Having had such a hardcore night on Friday, Mikey and I decided we'd explore Chinatown with Chuck and Jon before they headed back home Saturday evening. Of all the restaurants we could've chosen in all of Chinatown, we picked the once place that truly and profoundly sucked. Not only did we wait an eternity to be seated, it took another 45 minutes to order. Conveniently, it was right across the street from my favorite dive bakery/dim sum joint and I was able to obtain the coveted, incredibly good and cheap mini-almond cookies, which barely made up for our shitty dining experience.
Jon and Chuck left for Tahoe and Mikey and I settled in front of the TV to recover from our lack of sleep. By 8 o’clock, we were bored and decided to head over to Green Apple Books and wander amidst the shelves of used books and intellectual hipsters.
In the interest of full disclosure, I needed to spend money on something interesting this Saturday night. Zoe’s working on a magazine article in which she follows the spending habits of 4 women over the course of a weekend. And while my dear friends Dani (NY), Sara (Nashville) and Jesse (Reading, PA) are all fascinating shoppers, I’m hyper-conscious that anything I buy might be in a friggin’ magazine.
Forget tampons. I’m buying torn and tattered used cookbooks and donating money to orphans.
“So this is why we’re in a bookstore in the middle of the night? So you can look cool?”
“Hey Michael, you’re the one that didn’t want to go to a movie. We’re exploring. This is good for you.”
Also, I got a fabulous cookbook, purchased entirely for one butternut squash, pear and gorgonzola tart recipe.
We split a late night pizza and headed home, to be greeted the next morning by Zoe, fresh off a plane from New York. Zoe’s once again in town to take a test in completion of her Master’s Degree and we had a whole Sunday to kill together. That means one thing.
Mikey’s getting a interesting inside look into the relationship of Zoe and Spots. Before her arrival, Mikey and I were sitting around watching “A Perfect Murder.”
“Uh, look at Gwyneth’s clothes. Heaven.”
“Yeah. She’s hot.”
“But her clothes are incredible. And her closet. Look at that closet.”
“Okay. If you say so.”
With that, Zoe arrived, dumped her bags in the hallway, and flopped next to me on the couch.
“Oh my god, I love her clothes in this movie. And that closet. My god.”
She then picked up my new cookbook and flipped through it as we watched.
“Hello? Look at this butternut squash, pear and gorgonzola tart. We HAVE to make this.”
Zoe Nicole Stagg.
I love you.
Mikey unwittingly agreed to join us at Target, soon learning that when we shop Target, we SHOP Target.
“Are you guys ready to go?”
“We’re still on clothes.”
“We haven’t hit food, beauty supplies or house wares yet.”
“But I’m done.”
We rewarded ourselves with a late lunch at the Colma Fresh Choice, ghetto salad bar. Fresh Choice is fabulous, in my opinion, because of the baked goods. I’m also a fan of the soft serve, the only acceptable item at the dessert bar. Zoe and I created our ice-milk sundaes and debated our dessert bar skills as Mikey went to check it out. He returned with a bowl of tapioca and chocolate pudding.
“What the hell is that?”
“Stop looking at me!”
Zoe couldn’t stop laughing. “That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. No one’s picked the tapioca since 1953.”
Michael bowed his head in shame. “Well I like it. I always get this.”
“There’s a hierarchy of dessert bar choices, Mikey. Cool kids never get tapioca.”
“Yet ironically, cool kids hang out at Fresh Choice.”
Too exhausted to actually cook anything, much less the highly anticipated tart, we returned home and agreed on going out. We’d invited Big Chris over for dinner, but he just as easily agreed on Park Chow and after drinking some “free booze” at home, headed out to Irving for dinner.
I enthusiastically endorse a lot of places, but god damnit, I love Chow. Park Chow’s their version by Golden Gate Park, but we tend to frequent the Chow in the Castro, aptly dubbed Gay Chow.
I regard Chow’s menu as wonderful, not only because they serve basic American comfort food, but you can order every salad, including the funky ones, in small, medium or large. Zoe and I regard this as the pinnacle menu options.
The boys didn’t really care, as long as we could grab a drink afterwards. We walked into The Little Shamrock, took one look at the drunk passed out next to the weathered hooker, and walked right out. We ended up meeting Jason at another divey Irish joint, and I spent my last $5 for Zoe’s magazine article on the weekend’s final glass of wine. I looked for a hobo on the way home, but Park Chow’s in too classy a neighborhood. Otherwise, I’d delight in having my final spending entry be “$1 to bag lady. Beat that Dani…”