Thursday

June 14, 2001

chilled carrot ginger soup

I really love good food. Elegant little morsels, bursting with flavor.

I found myself rushing to work. Late for a meeting. I'm five minutes late. People are on the phone. People are arranged earnestly around the phone with papers and pads. And a Krispy Kreme box.

I don't even like them. But I finally capitulate. Then the Nancy on my left takes one and then the thin intern on the right and the box is empty. So there is no temptation for a second one.

More meetings. It's all I do, I think. One is a pretty good meeting. Except for the look on the manager's face. That hopeful look that a neat handwriting, careful note taking and meeting calling can get the real creators to set her up for the bonus money.

There is a celebration. The company put a grill in the courtyard. You can reserve it and grill hot dogs or whatever. We are celebrating a guy's promotion. To Corporate Architect. I eat one hot dog (with mustard and relish, no one made chili today) and some tortilla chips. I eat a couple of tomatoes with feta and pesto. And a stuffed poblano pepper. People were supposed to bring stuff. I didn't bring anything. There is plenty. I eat another dog. I eat a sugar cookie. Yikes!

At yet another meeting (yes!) there is cake. And Blue Bell ice cream. To celebrate the shipping of product. I don't have any. Not a bite, not a crumb. What self-restraint!

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After work I stop by my parents' house. They show me things they've hung on the walls, Dad's continuing Rube Goldberg attachments to his bird feeders trying to thwart the squirrel and my Mom's piece of purple and pinkish cloth she is weaving. They tell me they have cut down a dead tree and killed the poison ivy with the help of the handyman. Dad has killed the red wasps outside the back door but he dumped the nest and grubs in the yard somewhere and hopes the grubs live because they are good for the ecology. He wants wasps but not by the door because Mom is allergic. They bicker in a friendly way. Dad returns some of my books. He's reading a lot. He'll read whatever I select. Oliver Sacks, WWII, jokes, novels, travel. I help Mom on the computer a little and, when the screen saver comes on while we are talking, we all comment on the pictures that pop up. I have the screen saver set to cycle the My Pictures file and primed it with stuff and have added things. They are entertained by it.

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FFP has decided we should have a nice meal. Off to Four Seasons. I ask Winston the waiter about the weather (it's hot on the golf course and riding his bike to work, he allows) and about whether the three small courses I've selected will be too much. "Even if I had a Krispy Kreme today? And hot dogs?"

I still want chilled soup. Ah, they have a chilled cucumber on the menu. I'm disappointed, though. It's tepid. Chilled soup should be ice cold. Monday's chilled carrot ginger that Chef Maxwell got together quickly just for us was colder. But not cold enough. I forgave Chef Maxwell because he wasn't prepared to serve chilled soup.

But the next course! All is forgiven. Tuna tartare with cucumber and a bit of finely chopped pico. It's out of this world. And the Foie Gras terrine that follows is so fresh and tasty. Pure cholesterol and wonderful. With a raspberry garnish. Better than Emilia's similar prep. And cheaper. Can't believe that Four Seasons looks cheap after seeing Emilia's prices. We have a Chassagne-Montrachet Burgundy with it all. Yum.

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We stand up in the bar of the Seasons and listen to Rebecca and meet some new people. One guy is a West Texan. You don't meet that many Texans, odd to say. He tells me his life story. It's a good one. He runs a company now involved with international trade. But the back roads of West Texas are still in his blood. He leaves at ten to meet a Japanese client. We go home, too, with business cards from a couple of new friends.

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I stay up too late. Fooling with rollovers, disjoint and otherwise, in Fireworks. And trying to draw with no drawing skill.

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