The boys and me. A balmy Friday night straight to the 'real' wharf (along the Embarcadero) from work.
Oysters. Vinegar. Cilantro. Fresh, briny juciness. Prongs scooping out the last bits from the shell. Coupled with a subtle white. Watching ships and ferries dock in the Bay.
A few blocks away. Down a velvet carpeted staircase to the basement of a swank 1930's Asian supper club. Blue back lighting. Festive cocktails. Wasabi vodka. Ginger mojitos. Steaming pork buns. Smoky pineapple ribs. Licking glaze off our fingers. Clinking glasses. Live jazz with a smoking B3 Hammond and skilled drums. The glow of red meshed with the blur of drink... the magic of musical notes pulsing throughout.
A perfect Friday night.
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2 comments:
A note on lists: throw in the odd item. Oysters, vinegar, cigarette smoke. Or lions, tigers, and Anglo Saxons. Or eggs, bacon, and bubble bath.
And I hope there was no headache in the morning!
ginny, it was so good to hear from you!! I have been wanting to connect with you guys. i feel so bad it's taken so long! my email is jasoncopling@earthlink.net
please write so I can get your email! i would love to hear about your housechurch!!
jason
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