Category: Food

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A Great Play, a Sister, and Off to Florida

Thursday night I saw a delightful play at Intersection; Soul of a Whore by Denis Johnson. He’s been a playwright-in-residence there for several years. Watching his development is like witnessing Sam Shepard at the Magic Theater years before. You get the feeling of being in the presence of a major talent and grateful that you’re able to see these little productions with only 50 other people in such an intimate setting. When the Eureka Theater produced Angels in America, there was a similar buzz. Denis has a tremendous grasp of american vernacular speech and creates poetry of dialogue and manner. This particular play takes place in a small town in Texas, following several men who have just been released from prison, including a humpy bald evangelist with a goatee and a hairy back, a woman they meet at the bus station, and a demon who alternately possesses the woman and several other characters before blowing everyone up.

I’m at Big Chris’ now, enjoying a moment of serenity before hopping on the plane to Tampa, to visit my sisters and work on that tan line. Last night an old friend’s sister was in town from Miami, and Bob and I took her and some of her buddies out to the mystery Chinese restaurant for a 20 course ($35) meal. The best kept restaurant secret in town. They now have someone working there who speaks english–kinda. Following our last course, she came to our table and asked with a smile, “Enough?” When we got home, our guest told me and Bob that one of our sweet dinner guests had the biggest endowment that she’d ever seen or played with and that in bed he’s a tiger and very verbal, imploring her to tell him how much she wants it, “Oh you like that big %$&@#,” etc, etc… She said that she was so surprised because, prior to bedding him, and after frequent visual examinations of his package, she and her sister concluded that his endowment was considerably smaller. She couldn’t figure out “where he puts it.”

Okay, off to bob around in the Gulf.

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My Lunch With Arnie

I just stumbled up my hill, after a lunch with Arnie at Luna, or whatever they’re calling it now. We still call it the Castro Gardens. Arnie is about 70 now, still very active and as curmudgeony as when I met him. The thing I love about my lunches with Arnie is that he still treats me like a twinkie. I was 18 when I met him, and he still thinks of me as being that age. His lover and mine died around the same time, and we’re the last of our original group. I sometimes don’t even have cash in my wallet as I pull it out saying, “Let me get it this time,” and he throws a fit–“No, no… you’re an artist.” Fine with me, let him get the bill. He’s off to Israel where he’s endowing a fund for a Lesbian and Gay Studies scholarship at Hebrew University. He used to be a pilot for United. I think he flew me out here when I moved from Birmingham in ’84. Anyway, he’s having a private jet built for him that’ll be ready next year. I told him if he flew me to Paris I’d treat him to a chocolat at Francine’s. Arnie came to the Marjorie Wood Gallery opening Saturday night, thinking that Big Chris was married to Marjorie, and that the event was at their house. I told him Chris was my friend and that Marjorie Wood was a fictitious character based on the Barbara Bel Geddes role in Vertigo. He couldn’t comprehend it. “I am Midge,” I told him. “How are you going to make money?” he kept asking. “There’s no real space?” “What about Yoko Ono?” On leaving, he gulped down a viagra with the last of our wine, and hopped away with his hands in his pocket, meeting his 30-something playmate for an afternoon romp. He has two boyfriends, both of whom have lovers that don’t know about Arnie. The Other Woman Arnie, my buddy and neighbor.

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Woo hoo!

Stanley and Giuliano came over for dinner on Sunday night–duck legs. Stanley was fretting about his play which had just opened in New York, The Chinese Art of Placement, which I mentioned a while ago when they were over here last. Well, a review came out today in the New York Times–a really good review. I can’t imagine anyone not liking it–loving it–it’s a brilliant work. So it does happen, and to people who deserve it. Congratulations Stanley. He says he’s working on a new play about a couple in a highrise, completely surrounded by glass walls. He’s got vertigo, she’s a voyeur.

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Bob’s Birthday Dinner

Gary Danko with Bob for his birthday tonight. Sharing our courses, it started out nice, the fois gras was delicious, paired with carmelized onions and fuji apples in a deep reduction, just spectacular, but the lobster salad was not very lobstery, despite the generous amount of lobster, and way too salady. The seared scallops were delicious, but again another problem with the lobster–upstaged by lima beans? This is not right. My venison was delicious, but Bob’s pheasant resembled turkey so closely that we thought that somebody was up to something fishy in the kitchen. The cheese course included an outrageous blue from Tasmania that was one of the best cheeses I’ve ever tasted–deep, pungent, spicy, just great. It seemed like the whole meal was defined by one hit and one miss per course. Dessert was the same as the other courses with a chocolate souffle that was overcooked and lifeless, and a heavenly cheesecake with citrus and sorbet that stimulated the taste buds and the imagination. Since the meal was so all over the place in terms of flavors, we chose a light Languedoc, which was very pleasant and well balanced, although ultimately lifeless, just earth and fruit. We had a hard time finding a wine for under $100, having mistaken the page numbers for the prices several times before finding a suitable range of wines to choose from. I want to be dazzled for this much, instead I was only tickled.

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A Nice Long Day

Well, it looks like “It’s over” means something with a little more flexibility than I had thought the other night. My life and art are very much intertwined with things Big Chrissy, so I appreciate the chance to continue working together towards something really wonderful.

I hopped out of bed yesterday morning and ran quickly down to the market to pick up some apples and flour, zoomed up the hill to Chris’, popped a pie in and out of the oven, and was immediately swept away by Dave and Dave, who treated us to a lunch at the Cliff House. I’ve been here 19 years, and I’ve never been, except to visit the Camera Obscura, the Musee Mechanique, etc…, and the buffet was really great, with spectacular views of Seal Rock and huge waves. They need to tear it down and rebuild the Victorian building, though, and Sutro Baths while they’re at it…

Chris and I spent the rest of the day making the best chilli that I’ve ever had, and that we’ll all be eating for the next month, hot dogs specially chosen for the Pratt, home made cornbread, etc, etc… and only after an hour past the time when The Pratts were supposed to be there did someone say, “Did you talk to The Pratts about tonight?” Well, it seems like there was too much communication, but none of it very successful, so sadly we dined sans Chris and Dan. We must try again, for I miss those guys whom I’ve met only once but have grown so fond of through their online presence and cute pictures.

The boys and I then went to the Stud, where Chris and I were approached by several bloggers who had actually read our journals, we bobbed our heads by the dance floor, looking so thirty- and forty-something, while Dave and Dave went off and made out with several guys at the bar. They are something, those Daves, and should be in charge of all libido-related activities.
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Internet, Dinner at 5 for 6

The top keywords used this week in search engines to gain access to my website…

“butt of a famous male sculpture” (a?)
“photographs of female erogenous zones” (This person must have been very disappointed)
“hirsute female form” (is there a She-bear community?)
“photos of the human buttocks” (No sales, alas)
“symplegades” (! Yay! )
“furry male gallery bear” (my kind of dude!)

This week my site was visited by 12 surfers from the United Arab Emirates and 15 from Saudi Arabia, and 1 using the old Arpanet. An overwhelming majority of visitors enjoyed my website and art work for 0 to 10 seconds.

Other internet news…. I’ve completely, well, somewhat, updated the Marjorie Wood Gallery pages. I’ve discovered the animated gif, and am now freed from the constraints of static content!

The Daves of Sydney arrive in San Francisco this week. Big Chrissy and I are having the Chris Pratts up to celebrate the Daves’ temporary return to the fold, to grieve Chris and Dan’s impending departure to the Great Pacific Northwest, and to enjoy a dinner for 6 people and 3 names–Chris, Dan, and Dave. What to make! I’m thinking of braised duck legs with onions and cabbage, fennel and mushroom salad (with white truffles), and poached pears with burnt caramel and ice cream for dessert. Or hotodogs for Superbowl Sunday?

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An Old Sauterne and a New Apple Pie

During dessert last night at Peter and Luis’, Luis treated us to a 1949 Calvet Sauterne, an unexpected compliment to my apple pie and vanilla ice cream. I’ve never had a dessert wine so old, and it was a completely new sensual experience. Its color was a golden amber, the bouquet of honey and flowers, and the taste was only slightly sweet but intensely fragrant, like honeysuckle and daphne, fresh and smooth. It was like stepping into another time, running slowly through fields of flowers at sunset.

Peter and Luis used to be major arts and crafts queens, but over the past few years have completely reinvented themselves as collectors of what they call “chinese federal,” which includes a Tang dynasty ceramic horse, numerous Ming, Song, and Qing objets, a turkey chair, tonka paintings, etc… It’s like going to Auntie Mame’s house–and they’re just as fabulous!

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The Lunar Society

Last night I had dinner at John’s house, a beautiful turn-of-the-century mansion on Gough Street, and a beautiful silver-haired man. John and I had a brief affair many years ago. His sister is the Catwoman. Every full moon, John hosts a dinner party for 10 men culled from various intellectual, artistic, and political circles for conversation, drink, and good food. I represented the artistic circle. He calls us the Lunar Society, after a similar group in the late 1700’s England which also convened on the night of the full moon, when the roads were lit for night-time travelers. So anyway, this was the 225th dinner. I’ve been going since, I think, 1989? The evening is highly structured, with cocktails at 7:30, dinner at 8. The theme of the evening was politics. Great. My suggestion that we forget about bombing Iraq and invade Israel and turn it into a secular state instead did not go over very well. Kevin McC was there. He’s currently adjudicating over the Barry Bonds 76th homerun baseball battle. Unfortunately, he couldn’t share. Jim H was also there, a lawyer closely associated with the Civic Center rehabilitation, and didn’t he run for something a few years ago? His mom died recently and so he was very excited about coming into a few bucks to do some remodeling around the house. Everyone else seemed very connected politically, even the cute little dudes, one of whom (didn’t have the chance to talk to him, though) seemed to be running for something. John typically starts off the dinner with a toast to the moon, and last night he focused on the feminine aspects of the moon, what a loyal companion she is to the earth, having never strayed from her orbit, and the romantic and secretive activities that happen under the light of the moon. The conversation that followed included discussion about the various ballot initiatives, Iraq, and a lot of trashy queen talk about local politics.

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Mole Poblana and The Miguel Arteta Film Festival

Bob is at the Opera tonight, sans me, for Turandot. We went to see the production a few years ago when I was buddies with the Development Director, who gave us free front-row right corner seats. The far right corner. There was all this hype about the lion that they made for the production–it was even paraded through town for the opening–and sets by David Hockney. Because of our seats, we were able to see only a giant paw and the waving hand of the princess, and the far left corner of the Hockney set.

I am listening to the strangest compilation of sounds, burned onto a CD and presented to me by Mamooshka! last night. He came over to feast on chicken molé poblano with me at Big Chrissy’s, and he also presented us with the strangest but oddly compelling bottle of wine, shaped like what you would imagine a ribbed condom to look like if it were filled with 750ml of wine and made of glass. Chris and I kept rubbing it all night, like Marylee stroking the oilwell on her daddy’s desk at the end of Written on the Wind. So the CD–imagine Nino Rota lost in the Bulgarian Girls’ camp with Serge Gainsbourg and… and.. was that a harpsichord? What am I listening to? Mamooshka!, thank you for making all these sensory experiences possible.

The one thing I regretted was not being able to indulge in Mamoo’s dessert completely, due to an allergy to pecans (note to future hosts and hostesses). As a kid, my parents, who are generally wonderful supportive liberal freethinkers, somehow could not grasp that I was allergic to pecans, or especially walnuts, because the family pastry from the old country had walnuts in it. Dad learned to make it from his mom, and she from hers, and on up the tree… Even now, when they come to visit, and Dad proudly offers me the family pastry, both he and my mom together ask in that same sincerely surprised and disappointed way when I once again gently decline to have a near-death experience to prove to them that I am allergic “You’re allergic to walnuts?”

I’m having a little Miguel Arteta film fest tonight all by my Chrissy. I so admired The Good Girl and Chuck and Buck, particularly Arteta’s balance of parody and sincerity, and artifice and depth, that I’m watching Star Maps, his first film. Okay so maybe one film doesn’t qualify as a film festival. If a film from 1930 is “classic” and Barry Bonds is a “legend,” and you can order Huevos Rancheros “with eggs,” then a “film festival” can be me and my little movie.

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Dinners

Mamooshka, what a grand feast Big Chrissy and I are preparing for you, our honored South Bay guest! …And in honor of your slightly closer proximity to our nearest southern neighbor, we are making a South-of-the-Border fiesta–special for you!

Although lard will not play as primary a role in our fiesta as it typically does—It’s bear vs. twink host here in San Francisco, so this will be more like a New World experience through the tastebuds of a Eurotrash supertaster.

So Reese enjoyed the full Rosh Hashana treatement tonight–lighting candles and the “mick-a-licka high mick-a hiney ho” prayer, chopped liver, chicken soup and kreplach (sp?), roast chicken, potato kugel, and creamed spinach. At one point, he asked me, “Coco, why are you celebrating this occasion with us and not Chris, since he’s not Jewish, like you?”

A lively discussion ensued.

He’s in the tub now, cleaning his Jewish foreskin, which, thanks partially to my input, he has.