Eliza’s, at California & Divisadero in San Francisco, originally uploaded by yaznotjaz.
This is just to let you know I’m alive and well and constantly complaining to friends who apprehensively fear for my safety – not to mention my soul – about this winter weather business. (My favorite whine of the week: “Winter is stupid. What was God thinking?”) Shut up, I know I live in California, but it’s freakin’ cold ’round here, take my word for it.
All I’ve been doing these last few weeks is eating, sleeping, lying on my couch watching Season One of Grey’s Anatomy (I am so behind the times; they’re actually on Season Three now, apparently), and making plans left and right to hang out with friends who support me in my predictably last-minute whims involving get-togethers and food sessions.
Speaking of food: A couple of days ago, having skipped breakfast (I can just see 2Scoops, my self-appointed Nutritionist Extraordinaire, shaking his head over there in sunny San Diego), I continually whined to B while at work about how hungry I was. Lunchtime came and went, and I hadn’t even left my desk to go and eat. I think we’ve all realized by now that my eating habits while at work are disgraceful, to say the least, but even I’ve got to admit that there are days when I need what the rest of the world calls real food. Even the thought of the mint chocolate chip cookies and snickerdoodles, which I brought in the day before and which were now sitting abandoned in the workplace kitchen, just wasn’t doing it for me.
Finally, at 3.45pm, I pushed my chair away from the desk, announced, “I’m going to go find some food!” and walked out to my car. While pulling away from the curb, I called the closeby Desi [South Asian] restaurant. “Hi, I’d like to order two samosas and a naan, to go.”
I could swear I heard a muffled laugh from the guy at the other end of the line. “Is that all?”
“Yes, that’s it. About how long will it take for the food to be ready?”
“Less than fifteen minutes. What’s the name?”
When I walked into the restaurant ten minutes later, a guy called out, “Are you Yasmine?”
“I’m sorry, we only had enough vegetables left for one samosa,” he said apologetically,
“Oh.” I stood stock-still, thinking, “One samosa and one naan? Geez, what the hell kind of real meal is THAT? The one day I even bother.”
Out loud, I said, “One samosa is fine. I do get a naan, though, right?”
The guy smiled. “Yes, the naan is all ready.”
I swear I go to this place just for the naan. I had barely settled back into my car before I tore into the bread, freshly-baked and piping-hot. Curiously, I opened the styrofoam container containing the other half of my order. Inside were two samosas. TWO.
I let out a confused, “What the hell?” before I realized that “one samosa” means one order, which actually means two samosas. Suitably enlightened, I closed the container and continued munching on the naan. I had already eaten more than half of it by the time I got back to the office, where B greeted me with, “It’s past 4. I can’t believe you’re eating lunch now, when we’re leaving at 5.30 anyway.”
Good lookin’ out, because by the time I met the lovely rehes for dinner at 7pm, I was still far too full to properly enjoy our Desi/Thai meal. Anyone who can give me good Thai food recommendations is a rockstar in my book (I am extremely wary about Thai food; what I’ve grown up eating as savory food – i.e. vegetables, etc. – should not taste sugary sweet, as far as I’m concerned). rehes and I need to hang out more regularly. I trust her recommendations.
By the way, did you know that Desi restaurants have spiffy-looking websites now? Man, we’re coming on up in the world these days. Never mind the fact that any Desi restaurant describing its food as “seductive and enticing” makes me giggle.