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Sweat Cheese Filled Crepes
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Tag Archives: food
Tranquility Base Here, The Eagle Has Landed
The air is brisk today, but when I get walking I keep warm. I cut quite a figure, at least in my own imagination, walking down the street, hair and long coat blowing behind me, scruffy two-level beard (need to get some tools), and purpose in my stride. Apparently 3pm is when pretty girls take their dogs for walks. None of them so much as glanced at me. They must have been intimidated by that ineffable machismo I was exuding.
Or something like that.
Anyway, after one small memory lapse (26, 16, whatever) sent me into a fancy little wine store I found the place I was looking for. I opened the door and walked down a few narrow steps and took a left into the quiet room, found a table, and sat down.
I’m back where I belong.
I’m in a bar, with my laptop, writing. I could get to like this place. Not smoky, not crowded on a weekday afternoon, decent tunes playing, good beer. No danger of me falling in love with the bartender, either—he seems like a nice guy, but, well, he’s a guy. He just brought my pizza, a fine looking pie. He also brought a bottle of Kečup. There’s an American stereotype I had forgotten. The beer is good, the pizza is good.
Life is good.
Christmas lights are up here already as well
It goes something like this…
On my first trip to Albert here is what I bought:
Beer!
On my second trip to Albert, here is what I bought:
Bread, and Beer!
On my third trip to Albert, here is what I bought:
Green Tea, Bread, and Beer!
Albert is the local grocery store. I’ve only been three times, but I think you can see where this is going. Three trips may not a trend make, but you never know. I have a big coat with pockets just right for carrying bottles of beer (two pockets outside, two pockets inside). I can squeeze small items in with the beer, but sooner or later I’m going to have to scrounge up a shopping bag.
I believe the addition for the fourth trip will either be laundry detergent or nutella.
I Am a Beer Cheese Soup Genius
Location: Callahan’s
I was sitting tonight, writing, when my table was most welcomely crashed by Melinda and Tom. Tom spent an hour or so at a different table with some potential coworkers while I was left to entertain Melinda. Fortunately she’s easily amused.
Tom joined us and after more alcohol was sent on the liver trip we decided it was time to order food. The past two days I had sat next to people eating the jalapeño beer cheese soup. One of those did so at my recommendation. It’s a good soup. Tonight I ordered it for myself, but there was a thought slipping through my brain. A way to make it better. I asked for a dash of Angustoura Bitters.
They weren’t sure how much to add, so they brought me the bottle. I had no idea how much to add either, so I hoisted the pup and gave it a few shakes.
Sweet holey moley it was good. I’ve always liked that soup, but this time it was, dare I say, exquisite. No one (except Tom and Melinda, who I forced to taste my new flavor sensation) has ever known the pure bliss that is “Jer’s Callahan’s Bitter Cheese Soup”. You could build a restaurant chain on the stuff. I couldn’t, but you could.
Early Morning Vibrations
Location: Little Anita’s, 2811 Cerrillios Rd, Santa Fe NM
Miles: 10708.8
Got up before the sun this morning and after a brief dog-draining followed by a speedy shower I was on the way to Santa Fe to have some work done on the car. When I had called for the appointment the guy asked “What time do you want to bring it in?” I said “As early as possible.” “OK,” he said, “7:30.” “Uh, how about eight?” I asked.
At the dealer in San Diego there is a long line right at opening and that determines when your car gets worked on. So even though my appointment was at eight I wanted to get there closer to 7:30 so I would not be kicking up and down Cerrillos Road all day. As I came out of Los Alamos I got behind the Slowest Driver On The Planet. It was right where two lanes went down to one, and I almost zipped on past him but I told myslef, “Relax, Jerry. This is New Mexico, land of mañana, you’ll get there.” That whole ethic was lost when I realized just how slow the SDOTP really was and how many miles it was going to be before I could pass him. In seconds I went from New Mexico Mellow to Raging Green Impatient.
After finally finding open road I breezed along for a while until hitting the 14-mile constructivitis (announced by a sign reading Scheduled to be completed Summer 2004 – the days are getting shorter, boys!) but things could have been a lot worse through there. Deep breathing and flashing signs that said “Friendly Officers Ahead” kept me rolling along at the posted 45 mph.
When I reached the dealer I realized that all my high blood pressure was for nothing. There was no long line of impatient customers. There were, in fact, no hassles at all. As the mechanic entered my information we talked about San Diego and road trips. I asked him what his favorite place to get breakfast was, he told me to get the huevos rancheros at Little Anita’s, across the street. Little Anita’s had been my first choice anyway, so that was a done deal. He told me that the car would take about two hours unless there were leaks in the air conditioning. I was almost disappointed to hear that; I’d been planning to walk over to the Green Onion for an exceptional Chile Relleno for lunch. With an ailing pup back at the ranch, I feel guilty about staying down here longer than necessary.
The breakfast was excellent. The eggs were cooked right, the chile was good, and the service continues to be outstanding. Breakfast done, green chile afterglow warming the base of my brain, fresh tea bags with refills of hot water, it was all good. I started to write about my morning. I had just typed “OK” above when the manager (owner? he doesn’t look much like an Anita) asked if I was getting good wireless reception where I was sitting. It turns out he had just installed the system and hadn’t advertised it yet because he wanted to make sure it worked well first.
Oh, man. It just doesn’t get much better than this.
 
The annoyance of being Jerry
I’m sitting in a pizza place where they call your name when the pizza’s ready. So far there’s been Jimmy, Jim, Jane, Terry, Larry, John, and Jake. The “J” sound is enough to perk my ears and interrupt my so-fragile train of thought, and they called Jimmy for so long that I thought maybe the girl had heard my name wrong and went to check, but Terry and Larry are the worst. I’ve been up to the pickup counter three times, and I don’t have a pie. I used to use Zebart as my name in situations like this. I don’t know why I stopped.
Time has passed.
I have my pizza now, and it’s quite good. They just called another Jimmy, another Terry, and another Jake.
Hi, I’m Zebart. How may I help you?
Lunch
Location: Rosa’s Roticeria, Santa Cruz
Miles: 734.1
Thanks for the suggestion, Lee and John!