Blackberrys, the presidential race and Dungeness crab…

This is an illustrated tale of how my donation to my favorite presidential candidate was diverted to seafood bliss.

A month ago, on Tuesday, Feb. 5, I thought the only important thing going on in the world was Super Tuesday and the race for delegates in the Democratic and Republican presidential primaries. (more…)

Hunting for food

I’m a night owl in a state full of morning people. I face that reality every time I go out to eat. Nearly all the restaurants in my bedroom community close at 9 or 10. Anything later and the only options are the big chains. This past Saturday, we were ready for dinner at 10:30 p.m., so we settle for P.F. Chang’s, which closes at midnight. When we walk in, the large dining room is empty, except for two couples, and they are already wrapping up with doggie bags on their tables. We sit down and Miiko says, “We’re living Manhattan hours in Arizona.” So true. The night before we strolled into The Cheesecake Factory at 11:10 p.m.

I used to complain about the lack of restaurant options after 10 p.m. in Arizona. But it’s partly because we’ve romanticized the Bay Area. We’ve spent a considerable amount of time back home the last few months, and realized – or reacquainted ourselves with the fact – that many Bay Area restaurants close up shop early, too. Upon further reflection, there’s perks to late-night dining in Arizona. We’re always one of the few customers. We get excellent service and the food arrives fast.

24 Hour Johnny

Remember that wonderful dot-com called Kozmo? Bike messengers delivered everything from music CDs to Starbucks coffee to your door within an hour? I never used the service, but what a terrific idea for the ultra-busy person or the ultimate couch potato.

I want something in my neighborhood that’s on a smaller scale. Earlier tonight at 11:30 p.m., I was craving a piece of banana cream pie, but I was in my jammies and much too lazy to schlep to my neighborhood diner half a mile away. In times like these, I often wish I could call some kid named Johnny down the block who can come to my rescue. And I’d gladly pay a $5 to $10 delivery fee.

So there you have it: A free idea for an enterprising teen who wants to make some good money on a part-time basis. Your company name can be “24 Hour Johnny,” with the tagline, “Every Neighborhood Needs a Johnny.” (If you’re female, you can be “24 Hour Janie.”) Think of the opportunities! Our neighborhood is full of young parents. They sometimes run out of milk. They might need their lawn mowed. They might even want a piece of pie after midnight!

In the time it took me to write this, the diner has closed. I could have gone there and back and consumed my piece of pie. Instead, I munched on BBQ potato chips, and it didn’t hit the spot.

Where’s 24 Hour Johnny when you need him?

Finding the perfect bowl of wonton noodles

I push through the restaurant door seeking noodle nirvana, but what I get is so much more. It is late afternoon – too late for the lunch crowd and too early for the dinner crowd – so the restaurant is empty, except for the three faces at a table looking up at me. As I stroll toward the counter, a woman, probably in her 50s, maybe early 60s, jumps out of her seat to join me, leaving her laptop computer, Chinese language newspapers and two male cohorts behind.

I pick up a menu, but the woman bats it away. “I’ve got a Chinese menu for you,” she says. I tell her I can’t read Chinese, but she says it’s got English, too. So I scan the menu and see what I’ve been lusting after: wonton noodle soup. Cool. Since moving to Arizona nearly five years ago, I’ve been seeking a Chinese restaurant with good noodles. But every time I’ve ordered it, I’ve been disappointed. The broth is either bland, or the noodles lacked the right flavor. Back home, the best Chinese restaurants are grungy hole-in-the-walls, and this one has the look and feel. “I’m from San Francisco,” I tell the woman. “And I miss eating good wonton mein.” She replies: “If you’re from San Francisco, you’ll love our food.”

She’s spunky, full of energy. I like her. And I want to believe her. So I order two bowls of wonton noodle soup, and one order of crispy chow mein and some jook for good measure. “Are you going to be able to eat all this?” Yup, I say. Do you want that crispy bread to go with the jook? Yes. Do you want this order to go? Yes. One of the men, wearing an apron, hurries into the kitchen to prepare my meals. After paying, I turn to join Miiko, who is parked at a corner table, when the woman says, “You should eat the wonton noodle soup here.” It wasn’t a question. It was practically a demand. A bit bizarre. I look at Miiko. She looks at me. Moment of truth… and I say OK. (more…)