The Center of Everything and The Slanted Door

Here's what happens if you're lucky enough to go to one of San Francisco's best restaurants with my friend Julia. The place -- THE place -- The Slanted Door -- is jammed with people and the noise reverberating off the walls makes me feel a little off balance. I hesitate in front of the throng waiting for tables but Julia is undeterred. She slips through the mob and finds us two seats at the bar. The chefs come out of the kitchen to say hello to Julia (she and Andy grow vegetables that can make you pass up cake in favor of fava beans). Justine comes out with her daughter, who is three years old and wholeheartedly focused on moving restaurant furniture. She tries to take off her shirt (her mother convinces her to keep it on) but there is something so appealing about this gorgeous tiny blond girl determinedly moving heavy tables and wanting to take off her clothes so she can really get in there and adjust the room to her liking.

This is the theme of dinner. Strong women, strong girls who still manage to be kind-hearted and funny. Julia reminds me of those lasting friendships you keep after college: she is opinionated and quick to laugh, she is fast moving and determined and sympathetic. I'm thinking about Julia while reading The Center of Everything by Laura Moriarty. It's about high school, having mothers who -- while less than perfect -- are struggling to be good parents. It's about finding your strength.

We had decided no alcohol with dinner but then a flash of inspiration: virgin cocktails made by the tattooed Aussie bartender who kept us laughing and assured me that yes, I should let Danny get out there and ride dirt bikes. The most lemony drink I've ever had alongside a cup of clear chicken broth with tiny squares of winter melon and one perfect shrimp. Sauteed fava bean shoots and a cabbage salad with glazed nuts and a fish sauce dressing that I could have gone on eating for the rest of the evening. Utter contentment, sitting next to Julia who is my partner in complete and wholehearted appreciation for a great meal cooked for us by someone else. Walking back to our cars and just happy all around. That's what you get when you're lucky enough to go to a restaurant with Julia.

copyright 2010 Ann Krueger Spivack

Eye Level Eye and Amber India

Eye Level Eye is a short play by Leah Halper. I'm thinking about it because my constant thought these days is how people overcome injuries. The play has just three characters: a young woman searching a military cemetery for the headstone of the father she never met; her brash and abrasive cousin; and an old vet in a wheelchair who has taken on the job of cemetery caretaker.

"Eye level, EYE level," the vet snaps at the girl when she tries to talk to him. He refuses to listen until she bends down to look at him face to face. I see this same tendency in myself. Unless someone makes the effort to come to my level, I staunchly refuse to listen. I can look absolutely engaged but inside I am as unassailable as a stone.

When I was driving through Morgan Hill last week and saw a group of tea party demonstrators, I wanted to pull over and engage them -- and probably not in the most peaceful manner. Rachey stopped me from getting out of the car. "Please, Mom," she said. "I have to be at work in half an hour."

It's like the three people alone in the cemetery in Leah's play. All of them come there for a good reason and yet the first instinct is to battle -- to throw out little verbal grenades.

Amber India is like a breath of air -- spicy, warm, lamb-scented air. Their butter chicken is the ideal combination of aromatically spicy and buttery smooth. The waiter spoons the chicken and sauce neatly over a small mound of rice, sparked by hits of yellow saffron. I love this: the person who made this rice has combined white rice with just a little saffron-tinted rice so instead of a monochromatic rice, you have rice confetti.

I wonder if just one tea party representative and I sat down over rice and butter chicken -- with a lovely mango mint cooler on the side -- if we could debate calmly and see each other's views eye to eye.