EastGirlsWest

It’s Friday, and yesterday I was on KPBS with the lovely AnnaMaria Stephens to talk about the weekend.

Her picks included next week’s San Diego stop on the True Colors tour, which she also wrote about in CityBeat.

As for me, I can’t say enough good things about Starlite, THE new restaurant from Tim Mays and friends. You can read about the visionary designers here, and a detailed review of the dining experience on this other blog. Bottom line? Damn good food, freakin’ great drinks, absolutely gorgeous space. Highlights include: the hexagonal entryway, the sunken bar, all chandeliers. Plus the frites and the Starlite Mule, served in a copper mug. I will be back.

There’s more more more, so click here and listen.

Tonight, The Husband and I are off to this delicious event. I’m wearing a fancy dress and silver shoes!

“Dinner’s ready.”

“Looks healthy. What is it?”

“Brown rice. With a stir fry of tempeh, fresh ginger, garlic, leeks, and shitake mushrooms.”

“Lots of fiber?”

“Tons of fiber. I don’t think you could get more fiber if you snorted lines of it off the coffee table.”

My mom came for a visit. We went to see the Annie Leibovitz exhibit at the San Diego Museum of Art.

We also saw the movie Notes on a Scandal. Dench and Blanchett are sublime.

Also, hiked at Torrey Pines State Reserve. And went to The Getty Museum in LA.

Shopped at the Hillcrest Farmers Market (San Diego I Feel Good About).

Me and The Betrothed went to see the French Kicks at The Casbah. Wore my new t-shirt from Mighty Girl, which was a big hit.

Oh, and I went to Chicago and ate here, worked here, and saw much missed old friends.

I’m reading What is the What.

Went to see Blowup at MoPA. After, had my favorite roasted duck and white bean soup at The Tractor Room.

P.S. I’m on the teevee tomorrow night. Tune in at 8:20(ish)!

On two counts.

1) G. Love. As in, the extremely sexy bluesy/hip-hoppy/indie harmonica-playing dreamboat who happened to be at House of Blues on Tuesday night. I hadn’t seen G. Love play since I lived in Boston in the early 90s. But Tay is a huge fan, so I got her the tickets for Christmas.

Wow. I expected a fun live show. But I was unprepared for how…um…compelling G. Love is. And by compelling I mean hot hot hot. You know the G. stands for “Good”, right?

At one point during the show, he strutted across the stage after crooning some lyrics that detailed exactly HOW he loves his woman, finishing the last verse off with a sound from his harmonica that was the best sexual euphamism I’ve ever heard. This made every female in the crowd scream. Then Tay, who considers herself “bisexual and seeking a lesbian lifestyle”, turned to me and passionately yelled:

I’m straight! I’m Straight!! I’m STRAIIGGHHTTT!!!

She’s still in recovery.

2) I’m also quite fond of a Hallmark-created holiday that falls on February 14th every year. The poor Betrothed starts stressing in January about how to impress and surprise me with fantastic plans. I like to think of myself as low maintenance (he’s rolling is eyes), but when it comes to Valentines Day, I’m off-the-charts high.

I should be embarassed by this. People I respect see V-Day for what it is: a grossly marketed faux holiday, a manufactured non-event that’s an excuse to overcharge for flowers, candy and dinner.

Me? I can’t get enough. And I’ve always been like this. Admittedly, a big part of it is my obsession with Conversation Hearts. And chocolate. And the giving and receiving of pretty cards. But really, it IS because I’m in love with love. For my Betrothed, for my friends, for my family, for the knowledge that every single thing that’s good in my life is because of the love I both give and receive every day.

The Betrothed got a break this year and I’ve taken care of our plans for 2/14. But, I may talk a bit about local Valentine outings and events next week on These Days, so if you hear about anything interesting or unique, let me know.

The Omnivore’s Dilemma, by Michael Pollan.

I’m not finished yet, but so far this is a fascinating trip down the food chain. What I thought I knew about where my meals come from turns out to be not much. And my interest in reading about soil nutrients, the evil by-products of corn and the amount of petroleum used in the grocery supply chain is greater than I imagined, thanks to Pollan’s prose which is as fascinating and lively as great dinner conversation. Tracing the origins of four very different meals, from the scary creation of Chicken McNuggets to the living quarters of an organic bird named Rosie, he’s answering every question I could think to have about what I put in my mouth.

Since this is a book club pick and we’ve yet to meet, I’m going to hold off on further commentary. But I don’t think it’s too early to say this: if you eat food, you might want to get this book.

In the meantime, you can read more of Pollan in yesterday’s NYTimes Magazine.

For three years in the 90s, I lived in Rochester, New York. I spent the bulk of my time there with a flock of other transplants - we had all moved to Ra-cha-cha (as it was known to us) from bigger, better cities. Like New York. And Boston. While Rochester eventually became a pleasant place to live, it took a bit of adjustment.

In an effort to cheer up and convince ourselves It Wasn’t So Bad, we began compiling a list of places and things that made life in our gray, chilly corner of upstate New York bearable…even occasionally fun or interesting. The farmer’s market, a good diner, the one cute store where you could find a unique gift. The list was christened, “Rochester We Feel Good About”.

While I don’t think San Diego is in need of anything near the boostering and spin that life in Rochester required, I can’t help building my own feel good list about it. Especially when I’m getting on The 8 for the eighth time in one day because it’s impossible for me to drive goddamn anywhere without getting on a highway. Because really, I’ve never lived anywhere that involved so much merging and multiple lane nagivation.

Is it really east coast of me to say highway? Should I be saying freeway? Are they interchangeable?

My point it this: the highway is worth it when it gets you to certain places, like Venissimo Cheese. Tay brought the first Venissimo bounty into our home a few weeks ago, and I finally made it there myself today. And while Venissimo is now on my SDIFGA list, it has it’s own list of charms:

- free samples of any cheese you’d like to try
- each cheese card marked with a cartoon sheep, goat or cow to let you know from which animal the cheese hails
- friendly staff (they give out free samples!)
- cheeses named “ewe-phoria” and “ewe-f-o”
- a detailed receipt that includes the cheese name, a long description, and wine pairing suggestions

I adore cheese. I feel really good about this place that sells the cheese. In fact, Tay and I just enjoyed some Pata Cabra and Lamb Chopper on sourdough with picholine olives, a tasty bottle of red and an overall sense that this Monday was not so bad.

So I had my first, non-fundraising radio gig yesterday.

I’ve been on the air in many cities and on several stations over the years, always for the same purpose: to ask public radio listeners for money. Not to blow my own horn, but I have become rather skilled at this, and am comfortable in front of a microphone when ending every sentence with a phone number.

But yesterday everything was wacky! No phone number, no “why you should support this station” message points, no coffee mugs to describe in loving detail. Yet, still the microphone.

I was in the KPBS studio with David Coddon of the Union Tribune, and Tom Fudge, host of These Days, to talk about some interesting and worthwhile stuff going on in San Diego this weekend. The show does a fantastic job covering arts and culture in San Diego, and it was so much fun to be there and contribute a small piece to the ongoing conversation.

The segment is called Weekend Preview, and you can hear it every Thursday at approximately 10:40am. Rumor has it I might get to make an occasional reappearance, so keep listening. As for my debut, you can check it out here. Also, a few quick links to my recommendations:

- Eva Zeisel & John Dirks exhibits at the Mingei International Museum
- Wine Vault & Bistro
- The Soft Lightes at The Beauty Bar

And if you found this information helpful, and enjoyed listening to Weekend Preview, perhaps you’d like to call 1-800-576-KPBS and support great programming like These Days with a financial gift to your local public radio station. The number again is one, eight hundred, five seven six, KPBS.

Tonight’s dinner:

White wine and lemon risotto, with eggplant, leeks, and fresh thyme, creamed to perfection. Gently tossed with shaved parmesan and baby arugula. Topped with sea scallops seared in lemon zest, garlic and black pepper.

Sublime.

Traditional Italian antipasto plate.

Shrimp cocktail.

Salad of mixed greens with dill and pomegranate.

Nana’s Italian Stuffed Peppers.

Linguini with homemade clam sauce, including fresh steamers.

Baked cod with olive, tomato and orange relish.

Lightly seared asparagus with lemon and olive oil.

Lots of wine.

Apple-cranberry pie, still warm from the oven.

Tay did most of the cooking, I did the baking, we both did the shopping (with Mom!). We take our Christmas dinner VERY seriously. And ate for over four hours.

Once every few weeks we end up buying one of those delicious rotisserie chickens at the grocery story for dinner. And my sister always saves the wishbone.

After it dries out for a few days, it’s time to break. We have a ritual. We stand in the kitchen, each grab one side, and close our eyes.

The first time we did this, Tay made a beautiful suggestion: we should each make a wish for the other so that we’d always be pleased with the outcome, no matter who pulled the larger piece.

We are each other’s delicate mirror and solid foundation. We share memory, pain, and a bottomless well of laughter. It only makes sense that we should each embrace the other’s wish - to have the daring to ask for our sister what she is certainly afraid to hope for herself. Now every time I tug on my end, I think about our future, uncertain but entwined. I know her joy is my own, and my happiness has plenty of room for her.

Right before the final tug, I open my eyes to look at her. I want to kiss her closed eyelids and whisper that we will always be okay.

Snap.

I win. And she has her wish.