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Pantheon of Food
Thursday, July 17 2003
This afternoon Gretchen and I went swimming at a pool belonging to one of our mutual clients. The guy, who happens to be a semi-famous writer-adventurer and somewhat wealthier than us, is in France right now (probably meeting with Saddam bin Laden), but he sent directions for how to open the pool, so it wasn't as if we were sneaking around like summertime punks.
It was a private pool shielded from other property by buildings, so we could swim naked. Sally raced around the pool a few times, barking at Gretchen whenever she submerged. Sally didn't have any interest in the water; she wanted to be LassyTM and go for help, fearing Gretchen was possibly in the early stages of drowning. Meanwhile, I was only waist-deep in the water. It was 85 degrees, but I was reluctant nonetheless. I don't particularly like to get my head wet, since that's usually followed by water venturing up my nose. The only thing that consistently drove me completely under water was the presence of a number of large biting flies, including at least one Horse Fly.
Later we drove to nearby Rosendale to have some open-faced tempeh reubens at the Rosendale Café. In the Pantheon of Food, the tempeh reuben has become Zeus, Jupiter, Howard Dean, and Linus Torvalds all wrapped in one. To accommodate Sally, we sat in the back courtyard area, a shady semi-mowed lawn adjacent to a tiny vegetable garden, a wooded lot, and many weedy tussocks. Occasionally as we ate we caught funky whiffs from the rubber mats slung over the back porch of the kitchen. The beverage we were drinking was really crappy white wine, almost certainly from a box. Imagine the profit when you break a space bag up into $5 glasses! If their tempeh reubens weren't so fucking good, I'd call the FBI and tell them a French vegan Al Qaeda sleeper cell was operating out of that place.
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