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When Lucca Cocina opened in the neighborhood, I thought "Yea! A decent, authenic Italian restaurant, affordable, & with the best chicken picata (they don't spare the marsala) I've ever eaten. Subsequent visits also good. But yesterday, a friend and I stopped by for lunch. We were jonesing for a paninni. My first experience with this, a while back, was that they are served ungrilled, between two slices of ciabatta each about as thick as the continental shelf. Well, OK, so yesterday I asked the rather truculent owner/chef if we could have them grilled. Came the angry response, "No! We don't have a grill," delivered in such a way that seemed to imply that it was an inane question. Followed bad service, monosyllabic & sullen responses to simple questions & desultory service. Like its neighbor, Cafe 123, it seemed good at first. And WTF's with the German place down the block? Did they miscalculate on the neighborhood or something? Are they on the same planet as we?
And! Zazou's gone, taken over by a clueless Mexican guy, and there are no more cool Berbers & Algerians having passionate arguments with Zazou. The thrill is gone. Up (down?) the street, though, there is still Cafe Quince, which never disappoints, although I might venture a suggestion to Shareen that the occasional new item on the menu might be welcome. I know that whatever it might be would be good.
Fleeing from the mean Roman's place after our no paninni encounter, my friend bumped into Ramon, who together with his, partner Aida, own and operate the beauty parlor next door. Aida is also a masseuse, and you can pop in for a quick neck massage. More importantly, she claims her moles must be experienced to be believed, & I'm anxious to become a believer. She seemed skeptical when I told her that the moles at La Mission, the new Mex place across the street from the old Berkeley Adult School, are superb, but I recommend checking them out. Certain to satisfy most of my fellow gringos. Also, good baja style fish tacos, surpassing those of Loca Vida.
Late last night (well, "late" in relation to what time cafes shutter up here in Berkeley, a justifiable lamentation, for sure), I walked down to Trieste for a chocolate fix. Didn't want any late night caffein, & discovered they have a really nice decaf Earl Grey. "Nice decaf" may sound as if it's an oxymoron, but try it. Green tea "chai," though. Christ on a crutch, only in Berkeley or Marin County would you encounter f***ing green tea chai. And what's with calling any hot infusion, such as chamomile, "tea"? Doesn't tea come from a tea tree, from which actual tea leaves are harvested and fermented (or not, as in the case of green tea "chai"). Maybe I could suggest they get some good puer, the best compromise between fermentation and un- that I've ever encountered. Much to the disdain of Chinese friends, though, I like it sweetened. A chaqun son gout, not to be confused with the old bromide "I don't know ____, but I know what I like." Really, though, if you don't like very strong, sweetened puer, my taste is ever so much more discerning than yours.
I found a new (old) book by Tom Drury, The End of Vandalism, which fact has nothing at all to do with life in W. Berkeley, since we in fact have a bit of vandalism in our 'hood. Actually I'm half way through his book, and I still haven't discovered the relevancy of the title. I don't think you'll like this book unless you grew up in a village or in a rural area. But the novel that got me hooked on Drury is The Driftless Area. I think it was good enough to have been short-listed for the Booker.
Try the lamb burgers across the street from the surly Italian.
I leave you with these bon mots conveyed to me by my French Lit prof at UMD: "Fail. Fail again. Fail better." ("S. Beckett," with whom she used to visit and spend time each summer. Madame A., had I only known a little something about women at the time!).
And that's my story for today and I'm sticking with it no matter what they say about me.
And! Zazou's gone, taken over by a clueless Mexican guy, and there are no more cool Berbers & Algerians having passionate arguments with Zazou. The thrill is gone. Up (down?) the street, though, there is still Cafe Quince, which never disappoints, although I might venture a suggestion to Shareen that the occasional new item on the menu might be welcome. I know that whatever it might be would be good.
Fleeing from the mean Roman's place after our no paninni encounter, my friend bumped into Ramon, who together with his, partner Aida, own and operate the beauty parlor next door. Aida is also a masseuse, and you can pop in for a quick neck massage. More importantly, she claims her moles must be experienced to be believed, & I'm anxious to become a believer. She seemed skeptical when I told her that the moles at La Mission, the new Mex place across the street from the old Berkeley Adult School, are superb, but I recommend checking them out. Certain to satisfy most of my fellow gringos. Also, good baja style fish tacos, surpassing those of Loca Vida.
Late last night (well, "late" in relation to what time cafes shutter up here in Berkeley, a justifiable lamentation, for sure), I walked down to Trieste for a chocolate fix. Didn't want any late night caffein, & discovered they have a really nice decaf Earl Grey. "Nice decaf" may sound as if it's an oxymoron, but try it. Green tea "chai," though. Christ on a crutch, only in Berkeley or Marin County would you encounter f***ing green tea chai. And what's with calling any hot infusion, such as chamomile, "tea"? Doesn't tea come from a tea tree, from which actual tea leaves are harvested and fermented (or not, as in the case of green tea "chai"). Maybe I could suggest they get some good puer, the best compromise between fermentation and un- that I've ever encountered. Much to the disdain of Chinese friends, though, I like it sweetened. A chaqun son gout, not to be confused with the old bromide "I don't know ____, but I know what I like." Really, though, if you don't like very strong, sweetened puer, my taste is ever so much more discerning than yours.
I found a new (old) book by Tom Drury, The End of Vandalism, which fact has nothing at all to do with life in W. Berkeley, since we in fact have a bit of vandalism in our 'hood. Actually I'm half way through his book, and I still haven't discovered the relevancy of the title. I don't think you'll like this book unless you grew up in a village or in a rural area. But the novel that got me hooked on Drury is The Driftless Area. I think it was good enough to have been short-listed for the Booker.
Try the lamb burgers across the street from the surly Italian.
I leave you with these bon mots conveyed to me by my French Lit prof at UMD: "Fail. Fail again. Fail better." ("S. Beckett," with whom she used to visit and spend time each summer. Madame A., had I only known a little something about women at the time!).
And that's my story for today and I'm sticking with it no matter what they say about me.
