simply perfect

I’d heard mixed reviews about Bakesale Betty’s signature fried chicken sandwich. Someone told me it wasn’t worth standing in a line that wrapped around Telegraph Avenue; others chided me for not having tried it yet. I must admit that after living in Oakland for nearly four years, I was slightly embarrassed at not having made the effort to try the sandwich.

The key to avoiding the massive lunchtime line is not arriving for the noon rush. There was still a cue when I arrived, but it moved quickly as the attentive staff seemed to almost guess what I needed. Fried chicken sandwich: Check. Add to that a freshly made pecan shortbread cookie and lemonade slushy. Seven bucks and change; I was good to go.

Heeding the warning of a colleague who made the mistake of taking his sandwich back to the office, I decided to stay put to enjoy the meal at its freshest. The restaurant doesn’t have any indoor seating. Heading outdoors to the colorful wooden ironing boards that line Telegraph Avenue sidewalk, it suddenly dawned on me that this was a perfect fall afternoon in Oakland. The sunlight was intensely bright in my eyes, but nothing could distract me from this sandwich. Even the street performer playing Neil Diamond’s greatest hits on his guitar could not distract me from enjoying this simple pleasure.

Some of the best foods are the simple ones that provide three component ingredients: sustenance, flavor and comfort. This seemingly simplistic sandwich, reminiscent of the New Orleans Po’ Boy because of the French roll it’s served in, is possibly one of the best chicken sandwiches I had ever devoured. (Yes, devoured. As in “Finger Lickin’ Good”.) Its “Southern” charm is definitely evident in the crispy and tender chicken. The subtlety of the spice hits you only when combined with the tangy cold slaw. Forget the poultry, the slaw is the main attraction. Crisp and full of flavor, it hits all the right notes with the help of cilantro, vinegar and pickled red onions – because everything tastes better with pickled red onions.

The only thing that could possibly distract me from enjoying my sandwich was a brain freeze from the lemonade slushy. Note to self: Enjoy with a PBR next time. The sandwich is huge, so I suggest bringing a friend to share it with if you’re going for lunch. I made the mistake of eating the entire thing myself. This sandwich is not something you want to eat a few hours later either. This meal was simply the best thing for this perfect fall day in Oakland.

i am in good hands

There are some things you can control in life like ending toxic relationships, avoiding eating seconds, and doing something completely unethical to elevate your status.

Then there are those things you cannot control in life like ants invading your desk, the vending machine going crazy and being rear-ended on a Friday morning on your way to work.

Great. I just wrote copy for an auto insurance advertisement. That's what I get for having thought those commercials were cheesy. But I have to say that I'm seriously glad it's law to have insurance , especially when you're at a stop light and someone hits you from behind at 40 miles per hour because they lost control of their breaks.

The first thing I screamed in my car as I sat up from my fully reclined driver's seat was, "Omigod! Omigod! I've been hit. I hope they pull over to the side." I've had issues with people hitting me and running. (The old bitch in Burlingame with the red Cadillac, you know who you are!) Not to be ageist, but I flinch every time I see someone with gray hair behind the wheel. My grandmother is eighty-four and still driving. She probably shouldn't drive, but I understand the independence thing. The difference is that she doesn't drive around areas she doesn't know.

I also remember watching this thing on Dateline a while back about how people involved in collisions where the seats reclined were more likely to be paralyzed because of the strain on the neck and vertibrae. I was in shock, but was able to drive my car to the side of the road and get out of my car mumbling and freaking out because I couldn't find my left flip flop.

It seems the only parties that suffered any major injuries in this accident were our cars. Mine got the brunt of the damage losing part of the bumper in the middle of the road and the other part was kicked off by the CHP at the scene.

But not being hurt doesn't mean that I'm not traumatized or that I didn't have that life-can-be-gone-in-a-blink-of-an-eye moment. But it does make you realize how short life is. I don't believe in coincidences, but I do believe that things happen for a reason. Maybe this was a wake up call. And just like escaping the pink slip these days, there's something surreal about coming close to ending up on the other side and escaping it. The whole thing just makes you want to start living life to the fullest - whatever that might mean. I'm sure I have a purpose in life and I'll figure it out some day. In the mean time, I'm just going to take deep breaths, cut out the bad and let in the good. Kudos to my guardian angel.

For someone who functions on crisis mode this was not my idea of a rush. I'm not a fan of waiting in an ER room next to someone getting a catheter inserted who knows where. Too much reality for one morning.

Now I have to sit tight and see what happens to my Honda. I was able to drive it to work and the body shop two blocks away from my office. All my coworkers were in agreement that it was totalled. You know it's bad when it sounds like your car is going to fall apart if it goes faster than 35 miles per hour and the seat doesn't want to go up all the way.

None of this surprises me, I guess. There was a full moon out this week and I did find a cracked mirror in my purse. Not being superstitious I tossed it in the garbage can. But now I know why my desk was the only one invaded by ants, and it would also explain why the vending machine went mad. Maybe the insurance companies should mention those variables when helping people choose their policies.

learning to live within our means

They were playing that "Money, Money, Money . . . Money!" song at Semifreddi's this morning. As I stood in line for my latte and almond croissant one of the girls that worked there told her coworker: "Like the song says, money do change people."

Not having any myself, I would not know this from personal experience. But I'll take her word for it. I wonder if rich people even know the meaning of "living within their means"? It's a sentiment that has been echoing this nation, and especially throughout my office today as we laid off three more employees.

Our company, like many other small businesses won't get the benefit of the $7 billion bailout. But then again, it seems like the wealthy always get the perks. (Just like those bitches that get free designer dresses to walk down the red carpet with! You know who you are . . . Paris Hilton!)

I digress, the real issue here is not fucking "Joe the Plumber" who's real name is not Joe and who indeed is not even a real plumber. (He's actually an IRS delinquent who owes $1200 in back taxes.)

The economy sucks ass indeed. Thanks, Dubbya! It's great to see a president leave such an enduring legacy.

land time forgot . . .

I really wish someone had warned me about Eugene, Oregon before I made the Amtrak reservations. I wish they had told me how it’s a tiny little middle of the road town with no real attractions or sights.

Had I been warned, I might not have requested a stop in the Godforsaken two-horse town. I would have stayed on the train to Sacramento.

But c’est la vie. And I’m not all-together that upset about it now. I’ve had a few hours to mope around the town, kill time at a Japanese sushi bar that only served imitation crab meats in its rolls, and loiter in the Hilton ordering another Pepsi – my greatest vice these days.

Not nearly as impressive as Seattle or Portland, but decent nonetheless. At first impression, it’s the sort of town that seems a little bit country and a little bit rock and roll all in one. It reminded me of home, which is not necessarily something I want to be reminded of.

We stayed in The Hilton, which looked like it might have been the fanciest hotel in town. I’m not complaining –it was only two blocks from the train station.

Having arrived on a Sunday there was not much open and the city was not particularly erupting with a vivacious nightlife –or any signs of life, for that matter.

I settled into what I imagine to be our four-star hotel (by their standards, I’m sure) and after looking over a map of the city decided to check out the various amenities.

There was a pool. Sweet. The whirlpool was not hot and it was outside in the crisp night air. Suck.

The saline pool made be so buoyant that I couldn’t really enjoy a good swim. Needless to say, I was incredibly thirsty after my float through the Dead Sea.

Pizza and a movie were the order for the evening. The hotel room service actually delivers a fresh, non-Di Giorno pie. So, after getting our one-topping pizza, and realizing that there was nothing better on TV than the Hilton Channel (It’s exactly what you think it is – a channel devoted to the life and times of Conrad Hilton, Paris’s great-grand-daddy) we ordered Mama Mia! OnDemand.

We were forced to evacuate, er, check-out of the hotel room by noon. So, after a quick breakfast at the hotel coffee shop, which included Tillamook cheddar cheese on every menu item.

Note to chef: just because we’re in Tillamook territory does not mean you have to oversaturate the menu with cheddar cheese. It does not pair well with Dungeness Crab – a’ight? Next time try a Jack cheese. (I will not apologize for my Californian culinary sensibilities and stoicism.)

Then it was off to explore the area. Bleh. I felt like I was back in Millbrae. Even El Sobrante has more charm. They do have emission-free busses though. That’s a plus.

Since we had like ten hours to kill until the train to Sacramento arrived in town, we moseyed on over to the waterfront park, since my mother seems to be obsessed with the Willamette River. (Pronounced: Wil-la-mette. I had been misprounouncing it this whole time.) Whatever. I have to admit it’s a really peaceful place.

Once you cross the pedestrian bridge to the park, you see a mini waterfall coming from a little lagoon toward the river. In the distance there were a bunch of geese squawking. The river itself took on a life of its own. With its gurgling mini-rapids and crystal clear water, I suddenly felt at peace. By the side of the river grew wild blackberry bushes – a sight you see all along the Pacific Northwest into California. I picked a few ripe ones as a quick snack before heading back into town.

There was more life in the park than there was all over the city thanks to Columbus Day. (Seriously, who celebrates this holiday anymore?) But just like I’ve experienced in my few days in Oregon, people are friendly, helpful and down to earth. Coming from urban-California, I find it extremely refreshing to have a complete stranger greet you with a simple “hello” and a “are you looking for something?” when they see you staring blankly at a map of their two block city.

Hmm . . . I wonder if it’s the ban on sales tax that makes them so peppy. And lucky for them, I like bridges.

spendy nice

Portland is a nice city. People are nice. The food is nice. The architecture is nice. And the weather is nice. Well, okay, the weather is a bit nippy. And the prices are a bit spendy, as Oregonians would say.

Oregon as a whole is a nice state - and not just because they don't bother with sales tax. Portland seems to be quite the environmentally friendly place with distinct neighborhoods and great public transit. I'm a big fan of the streetcar that takes you to the Pearl District and the light rail that takes you to the 'burbs. But needless to say, I've become fond of the Pearl District. It's like Emeryville without the ghetto thugs hanging outside the Public Market and it also has a slight hint of Buenos Aires. It also has a cafe on every corner in the retail spaces below the condos. Emeryville has attempted this, but it just looks like an amusement park. This is organic, cohesive and sincere.

It's quiet, cool and collected. Portland seems to be one of those cities that has its shit together. (And more breweries per square mile.) As well as luxury condos that lease at $995. I'm tempted to move here now, especially now that the new trend in the Pacific Northwest is to turn condos into apartments.

It's also one of those unassuming cosmopolitan cities with a flare for the unpretentious. People still dress in jeans, beanies, sneakers and windbreakers. It has been so chilly here; however, that I had to make a pit stop at the Nordstrom's Rack where I found a decent Miss Sixty hounds tooth coat that fit me perfectly for less than $200. Scarves and gloves are also apropo in this city as you watch the elm trees lose their leaves front of Portland State University.

The food is also quite nice. The first evening, after unpacking at the chi-chi Modera boutique hotel, we hitched the #12 bus into the center of the city for dinner at the Portland City Grill on the 30th floor of a really tall downtown building. The view is amazing. As was the food. Not surprising since it's the same company that owns Berkeley's Skates on the Bay and a few other mid-enders in the Bay Area. I especially like the fact that I could enjoy California Roll as an appetizer before my seared Ahi tuna arrived - both perfectly paired with a Columbia River Riesling. (My mother predictably had the Napa Valley wine.)

Yesterday in the Pearl, we stopped at Caffe Delizia, a gelateria with elaborate pastries and desserts. The inside of the cafe looks like a piazza in Tuscany, with a faux olive tree to make its point. I have obviously tasted better desserts in the Napa Valley, of course. However, I was pleasantly surprised with this offering and ate it graciously. It was also quite full of heavy coat clad strollers ordering the fancy gelato offerings.

And, yes, people do stroll around here. They head into town with their families and friends for coffee, dinner or a brew no matter the hour or the weather. It's refreshing to be in a city where people actually walk down the wide side-walked avenues and where you're not smelling or hearing traffic jams and horns honking.

the siren got larangitis

Exactly how many coffee shops are there in Seattle? I don't know exactly. There's one on every corner though. And considering there are about 600 Starbucks Coffee shops within the metropolitan area, that adds up a to a fairly nervous city. You would think.

But being the sappy corporate consumer that I am, I had to make a pit stop at the original Starbucks at Pike Place Market. And having devoted six years of my life to the company, I felt a bit verclempt when I realized that they still pull their espresso and say "thank you" after handing you your coffee. I would have like to have seen them call out my drink "double-tall nonfat extra-hot latte". But no such luck. Instead the register person throws the cup at the barista. I miss the good-old days.

I still got teary-eyed though. It must have been a great place to work at back in the early Schultz days before they over expanded to middle-America. I still got my mug. I collect Starbucks Coffee mugs from around the world. It's something I started doing when I worked for the company and grew out of collecting stuffed animals.

The rest of Pike Place Market is wonderful. It's a feast for the senses. So many sights, smells, sounds . . . you get the picture. I saw the biggest Alaskan King Crab legs I've ever seen and wished I had a kitchen to cook them in. Instead, I settled for Pike Place Chowder on the other side of the market, hidden behind some brick buildings and a couple of stoned street musicians playing Journey on an accordian a' la Weird Al. There was a line around the corner. Always a good sign.

The chowder in a sourdough bread bowl hit the spot. Creamy, cheesy and chunky with a fair share of Russet potatoes. Perfect for a cold and windy afternoon. Wish I could say the same for the bread. What can I say, I'm from San Francisco. Nothing compares to the sourdough from the City by the Bay.

After a quick stroll through the flagship Nordstrom's store in downtown, I headed back to the hotel. Just in time before the northern wind and rain started. First it hit Lake Union and then moved its way into town. A beautiful sight to see.

I took it as a sign to enjoy the Westin Hotel's swimming pool and jacuzzi one last time. And of course since it was raining - well, it was Law and Order marathons and room service to the rescue.

caffeine overload

So, exactly how many coffee shops does Seattle have? A lot. I don't have an exact number of total coffee shops including independent and mom and pop shops, but I do know there are at least 600 Starbucks Coffee shops in Seattle. (And that's not counting Seattle's Best also owned by Starbucks.) Being a former SBUX employee, I just had to get my ass down to the original store down at Pike's Place Market. And being the complete sap that I am was somewhat moved by the whole experience.