THE ISOLATION JOURNALS - DAY 11 - IT'S NOT ABOUT THE FOOD

Today’s prompt:
Reflect on a moment where you did something that left you feeling nourished and sated. Where hours passed, yet you didn’t even know it. When you were right where you needed to be. Maybe it’s a memory of spending time with a loved one, or a long discarded childhood activity—dancing, drawing, shooting hoops in the driveway. Maybe it’s a more recent hobby—kneading sourdough or, like me, making elaborate cheese plates. Write about this experience. Write about being nourished and what it means to you. 

It's Not About the Food

“Where do you want to go for your birthday lunch next week?” I asked.

It was late December, and there was a festive zing in the air. Sparkly lights lined Market Street. Giant red ornaments gleamed in front of the 101 California office building. The scent of fresh-cut spruce and mulled-cider spices was everywhere.

“You know what I’d really like?” Steve said. “Cioppino at Tadich Grill. And an ice-cold martini.”

We all nodded. Cioppino would be just the thing on a cold winter’s day. And a martini? Sheer perfection.

The birthday club was well into its second decade. Four friends from the office who take one another out for a nice lunch on our respective birthdays. I formed the club almost twenty years ago when I learned that my friend (and then-boss) had no lunch plans on his special day. As people retired or moved on, the club recruited new members. I’m the last of the originals.

“Too bad we have to come back to the office afterward,” Peter sighed. Our company has a strict “no drinking at lunch” policy.

“Who says?” Steve asked, a glint in his eye.

“Great idea,” I said, reading his thoughts. And so it was settled. Steve and I would take a half-vacation day after his birthday lunch. Peter said he had an afternoon meeting he couldn’t skip.

The final member of our birthday club was already on vacation, so Steve convinced his young daughter Zoe to round out the foursome.

Walking into the Tadich Grill always feels like stepping back in time. The no-nonsense staff in their starched white jackets. The white linen-covered tables tucked into wood-paneled alcoves. The golden glow of the pendant lights reflecting off the ochre-painted walls.

The maître d’ seated us at the table in the front window, the weak light of winter filtering through the plate glass and blanketing us in warmth. The waiter approached us with the menus, but Steve waved them away.

“We already know what we want,” he said. We teased Steve about his impatience, attributing it to his advanced age. Never mind that he’s only nine months older than me.

The waiter brought the two martinis and set them before me and Steve. We laughingly chided Peter for his failure to properly prioritize, and Peter admitted to having serious regrets. Next time, he would learn from his elders. Steve and I clinked our cocktails in celebration, with Peter and Zoe lifting their water glasses in pale imitation.

When the waiter brought the steaming bowls of cioppino to our table, our convivial conversation paused for a moment. The classic stew was overloaded with mussels, clams, scallops, shrimp and Dungeness crab. The four of us tied on our plastic bibs, which reduces everyone to looking like overgrown toddlers, and we laughed at one another and ourselves until our stomachs hurt. And then we dug right in.

“What’s that for?” Zoe asked, pointing at the thick slices of garlic toast that came with the cioppino.

Steve grabbed a slice of toast, ripped off a chunk, and dipped the ragged end into the rich tomatoey broth, redolent of fennel and garlic. He passed the chunk to his daughter, whose eyes grew round as the savory combination of flavors hit her tongue. We all basked in the purity of Zoe’s delight. And then we grabbed our own slices of garlic toast and started dunking.

Our table looked like a war zone by the end of the meal. Dozens of seafood shells and shrimp tails. Crumpled plastic bibs. Greasy garlic toast crumbs. And two empty martini glasses.

An author friend recently posted on his Facebook page: what do you look forward to doing once the stay at home order is lifted? So many answers come to mind. Visit my parents. Hug my son who lives across the country. Get a massage. Soak in a hot tub.

But if I’m being honest, there’s one thing I want to do most of all.

We don’t even need to order martinis.