"I Love The Smell Of Special Chicken In The Morning...
...it smells like...life.
So like I said Wednesday, "C) Something major better have had happened to somebody that we mutually know.D) Any combination thereof.
I'd add something to "C," but I'll let you know on Saturday or next week."
Without grossing everybody out, what seemed like a cancerous lump, was just an impacted hair (so-to-speak). Nothing like a reprieve from the Grim Reaper (knock on the simulated wood that the computer sits on) and I was off for a victory meal.
After the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake, we had no gas or electricity in the apartment. So I went down to Bus Stop Pizza on Divisadero St. because they were one of the few restaurants open. They had enough residual heat in the pizza oven that they could serve melted sub sandwiches and I bought two roast beef delights on French bread for me and my gal (she wasn't to be the Missus for another two years).
Man, that sandwich was heavenly, literally. Some two hours before, I had absolutely no concept on how close to death the Missus and I were. I almost, and I mean almost, slept through the quake. The tremor didn't affect me much for the first five seconds other than to wake me from my slumber, but when it didn't stop?
Well, I guess the walls aren't supposed to be leaning like that. Okay, ground, I've had enough. Okay, that's good, we can go back to what makes us feel so superior to everyone else in America, our lack of fear concerning tremblors. Okay? Good.
So I figured that it was a special shaker, but not the big one and I tried to go back to sleep. There's a funky cloud in the window, oh, wait...that's smoke. A couple of houses in the Marina district over the hill, collapsed and caught fire. I could tell the fire was in the distance, so I tried to go back to sleep.
Now, note, if I seemed too nonchalant to be believed? I was that dumb and arrogant back in my twenties. I didn't think, wow, the whole City is going to burn down. Or, jeez, I better go shut off the gas. More like, how can I get twenty more minutes of sleep before the girlfriend gets home?
Last August, the apartment building's water heater was on the verge of blowing up and the Missus caught it in time to notify 911 and the power company so that they could shut it off. Did anyone in the building other Procrastinator Jr. and myself, thank her? Absolutely not, because everyone else in the building was chalk full of that arrogance and denial that makes being young so special. Call it "tool-itis," if you will.
So the Missus woke me up ten minutes later that early October evening with a phone call and informed me that indeed, that was a real earthquake. The bus she was on stopped and a building crane teetered over it. I called the woman who would become my mother-in-law to tell her that we were okay and that was the last phone call I got out until eleven that night. The Missus came home, we hugged and kissed, happy to be alive.
We listened to reports on the radio detailing the impact, then I went hunting for food, because then, as it is now, I am the designated hunter/gatherer. That sandwich was great. Three times better than any Quizno's, but even better because we were alive to eat it. Death kills the appetite and all but permanently. Quick, check (insert anorexic actress of your choice) for a pulse.
So today while I was waiting on prescription to be filled so I could get rid of this faux-cancer, I went looking for a little victory meal. There are two Irving Cafes. The Irving Street Cafe that I've been going to for some eighteen years where I get my breakfast and burger on...
http://sanfrancisco.citysearch.com/review/909007
and the Irving Cafe.
http://sanfrancisco.citysearch.com/review/909078
Where I get my bánh mì on.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banh_mi
Mind you, I'm not a Wikipedia critic, but nobody calls them "Vietmanese hoagies." That's like calling spaghetti, "Italian chow mein."
As good as bánh mì are, I wanted something more substantial. So I ordered curry chicken, and I got "Special Chicken." It's a great restaurant, so I didn't correct them after they put the dish on the counter. I knew whatever they served was going to be good and I didn't want them to go Soup Nazi and ban me for life, for being difficult, and don't think that they wouldn't have.
"Special Chicken" is just that and certainly not in the context to condescend. Light fluffy rice, jasmine, I guess. Broiled chicken, cucumbers, fresh cilantro, carrots marinated in rice vinegar, and a fine rice vinegar-dipping sauce to compliment the taste adventure. A good dish that tastes ten times better because you are alive to eat it.
So like I said Wednesday, "C) Something major better have had happened to somebody that we mutually know.D) Any combination thereof.
I'd add something to "C," but I'll let you know on Saturday or next week."
Without grossing everybody out, what seemed like a cancerous lump, was just an impacted hair (so-to-speak). Nothing like a reprieve from the Grim Reaper (knock on the simulated wood that the computer sits on) and I was off for a victory meal.
After the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake, we had no gas or electricity in the apartment. So I went down to Bus Stop Pizza on Divisadero St. because they were one of the few restaurants open. They had enough residual heat in the pizza oven that they could serve melted sub sandwiches and I bought two roast beef delights on French bread for me and my gal (she wasn't to be the Missus for another two years).
Man, that sandwich was heavenly, literally. Some two hours before, I had absolutely no concept on how close to death the Missus and I were. I almost, and I mean almost, slept through the quake. The tremor didn't affect me much for the first five seconds other than to wake me from my slumber, but when it didn't stop?
Well, I guess the walls aren't supposed to be leaning like that. Okay, ground, I've had enough. Okay, that's good, we can go back to what makes us feel so superior to everyone else in America, our lack of fear concerning tremblors. Okay? Good.
So I figured that it was a special shaker, but not the big one and I tried to go back to sleep. There's a funky cloud in the window, oh, wait...that's smoke. A couple of houses in the Marina district over the hill, collapsed and caught fire. I could tell the fire was in the distance, so I tried to go back to sleep.
Now, note, if I seemed too nonchalant to be believed? I was that dumb and arrogant back in my twenties. I didn't think, wow, the whole City is going to burn down. Or, jeez, I better go shut off the gas. More like, how can I get twenty more minutes of sleep before the girlfriend gets home?
Last August, the apartment building's water heater was on the verge of blowing up and the Missus caught it in time to notify 911 and the power company so that they could shut it off. Did anyone in the building other Procrastinator Jr. and myself, thank her? Absolutely not, because everyone else in the building was chalk full of that arrogance and denial that makes being young so special. Call it "tool-itis," if you will.
So the Missus woke me up ten minutes later that early October evening with a phone call and informed me that indeed, that was a real earthquake. The bus she was on stopped and a building crane teetered over it. I called the woman who would become my mother-in-law to tell her that we were okay and that was the last phone call I got out until eleven that night. The Missus came home, we hugged and kissed, happy to be alive.
We listened to reports on the radio detailing the impact, then I went hunting for food, because then, as it is now, I am the designated hunter/gatherer. That sandwich was great. Three times better than any Quizno's, but even better because we were alive to eat it. Death kills the appetite and all but permanently. Quick, check (insert anorexic actress of your choice) for a pulse.
So today while I was waiting on prescription to be filled so I could get rid of this faux-cancer, I went looking for a little victory meal. There are two Irving Cafes. The Irving Street Cafe that I've been going to for some eighteen years where I get my breakfast and burger on...
http://sanfrancisco.citysearch.com/review/909007
and the Irving Cafe.
http://sanfrancisco.citysearch.com/review/909078
Where I get my bánh mì on.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banh_mi
Mind you, I'm not a Wikipedia critic, but nobody calls them "Vietmanese hoagies." That's like calling spaghetti, "Italian chow mein."
As good as bánh mì are, I wanted something more substantial. So I ordered curry chicken, and I got "Special Chicken." It's a great restaurant, so I didn't correct them after they put the dish on the counter. I knew whatever they served was going to be good and I didn't want them to go Soup Nazi and ban me for life, for being difficult, and don't think that they wouldn't have.
"Special Chicken" is just that and certainly not in the context to condescend. Light fluffy rice, jasmine, I guess. Broiled chicken, cucumbers, fresh cilantro, carrots marinated in rice vinegar, and a fine rice vinegar-dipping sauce to compliment the taste adventure. A good dish that tastes ten times better because you are alive to eat it.
Labels: Food
posted by Writeprocrastinator at 12:37 AM
5 Comments:
earthquake hmmm ... something i haven't experienced before. but anyway, no thanks! :P
That's great news! I suppose now you're doing EVERYTHING in your power to stay healthy.
I hadn't gone to the dentist in 5 years. I feared the worst. When I came out clean and no cavities, I pledged to floss, brush, and rinse every freakin' day no matter what.
Of course, my example is no way near the magnitude I'm sure you went through, so I could only imagine what changes you're making!
Slurp,
The earth shakes, you look for the door threshold/jamb or a table to duck under, and you ride it out like a wave ; o
S.W,
Thanks and yes, I'm doing a little more to stay healthy. That's why I went to that restaurant instead of eating meat-filled dim sum at another.
I got lucky after ducking the dentist for almost a decade, too. Yet I only floss four times a week. Just call me Gummy McFixodent.
wp. that was beautiful, absolutely beautiful. mazel tov on the clean bill of health!
Katie-lah,
A sheynem dank for the mazel! I'm ecstatic and I not only told my doctor to have a good weekend, but a good life.
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