miss it.
For my main course I chose Achiote-Cocoa marinated Black Cod, with baby carrots and green basil vinaigrette.
Black Cod and other good things.
The fish was cooked perfectly. Those strips of carrot on top were roasted, or fried, or something that made them crisp without turning them brown or losing their flavor. The green mushy stuff is, I think, the pureéd green garlic. Cod is pretty bland, so the chef has to work to infuse all sorts of different flavors into the dish, and he succeeded admirably.
Service was first rate. The runners who brought out the plates described each one, my iced tea was always full, the staff were well trained and attentive. For some idiotic reason, they do not have any sweetener other than Sweet-n-low, which is just a crummy way to save a few cents. Gail thinks I shouldn’t object to this, but how would she feel if the only chardonnay they carried was Carlo Rossi, sold by the gallon at Rite-Aid for $5.47? It’s the little things that make excellence.
There were people sitting two tables over, outside in the lovely evening air. I was quite taken by the color of their drinks–I see both red and black, but they aren’t mixing. Is the black a trick of the light? What can they have been drinking?
Whatever are they drinking?
Basalt is new, having opened just a few months ago. I think they will regret the inclusion of that silly 22 seat table, but otherwise this is a gorgeous restaurant in a great location. Prices ran around $80/person, which is normal for this level of food and service. We had an excellent meal in a beautiful location. Now we have one more place to choose from on what is becoming the finest street in the world for dinner.
Meet Michelle
Friends came over for dinner last night, and I inveigled Michelle Schneider in front of my camera.
I’ll learn how to do this if it kills me. Portrait models wanted.
Haters gotta hate
Eyes of instant suspicion
I had a strange and unpleasant experience today while I was taking pictures for my article on the PULSE shootings and memorial.
I wanted to get a few shots of people reacting to the site. It’s all well and good to show lots of flowers and crosses and love notes, but it’s important to show the people there, too.
Among others, I saw this guy and his two sons, and thought they would be a good subject. The guy saw me taking his photo, and felt the need to come over and accost me. ‘Why are you taking my picture?”, he stormed. I told him that pictures of flowers just go so far, I needed people.
This seems obvious to me, as is the fact that we were in a very public place, I was clearly taking lots of pictures, there were cops everywhere and why would I give a damn about this bozo anyway?
(It is completely legal for me, or you, to take a picture of anything you can plainly see in public. It is legal to post that photo, for non-commercial use.)
So he decided that he need to take pictures of me to get even, or something. No problem. I smiled and waved for his iPhone. He kept taking photos. I think he has a close-up of my right ear.
I walked away. A few minutes later he came back, still taking odd close ups of my face. I gave him my card with the URL of this blog and told him to check it out–there is nothing for me to hide. I have done nothing wrong and am not in the least threatened by his ludicrous behavior.
Paranoid jerks confound me. They are at the same time so self important that they think I care and so insecure that they think everyone is part of some conspiracy against them. This bozo could have been shown in a good light in my blog, teaching his sons to respect others. Now he is just embarrassed to be shown as a redneck clown.
Not a new tourist destination
It isn’t all fun and pickles. This is Orlando, where 3 weeks ago there was a horrific mass shooting. Today, Karl and I went to visit the site so I could share it with you.
Dozens of people, thousands of remembrances.
The nightclub PULSE is on a major thoroughfare, which was closed for quite some time and now has a lane blocked off to permit visitors to the site access. The entire building is surrounded by chain link fence and there is an area in front where people have left flowers, signs, posters, candles, pictures and a host of other memorabilia to honor the location where so many died for no reason.
There is a considerable police presence, including a police car parked right in the middle of everything with its engine running in the Orlando heat. It seemed totally unnecessary given the reverent and respectful attitude of the people attending. They were very good at parking issues, however.
These are a few of the things people have placed to show their love for the lost.
This isn’t just a local outpouring, either:
As with any large city, there are people of all political persuasions here. Nonetheless, this one sentiment seems to be pretty much universal:
The people there were of all races and nationalities. Gay and straight. Quiet and reverent in a way I haven’t seen since I visited the AIDS quilt in the 90’s.
There have been so many items left at PULSE that many have been moved to the lawn in front of the new Dr. Phillips Performing Arts Center. I went there to get a some photos:
It’s easy to get all maudlin and significant when speaking of tragedy, but I’d rather be angry and exercised. Is there any possible way anyone can explain to me how our esteemed Congress was able to vote NO on a bill to limit access to assault weaponry just days after this massacre? What drugs do our legislators take to let them sleep at night, knowing they are complicit in the ongoing series of bloody rampages that have plagued our country?
We may never know what prompted the assassin to slaughter 49 people the night of June 12. Maybe it was religious fanaticism. Maybe it was panic over his sexuality. Maybe he was just nuts. It doesn’t matter, 49 people will still be dead, 49 families will still be grieving.
The nation, though, will not. Like the flowers below, the current outpouring of grief and concern, the politicians mealy-mouthed “thoughts and prayers”, will have wilted and shrunk, lost in the mists of time and overshadowed by the next mass shooting, which is sadly inevitable.
Sailing away
Today was a rare treat. Mike and Colleen Odonnell took us all out for the day on their 44 foot motorboat, cruising up and down the intercoastal waterway. The boat lives in New Smyrna, which is about an hour’s drive to the north east from Orlando.
Loading up the crew
Susan and Karl live on the 18th floor; the Odonnells used to live on the 19th. Mike is one of those guys who own bits and pieces of companies all over the place and make “deals”. I don’t understand it, but it seems to give them a nice life.
This is Colleen, the pretty one of the two.
Given that it was Sunday, July 3, there were thousands of people enjoying the water and the weekend. Boats were everywhere, and almost all of them powered. I only saw one or two sailboats all day.
Florida has great clouds.
People were just pulling up on this sandbar, which will disappear in a few hours when the tide comes in.
Boats large and small were everywhere.
Lots of people enjoying the water, just cruising along.
Kate
I rode up in the bridge with Mike, looking at everything, sweating in the fiery humidity and taking pictures. Gail and Susan were in the air conditioned cabin.
Best friends in the whole world.
After a while, we stopped in a marina for lunch. You have to radio in to see if there is a place to put a boat as big as Mike’s, and we were lucky to find a slip.
Lunch was at Ponce Inlet, where you can also find the Ponce de Leon Lighthouse, the tallest lighthouse in the state at 175 feet. Given how abysmally flat Florida is, you can darn near see Miami from the top. The lighthouse was built in 1835, making it one of the oldest in the nation.
We started our meal with an order of gator bites–chunks of deep fried alligator. I think it tastes mostly like pork tenderloin, and it’s an experience you don’t want to miss.
Gator bites and remoulade sauce. The right way to start a meal in these parts.
I had ahi poke sliders. Poke seems to be all the rage this year, which is fine with me. Spiced up bits of raw tuna with seaweed salad on sweet soft rolls. My kind of lunch.
Ahi Poke Sliders
The serve a great fish sandwich, as you would expect. It was hard to find the bun under all the fish and fixings.
Megaladon Fish Sandwich. That’s what they call it.
After lunch we cruised further north for a while, almost up to Daytona Beach, then turned around and headed home.
Back at the Smyrna Yacht Club, there was a fine classic holiday buffet set up for the members. Since we hadn’t eaten in over 2.5 hours, we took a table.
Macaroni salad, potato salad, cole slaw and watermelon. Fried chicken. Beans. A grill with hot dogs and hamburgers. Classic Americana at its finest.
We ate. Some drank. We schmoozed and enjoyed. I noticed a number of people with fun decorations for the holiday and took photos:
Walking back to our car, I noticed something that amused me:
Maybe in a yacht club an American sports car is considered sub-compact.
This was a great day. We had a wonderful time with friends, good food, a bottle of very old wine (for the red wine drinkers, at least), saw the sights and just kicked back and relaxed. Of course, nobody actually got in the sun, that just isn’t done anymore.
We’ll have to have a staff meeting in the morning to decide on the day’s activities, but then there will be a party here to watch the fireworks Monday night. Stay tuned, I plan on having some great photos.
Off for the weekend
Susan made sure we wouldn’t miss her at the airport.
Yep, we’re in Orlando for the Fourth of July. Susan and Karl live on the 18th floor, directly across the street from the lake where they shoot off the fireworks–there’s no better place to be.
This is a quick trip; we’ll be home late Tuesday night. Brought Brad and Kate along to enjoy the festivities and be rowdy with the Rowleys.
The view tonight from the balcony was spectacular, as always.
Gail and Karl looked good in the glow of the evening.
And that’s all I have to say today. Going out on a friends boat tomorrow, I expect there will be more to tell.
At the Fair
I love fairs. World’s fairs, state fairs, county fairs, trade shows, expos, any kind I can find. Sunday night, Gail and I went down to Pleasanton to the Alameda County Fair, and had the usual good time.
A big part of fair going is the food. It’s nothing gourmet, just iconic Americana. I abjured the immense corn dog this year in favor of the immense sausage with cheese and jalapeño inside. The bun is more of a roll, and it’s properly toasted. You can also get an entire roasted turkey leg, but that seems too much like Henry VII drunken feasting for my taste.
Classic county fair food–an enormous sausage with onions and peppers.
People take their kids to the fair. Lots and lots and lots of kids. That’s good; I like kids. This one was sharing our table. The white stuff on her chin is sugar from whatever dreadful fried pastry covered in sugar she was devouring.
Here’s one peeking through whatever you call what she’s peeking through:
don’t
I don’t think Grant Wood quite envisioned this.
Put something behind a curtain, and you can get kids to line up to see what it might be–even better if it is 5¢ to take a peek.
It’s really just a come on for a big haunted house, but it’s fun to look anyway.
The best part of the fair for me is the “shopping”–the dozens of booths of people selling weird stuff. Cheap jewelry. Hot tubs. Kitchen peelers. And always sets of pots and pans. People take a seat and watch an entire carefully scripted cooking show designed to sell them kitchenware they don’t need that doesn’t cook a tiny bit better than what they have.
This guy could sell sand to the Arabs.
Real chefs, restaurant chefs, don’t use this crap. They use simple heavy cast aluminum post anyone can buy in the restaurant supply store. This is quite literally selling the sizzle, not the steak.
People walk a lot at the fair, and the massage chairs look especially inviting. I bet they sell a ton of these things.
Once they get the neck massager turned on, you’re hooked.
Slightly over the hill singers can make a good living on the county fair circuit. I saw Johnny Cash and Crystal Gale here once when his career was in a major slump–and the show was great. The venue is small, the event is very casual and friendly, the show is free with your gate admission and everyone has a good time.
I was able to convince Gail to go because LeAnn Rimes was performing. General admission is free, but you can get a reserved seat for about $20 if you are early, or $40 if you have to buy it on StubHub. Still a great deal for 4th row dead center.
s
LeAnn Rimes in concert in Pleasanton
People are so busy making videos (no photo restrictions here!!) you wonder if they actually see the show until they get home and review the tape.
Pictures or it didn’t happen is the new mantra.
LeAnn put on a great show–but she’s had plenty of practice, since she had her first #1 hit at the age of 13. She was casual, warm and embracing, singing fast songs and slow ballads and a killer “Me and Bobby McGee”.
Slowing it down for the crowd.
People used to hold up their lighters and wave them at concerts. Now they just turn on the LED light on their phones:
This is progress, I think.
One more of the singer:
The show lasts just over an hour. We loved it. If you just came to the fair for the entertainment you’d have a great evening at an excellent price.
When it gets dark, the lights come on and make the hot, dry, barren wasteland of the fairgrounds pretty magical.
Lighting is everything–even the food stands look exotic.
Everything is changing color constantly.
We put the top down and drove home in the slightly cooler evening air, full of sausage, sore of foot and happy after a pleasant evening and concert.
The Alameda County Fair runs through next weekend. There is horseracing there, too, if you like to bet on the ponies. Good entertainment every night, strange food and first rate people watching. Go have fun.
Food 8, process 1
We tried a new place in Pleasant Hill tonight, Urban Plates. The latest offering from a growing chain, with mostly organic ingredients and reasonably healthy options for a quick dinner out. It’s a step up from fast food, but not what you would want to call a real restaurant. Urban Plates is most like a cafeteria, which thinks it’s hip, slick and cool. We weren’t thrilled.
The menu offers some pretty nice dishes. There is a good selection of dinner salads, plated entrees with a decent variety of sides, sandwiches, soups, mini-pizzas and great looking desserts.
It all falls down on the process. If you order a dinner salad, you get one of those numbers on a stick and they bring it out to you. If you order one of the “plates”, you stand there while the cooks portion it out, then choose your sides. Except that the cold sides are in front of the proteins, the hot sides are behind, so the plates are shuffling back and forth while the cooks are loudly calling out what dish is ready–this is all theater, designed to make it look fast and efficient. Real kitchens don’t work that way. I found it loud and unpleasant, while being clumsy and ineffective.
They were offering a roasted corn and poblano soup, which I wanted but was unable to figure out how to order. By the time I had my plate and walked forward, I was in front of the pizzas and there was nobody to order soup from.
The menu says they have local and regional wines, whatever that means. Gail’s choices of chardonnay were oaked, or unoaked—I didn’t hear any mention of the label.
I had the grilled ahi with the roasted brussels sprouts:
Yes, that’s the grilled steak. They couldn’t keep the order straight. Notice the utter lack of presentation.
Gail’s sesame broccolini and roast potatoes with my ahi. Another delightful presentation.
The food was good. My ahi would have benefited from some soy sauce and wasabi, but that was not to be. The roast potatoes were excellent, the broccolini was properly cooked and just a bit spicy, I thoroughly enjoyed my brussels sprouts.
I didn’t enjoy the look of the plates with the food just thrown on them. I didn’t enjoy the silly para-military posturing of the cooks shouting out the orders. I never enjoy carrying a heavy tray around a dining room trying to choose a table. I wish I had been able to order a soup, and think wine should have a brand. The soda choices are proprietary “natural soda sweetened with organic cane sugar”. I just want a diet Coke. Of course, the only sweetener available is Stevia. But what I should really do is to stick to my Tophealthjournal healthy diet.
At first I thought maybe the issues bothering me were related to be new, and would shake out in time. Then I realized that this is the 10th outlet for this chain, and they know how they want to do things, whether I agree or not.
Since they are across the street from the movie theater, I suppose they will have a steady stream of customers looking for a quick meal, and Urban Plates will provide it. It’s fast, decently prepared, and reasonably priced. If you don’t have any service, you don’t have any tip. I’d go back if the process was better, but maybe I’m just a grouch.
Totally Unauthorized 