Sunday was such a beautiful day–“Let’s go to the beach!” I impulsively yelled at Davide. So we made our way to the chilly, foggy, almost completely empty Black Sand Beach in the Marin Headlands, the fog occasionally parting to reveal the sun-baked city across the bay. The couple next to us performed their rendition of a Live Male-Female Love Act–start to finish in like, 10 minutes. I could see fascination, horror, and lust register simultaneously on Davide’s shivering face. The tattooed goose flesh and legs waving in the air were the perfect backdrop to our discussion of love, film, and our problem with the supposed disjunction between reality and fantasy.
That night I went to Peter and Luis’ for another of Luis’ extraordinary dinners. Peter and I sat in front of the TV, watching Six Feet Under as Luis fed us 2 plates each of pasta with a buffalo and venison Bolognese, green salad, and then, really, the best bread pudding that I have ever had. I’m starting to cry thinking of it. Using bread from Tartine, he sliced the bread and placed it in the pan in such a way as to retain the loaf shape, and then served it that way, so that the bottom was all custardy and the top crispy. Please help me think of a way to evict Albie downstairs so that I can have Luis live and cook for me me only me. My stomach hasn’t stopped singing since Sunday night, some vaguely familiar Neopolitan love song.