What a week. I have been getting up at 3am, starting work at the office at 4:30am and calling it quits around 6pm.
Needless to say, I was not entirely enthusiastic when the wife reminded me of the dinner party we were going to Friday night with some clients of hers. The affair was to involve some sort of official wine tasting at a shwanky house in Hillcrest.
"That's what I need", I thought to myself, "to round out the end of a 70-hour work week surrounded by strangers, pretending to taste the subtle nuances and/or hints or raspberries and truffles in a glass of wine when all I want is a beer and/or bourbon". Especially as we have already established the fact that I am a total Philistine.
Well, there was no begging off.
I knocked off work at 4:45, reminding my supervisor that I had been in the office since 4:30am. I took her silence to mean that it was okay for me to leave early. I jetted home, picked up the dawg and bee-lined to the Balboa Dawg Park. The dawg park was only 5 minutes from the house where my wife and I would meet and the schwank didn't start until 6:30. I figured, run the dawg for 45 minutes and then head to the party while the dawg sleeps it off in the car.
It was a wonderful evening at the dawg park. We pulled up to the parking area and the dawg started whining in anticipation. I have long given up on the leash for these types of outings because as soon as I open the tailgate, the dawg gallops to the entrance gate of the dawg park and sits patiently while I catch up.
The park must have had 50 dawgs there and as many owners. The weather was cool and there was an Autumn breeze in the air. But the amazing thing was, it was silent. I mean silent. Even though the dawgs were tearing around pell-mell, not a single one was barking. The owners, likewise, were quiet. I just stood there, breathing in the fall air, feeling the breeze wash the work week away, and the only sound was the soft jingle, jangle of dawg tags. Wonderful.
I struck up a soft and easy conversation with the owner of a pooch that my dawg had taken a liking to and when it was time to scoot, I was in a frame of mind to be a decent human being again.
I drove up to the casa-de-schwank and the wife was waiting outside. The wife knew two of the people that were going to be there and I knew none. There is something both relaxing and challenging about attending an intimate gathering of strangers.
Relaxing because no one knows what a miserable wretch you are - your slate is CLEAN, baby! On the other hand, it is tough to strike up any meaningful conversations so you are limited to discreetly admiring the house, commenting on the food and drink and avoiding the embarrassing fallback of , "So, what do you do for a living?"
=to be continued=
We're back. Posting about the dawg park made me want to go back - so we did. I packed the camping chair, a couple of magazines and picked up some canned beers and chips on the way (no glass in the park).
Where was I? . . . .
The food was amazing. I think it was "nosch". I don't know what "nosch" is but I have heard the word and I think it means tiny food that takes hours to prepare and is meant to give you an emotional / life / taste experience as opposed to normal food which is supposed to fill your belly.
The company was gracious, kind and fun. We all stood around, drinking champagne and swooning over four kinds of "stinky cheeses" (that's how the host referred to them), pate, home-pickled olives, caviar with creme-freche etc etc. and, of course, the obligatory bowl of potato chips.
At one point THIS GUY ordered us all into the dining room where each of us had a place setting complete with color maps of Italy, Spain and France and three - THREE! - glasses of champagne (or, as I learned, sparkling wine).
Mark proceeded to tell us all about the different types of sparkling wine. We were given pens to mark our maps, we sampled the three offerings and proceeded to sally-forth with our thoughtful comments on each. I discovered that I particularly like Prosecco - which you can apparently drink 24 hours a day. No Kidding?
It was delightful. The breeze at the park had washed away the work-week from my skin, the cool Autumn air had filled my lungs and washed away the work week from inside my chest, spending time with the dawg had washed the work week from a few corners of my soul and the sparkling wine, nosch and company was batting "clean up".
After sampling three "Charmat Method" sparkling wines, we all headed back into the kitchen for some nosch that made the previous nosch look like . . . well, I am attempted to say, "made the previous nosch look like hot wings at hooters" but that would not be accurate and would do a disservice to the previous nosch. Let's just say that it was good before - It was GREAT now . . .
Again, THIS GUY ordered us back into the dining room to taste three "Methode Champenoise" sparkling wines. After which, there was dessert and the company of strangers who had been eating and drinking all night settled into "clean up mode" (and by that I mean wisely cleaning up all the nosch that was left).
The wife and I said our good byes and headed for home.
It was a wonderful evening. I have no idea what it cost to lay out such a fantastic spread or to what was paid to have Mark Hayes Stuart come and lead the party through the regions of Italy, France and Spain via sparkling wine. But if it is anything less than priceless, it was money well spent.
Call THIS GUY, invite some friends and break out the nosch cookbook. I am on my way . . .
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