“Happy Valentines Day, how are you doing tonight?” The server suddenly appeared at our table with a warm smile. We like this server, she seems kind but also like you could talk shit about the world with her. We’d popped out for dinner at a local spot that doesn’t take reservations. We thought it would be a long wait because it normally is, but we were lucky.
We ordered too much on purpose, because there are some situations where you’re supposed to lean into abundance. The food was great, as usual, if not a little confusing at times. We ordered a ragu that tasted nothing like ragu, but did taste like pasta and meat cooked in butter, and I’m not going to complain about anything that tastes like it was cooked in butter. Butter makes everything better. Seasoning does, too.
I ended with affogato because it’s the best choice when you can’t decide between coffee and dessert. You’d think that both ice cream and coffee would make it harder to sleep, but as soon as I got home I just completely passed out on the couch. That’s rare for me. I’m writing this the next day because I was absolutely incapable of writing it yesterday.
Now that I think about it, I did start the morning with a 6-mile 8am run along the Berkeley waterfront. That might go some way to explaining why I was more tired than usual. I’m going to sign up for the Golden Gate Half, because after the 6-mile run I really thought that I could do the same again. It would be a slow time, but I’d have done it, and that’s something.