violist
May 7, 07, 8:25 pm
I was happy to leave my weather-induced hermitage.
UA 171 BOS SFO 0625 1000 752 2A
The gate agent at C19 announced boarding for "flight 161 to
Los Angeles," but we all got on the plane anyway.
F was chockablock; I understand from the chatter up front
that Y was not.
They offered the fruit plate or a "wild mushroom and Gouda
frittata" - I chose the latter. The fruit appetizer had the
best strawberry I think I've ever had off a farm and slices
of the most forlorn kiwi in the world; pineapple and grapes
were pretty decent, with the exception of one notably sour
grape. I took this as an apt metaphor for the various levels
of service that I have received on this rather inconsistent
airline. I expected a few slices of shiitake to satisfy the
wild mushroom requirement: what I got was one large dried
reconstituted cepe and various fragments of other ones - a
pleasant surprise; and the egg substance was salty but not
unpalatable. The now-common sweet and regular potato hash
came on the side, and they were as uneven as the fruit -
some of the bits raw and crunchy, others fluffy and melt-in-
the-mouth. Two pork breakfast links, surprisingly not
hideously fatty. A croissant was breadier than normal but
not unpleasant.
There was no Courvoisier on this flight, so I satisfied my
booze tooth with red wine, which was acrid and horrible, and
I had only two glasses. No ... correct that ... while I was
asleep they filled my glass, and when I awoke shortly before
landing, I drained it.
I sent a citation on behalf of the two FAs who worked the
front cabin, as for all the time I was awake, they were
attentive and cheerful.
The pigette in 1B kept her sneakered feet up on the bulkhead
for much of the flight. Not only was this unsightly, it was
unsmellly as well.
We did an approach that I don't recall - over Napa, then out
to sea and down, west of the Golden Gate at about 12000, to
San Jose and then northward up the Bay in the normal way. We
landed about 15 early.
UA 480 OAK DEN 0740 1114 733 2A
An okay flight. Breakfast was offered - the fruit and cheese
plate that you know from the redeye, but with the addition
of bread and yogurt. I didn't take it, preferring to stare
out the window at the wonderful topography until I fell
asleep. We landed a hair early, and I had an hour and half
to eat Sun Chips at the club and do a little work.
UA1158 DEN IAD 1245 1754 777 9J
I was hoping for 2A on this one, too, but didn't get it for
obvious reasons. Sat around on the phone at the club for too
long, and I showed up after the red carpet line had been
closed. I opened up the rope, and the agent actually paused
boarding and made an announcement to round up stray first
and business and 1K passengers.
Found someone in my seat - turns out he had 8J and was most
gracious about going back where he belonged. My seatmate
scowled.
Predeparture drinks, warm nuts, hot towels. I was asked
first in the little cabin, my glum seatmate next. I said I
didn't care whether I had the hot roast beef sandwich or the
Thai chicken salad.
When the meal came, it was reason for my seatmate to become
even more glum - the sandwich was a puny pathetic thing, the
roast beef being two thin tough-looking slices of mystery
meat. My salad was better than acceptable - a generous half
brined breast, coated with currylike spices, firm but juicy.
Reasonably fresh greens; copious fresh cashews and less than
fresh chow mein noodles; tomato slices, cucumber cubes; the
famous Conway Asian sesame dressing. On the side: an odd
multilayer chocolate construction: flourless chocolate cake
goo on the bottom, chocolate cream in the middle, chocolate
streusel on top: neither bad nor good.
The flight came in a bit early, and I SuperShuttled to my
father's house, arriving in time for supper.
A couple amusing if not amazing meals with my father.
Normandie Farms with him and my brother.
I know that this place has gotten a pretty bad rap of late,
along with other haunts like the Old Angler Inn, but it is
one of the few remaining places where I used to go with the
old man when I was a kid forty to fifty years ago (someday
I'll take him to the Olney Inn and the place at Comus as
well). The food is actually much better than the recent
reputation, though not so good as the antique reputation.
It's now run by Indian people, which is not an altogether
bad thing.
We're treated deferentially here (age has its rewards, and
the old man is 89, and I'm 55), and they keep the fireplace
cranked up well past the season (my father is always cold),
and, as I said, the food is okay. Oh, it's an OpenTable
restaurant, so I get essentially a buck off each time we go.
My father ordered oysters Rockefeller followed by soft-
shelled crabs. The starter was pretty good (I had a taste),
and the main course was odd but very generous - the crabs
were smothered in a peculiar topping of pine nuts, minced
tomato, bacon, and parsley: not bad tasting, but not doing
the crabs much good, either. As he's ancient and weighs
just 100 lb, he got kind of full and gave me half a crab,
which I ate senza bacon and pine nuts and junk like that. It
was fresh but cooked at too low a temperature, so the shell
part was a little chewy.
I'd warned J. that we were going out to lunch the next day,
so he forwent the appetizer and just had rainbow trout
topped with some crab concoction. I can't report on how this
was, as although he will accept tastes offered by others, he
generally will not without prompting offer tastes of his own
food.
I had oysters on the half shell (though no sweetie to
practice on) followed by shad roe. The oysters were wretched
- I'm not sure why, but they had been rinsed and tasted like
slimy blobs of nothing. The shad roe made up for that - I
got an enormous pair that must have come from a 10-lb fish.
The roe was topped with bacon, which was fine, and anchovy
butter, which was one of the stupidest combinations I've
encountered in recent years. I scraped off most of it. I'd
asked for the shad roe medium rare, and it came as ordered.
The (Indian) waiter checked to make sure, good for him.
J. had some kind of dessert that I can't report on; my
father and I split a dish of pistachio gelato that was
pretty nice.
As my father seldom drinks and my brother is the permanent
designated driver, I just had two glasses of Mark West
Chardonnay, which is well but not over oaked, good berry
flavors, good long lemon-blackberry finish. I like Mark
West wines for the price.
Surprisingly, my father, mellowed with age, pulled out
his AmEx card and paid for dinner.
Next day, Trapeze with him and my brother and my sweetie.
The deal is that J., who loves to drive, takes me to a
suitable meeting point, where we meet Carol, have a meal
together, and I go home. The Olney/Burtonsville/Fulton
area is sort of halfway, and there are two fairly nice
restaurants that we go to to do the handoff. One is the
oZ Chophouse, the other is Trapeze across the road, which
looks pretty similar and which I guess is related somehow.
The former is a meat place, the latter a fish place. We
didn't go to oZ this day, as it serves brunch on Sunday,
and we didn't feel like brunch.
Here too the staff are deferential (I care not for myself,
but it is good that they are not impatient to the ancient).
My father had cream of crab soup (he said it was decent)
followed by the fried oyster plate, listed under appetizers.
This was four very big oysters, fried nicely, served over a
bed of dry fried leek slivers. Excellent. J. had fish and
chips, nice tilapia, a big serving, in a puffy batter;
somewhat seasoned chips; coleslaw, which he substituted the
veg of the day, steamed asparagus. Carol, who likes fish,
went against the tide and had a French dip - a biggish
roast beef sandwich topped with American Swiss and sided by
a cup of "jus" that wasn't oversalty or from a package: also
good. I ordered the crabcake sandwich senza bread - this
was a tiny cake of decent meat bound with a discreet amount
of filler and seasoned with an insane mishmash of celery
seed, nutmeg, and lots of white pepper; for me the side was
housemade potato chips. An okay meal and one that left room
for dessert. Father got the chocolate mousse in a tube -
decent dark mousse and okay white mousse, served in a tube
the size of a cannolo shell made of decent chocolate. Carol
and I split the creme brulee - decent but sided with a nice
melange of fresh berries. Carol told the waiter that I liked
blue food, so he brought a side of blue sauce (supposedly
lychee, but it tasted like raspberry Jell-O). J., being the
contrarian always (maybe he learned this from me), had a
second serving of fish and chips for dessert; he reported
that this incarnation had a doughier crust.
Amazingly, my father, mellowed with age, pulled out his AmEx
card and paid for dinner yet again.
=
Carol and I were scouting out for places to eat for our
annual picnic for one of the food groups we're part of. The
moderators took Kaufmann's, and we were going to Bottom of
the Bay down in Laurel, but serendipity took us to Scooter's
up in Elkridge, another place on the to-check-out list. It's
kind of divey, next to a cheap motel just north of 175 on
US 1. A little smoky when we went in, but there were some
appetizing smells coming out of the kitchen.
We started off with a good though extremely thick cream of
crab soup and nice sweet bread (sort of halfway between
challah and Chinese bread).
They didn't have steamed crabs on the menu (promised that
they'd be out "tomorrow"), but it was steamed shrimp night,
so I tried those out. The advertised pound of large shrimp
turned out to be over thirty 20-counters, so about 1 1/3
lb. Most were fresh and firm, nicely cooked, but covered with
an amazing amount of flake salt, red pepper, and celery seed.
Without the salt, these would have been perfect.
We then split a fried seafood platter, which was enormous
and nicely dry-fried. The advertised 5 oz flounder fillet
was twice that size and quite good. Three scallops were
acceptable - tasted like Mrs. Paul's back in the good old
days when Mrs. Paul's actually tasted like something - and
two oysters impeccable and gigantic. Two butterflied 2/3-oz
shrimp. The downside was one pathetic little crabcake that
was supposed to be 3 oz but was really closer to a 1 oz
crab ball - even so, it was made with good sweet backfin
and special meat and a relatively small amount of filler.
This is an Anheuser-Busch house, and we had a pitcher of
Spring Heat, which is a knockoff of Blue Moon: it was nicely
citrused and has the added advantage of not tasting as
though it had urine in it. I found it low in alcohol, but a
quick web search divulged that it claims 5.2%.
An entertaining sidelight: when we went out to the car
afterwards, Carol did this "oh my God, they're so cute"
thing, pointing at something in the dusk. I squinted and
eventually made out three miniature goats, two near the car
and one playing king of the hill, perched on top of the
restaurant's air conditioner. Carol is a sucker for cute.
==
UA 107 BWI ORD 1253 1359 735 2A
became 1350 1438
We took off and landed nearly an hour late. This of course
would have put my connection in doubt, but there wasn't
much to be done, so I had multiple glasses of the Tamas
Chardonnay (Central Coast) followed by some Courvoisier.
The meal choices were a chicken fajita wrap or a garlic
shrimp salad. I had the former - fairly palatable, quite
spicy, a generous amount of chicken, cheese, slivers of
Jalapenos and bell peppers, corn, tomato salsa. For afters
a thinner version of the multi-chocolate thing. Oh, yes,
hot nuts (really hot, I burned my hand) beforehand. The
lone FA in the cabin, Janiel, was excellent, and she got
a GTEM (after which I received a napkin note of thanks).
I had pegged her wrong as one of those young squealy types
who don't get much done (she had engaged a passenger in
conversation, complimenting her on her glasses ["are they
Designer?"] during boarding, clogging the aisle for a
minute; plus she had jumped and shouted "oh my God" twice
before we took off - once when somebody dropped a suitcase
or something and the other time when she found one of the
cockpit crew in the galley area: I think he was waiting
for the restroom). Anyway, once we got going, she was
constantly attentive, efficient, and good.
Contretemps. The butt in 1B suddenly and rapidly reclined
his seat into the tray of 2B, so vodka screwdriver cascaded
all over my seatmate and beyond. Naughty. Seatmate was
fairly cool about this, as was the FA.
Several of us (1C, 2A, and 2C, and who knows how many
behind) were trying for the same connecting flight. We
hustled to the gate only to find that the flight was
delayed half an hour.
UA 149 ORD SFO 1456 1720 777 2A
became 1900 2055
When it came time to board, the crush was pretty amazing,
and I decided to put my trust in a woman who, like an
irresistible force, parted the seas in front of her. Turns
out she had 44B, in zone 3 or 4 or something, but at least
she was my blocker for thirty feet or so.
The agent boarded GS, first class, and 1K, followed by
business class and Star Gold. As I had 2A, I was pleased
by this, but the plane turned out to be configured in the
usual two-class domestic way.
The fellow in 2C on the previous flight was next to me on
this one: we exchanged ironic and knowing commentary through
the peculiar events of the afternoon.
I think the first excuse was flow control owing to low
ceilings and a drizzle that had lasted all morning. No big
deal; we settled in for a short delay, but that wasn't all.
The second announcement: a catering issue. Okay, that takes,
what, ten minutes? It took half an hour. Next, a problem
in the hold - apparently one of the cargo modules had been
loaded incorrectly and had jammed, and the rampers took a
while to fix it, and still there was stuff to be loaded that
had been in queue after that. So that took us to about two
hours behind schedule, whereupon they told us they had to
change a tire, but we were free to stay on and partake of
free wine. I called the 1K desk to be protected on another
flight; after a bit of misunderstanding as to where I was
and was trying to go (the overseas call center, despite my
having called the 1K line), and the offer of a nonstop into
Oakland that would arrive a bit after 10, I decided to stick
with what I had. Shortly thereafter, the purser, a pleasant
enough fellow who had tried to keep us apprised of what was
going on, told us all to deplane. He looked as if he were
about to cry.
Eventually I left with the end of the crowd, but only after
extorting a Courvoisier to go.
They did in fact change a tire (why they couldn't figure out
that we had a flat when they were figuring out the cargo
thing, people will be asking until the end of time), and it
did take only an hour or so, but reboarding was a zoo and
ate up a whole lot more. The gate agent tried to make things
better by improvising a new boarding method, alternating
passengers from the red and regular lines until the former
was exhausted. I don't think it worked, and instead of
making regular line people happier, he just made red line
people more upset. When we got packed in again, we found
that all but two of the crew had gone illegal, and they
basically had to go and find a whole new crew. Luckily there
are apparently lots of FAs hanging around in the ORD area
just waiting for work.
I'd passed on a second lunch (choices being the same as
on the previous flight), but after we replaned, realizing
that I'd miss supper, I reconsidered and asked for whatever
was left. The word came back that there was still one of
each, so I tried the salad - okay slightly wilted greens,
six warm okay shrimp (little or no discernible garlic), tubs
of Caesar dressing. Carrot cake, not bad, for dessert.
The flight itself was also a bit slow, and we landed 3:30
behind schedule and well too late for the planned dinner at
Classic Sichuan in Millbrae.
I'd been voicemailing work2fly, goalie, and KathyWdrf as
things developed, my last notice being a cancellation. Sad,
I've wanted to try the place, which has taken over Kwong's.
Another time.
Realized that I had just time to hurry to gate 73A, where
VPescado was coming in; we stopped by for a bite at Yankee
Pier (his connection was at gate 73 in an hour, so no chance
to go to the mid-terminal food court, where the stuff looks
more promising). My crabcake appetizer appeared shortly -
and sat under a nonfunctional heat lamp awaiting VPescado's
dish, which was some shellfish and pasta thing that should
have been dead easy to make but ended up taking 15 or 20
precious minutes. Maybe the pasta was made to order - it
looked pretty decent. The crabcake did the job, being sort
of light but still giving me something semi-palatable to
entertain myself with. It was made with mostly real but
mechanically separated strands of crab and didn't thrill.
I had an Anchor Steam (warmish and flattish) as well. I
liked the place better when it was called the Crab Pot
(metonymized in common speech among my San Fran based
friends to the Crack Pot then the Crack House).
KathyWdrf came by while we were eating - she had the
express meal of chowder, a sandwich, and fries. I tasted
the sandwich and fries: both were better than my crabcake.
It was shortly time to get on yet another flight; said
goodbye to Kathy and went back to my gate for another
completely full flight -
UA 180 SFO BOS 2320 0754 752 2A
became 2324 0815
I conked out during the safety message and slept until after
7, which would have been fine, but we were 20 min late, and
I could have used that much more snooze.
The fruit and cheese thing was presumably offered after I
fell asleep.
My purpose in doing this zigzagger was (in addition to the
miles) to judge the finals of another competition, this one
of high-school-age music students from all around the state.
Owing to the tender age of the contestants, I will not be
as forthright in my descriptions as I was of the young
professionals whom I heard last month. Let it suffice to say
that our winners, Terence Hsu, Tavi Ungerleider, and Wendy
Wang, showed both technique and poise that would be the envy
of fully formed artists. The other candidates (none of whom
was shut out from receiving votes) also showed a high level
of musicianship. As it was, we had one each pianist, string
player, and singer, with the pianist, Terence, taking the
top place on all ballots. We predicted a good future for the
others, as well, the cellist being mature far beyond his
years and the mezzo quite remarkable in her own right. I
didn't vote for her, as I didn't like her diction, but how
many high-school students have training in German and
Italian; I acknowledged that her presence and the quality of
her voice were remarkable for her age. My third choice was
voted down by the others as not being as interesting as the
others, although nobody denied her musicianship.
We had dessert and Moscato with the contestants and their
teachers and parents (I guess the kids got raspberry
ginger ale punch); I wangled a bottle of neutral but fairly
acceptable Prosecco for myself.
And then I had to get up at 6 for an 8:00 flight.
UA 171 BOS SFO 0625 1000 752 2A
The gate agent at C19 announced boarding for "flight 161 to
Los Angeles," but we all got on the plane anyway.
F was chockablock; I understand from the chatter up front
that Y was not.
They offered the fruit plate or a "wild mushroom and Gouda
frittata" - I chose the latter. The fruit appetizer had the
best strawberry I think I've ever had off a farm and slices
of the most forlorn kiwi in the world; pineapple and grapes
were pretty decent, with the exception of one notably sour
grape. I took this as an apt metaphor for the various levels
of service that I have received on this rather inconsistent
airline. I expected a few slices of shiitake to satisfy the
wild mushroom requirement: what I got was one large dried
reconstituted cepe and various fragments of other ones - a
pleasant surprise; and the egg substance was salty but not
unpalatable. The now-common sweet and regular potato hash
came on the side, and they were as uneven as the fruit -
some of the bits raw and crunchy, others fluffy and melt-in-
the-mouth. Two pork breakfast links, surprisingly not
hideously fatty. A croissant was breadier than normal but
not unpleasant.
There was no Courvoisier on this flight, so I satisfied my
booze tooth with red wine, which was acrid and horrible, and
I had only two glasses. No ... correct that ... while I was
asleep they filled my glass, and when I awoke shortly before
landing, I drained it.
I sent a citation on behalf of the two FAs who worked the
front cabin, as for all the time I was awake, they were
attentive and cheerful.
The pigette in 1B kept her sneakered feet up on the bulkhead
for much of the flight. Not only was this unsightly, it was
unsmellly as well.
We did an approach that I don't recall - over Napa, then out
to sea and down, west of the Golden Gate at about 12000, to
San Jose and then northward up the Bay in the normal way. We
landed about 15 early.
UA 480 OAK DEN 0740 1114 733 2A
An okay flight. Breakfast was offered - the fruit and cheese
plate that you know from the redeye, but with the addition
of bread and yogurt. I didn't take it, preferring to stare
out the window at the wonderful topography until I fell
asleep. We landed a hair early, and I had an hour and half
to eat Sun Chips at the club and do a little work.
UA1158 DEN IAD 1245 1754 777 9J
I was hoping for 2A on this one, too, but didn't get it for
obvious reasons. Sat around on the phone at the club for too
long, and I showed up after the red carpet line had been
closed. I opened up the rope, and the agent actually paused
boarding and made an announcement to round up stray first
and business and 1K passengers.
Found someone in my seat - turns out he had 8J and was most
gracious about going back where he belonged. My seatmate
scowled.
Predeparture drinks, warm nuts, hot towels. I was asked
first in the little cabin, my glum seatmate next. I said I
didn't care whether I had the hot roast beef sandwich or the
Thai chicken salad.
When the meal came, it was reason for my seatmate to become
even more glum - the sandwich was a puny pathetic thing, the
roast beef being two thin tough-looking slices of mystery
meat. My salad was better than acceptable - a generous half
brined breast, coated with currylike spices, firm but juicy.
Reasonably fresh greens; copious fresh cashews and less than
fresh chow mein noodles; tomato slices, cucumber cubes; the
famous Conway Asian sesame dressing. On the side: an odd
multilayer chocolate construction: flourless chocolate cake
goo on the bottom, chocolate cream in the middle, chocolate
streusel on top: neither bad nor good.
The flight came in a bit early, and I SuperShuttled to my
father's house, arriving in time for supper.
A couple amusing if not amazing meals with my father.
Normandie Farms with him and my brother.
I know that this place has gotten a pretty bad rap of late,
along with other haunts like the Old Angler Inn, but it is
one of the few remaining places where I used to go with the
old man when I was a kid forty to fifty years ago (someday
I'll take him to the Olney Inn and the place at Comus as
well). The food is actually much better than the recent
reputation, though not so good as the antique reputation.
It's now run by Indian people, which is not an altogether
bad thing.
We're treated deferentially here (age has its rewards, and
the old man is 89, and I'm 55), and they keep the fireplace
cranked up well past the season (my father is always cold),
and, as I said, the food is okay. Oh, it's an OpenTable
restaurant, so I get essentially a buck off each time we go.
My father ordered oysters Rockefeller followed by soft-
shelled crabs. The starter was pretty good (I had a taste),
and the main course was odd but very generous - the crabs
were smothered in a peculiar topping of pine nuts, minced
tomato, bacon, and parsley: not bad tasting, but not doing
the crabs much good, either. As he's ancient and weighs
just 100 lb, he got kind of full and gave me half a crab,
which I ate senza bacon and pine nuts and junk like that. It
was fresh but cooked at too low a temperature, so the shell
part was a little chewy.
I'd warned J. that we were going out to lunch the next day,
so he forwent the appetizer and just had rainbow trout
topped with some crab concoction. I can't report on how this
was, as although he will accept tastes offered by others, he
generally will not without prompting offer tastes of his own
food.
I had oysters on the half shell (though no sweetie to
practice on) followed by shad roe. The oysters were wretched
- I'm not sure why, but they had been rinsed and tasted like
slimy blobs of nothing. The shad roe made up for that - I
got an enormous pair that must have come from a 10-lb fish.
The roe was topped with bacon, which was fine, and anchovy
butter, which was one of the stupidest combinations I've
encountered in recent years. I scraped off most of it. I'd
asked for the shad roe medium rare, and it came as ordered.
The (Indian) waiter checked to make sure, good for him.
J. had some kind of dessert that I can't report on; my
father and I split a dish of pistachio gelato that was
pretty nice.
As my father seldom drinks and my brother is the permanent
designated driver, I just had two glasses of Mark West
Chardonnay, which is well but not over oaked, good berry
flavors, good long lemon-blackberry finish. I like Mark
West wines for the price.
Surprisingly, my father, mellowed with age, pulled out
his AmEx card and paid for dinner.
Next day, Trapeze with him and my brother and my sweetie.
The deal is that J., who loves to drive, takes me to a
suitable meeting point, where we meet Carol, have a meal
together, and I go home. The Olney/Burtonsville/Fulton
area is sort of halfway, and there are two fairly nice
restaurants that we go to to do the handoff. One is the
oZ Chophouse, the other is Trapeze across the road, which
looks pretty similar and which I guess is related somehow.
The former is a meat place, the latter a fish place. We
didn't go to oZ this day, as it serves brunch on Sunday,
and we didn't feel like brunch.
Here too the staff are deferential (I care not for myself,
but it is good that they are not impatient to the ancient).
My father had cream of crab soup (he said it was decent)
followed by the fried oyster plate, listed under appetizers.
This was four very big oysters, fried nicely, served over a
bed of dry fried leek slivers. Excellent. J. had fish and
chips, nice tilapia, a big serving, in a puffy batter;
somewhat seasoned chips; coleslaw, which he substituted the
veg of the day, steamed asparagus. Carol, who likes fish,
went against the tide and had a French dip - a biggish
roast beef sandwich topped with American Swiss and sided by
a cup of "jus" that wasn't oversalty or from a package: also
good. I ordered the crabcake sandwich senza bread - this
was a tiny cake of decent meat bound with a discreet amount
of filler and seasoned with an insane mishmash of celery
seed, nutmeg, and lots of white pepper; for me the side was
housemade potato chips. An okay meal and one that left room
for dessert. Father got the chocolate mousse in a tube -
decent dark mousse and okay white mousse, served in a tube
the size of a cannolo shell made of decent chocolate. Carol
and I split the creme brulee - decent but sided with a nice
melange of fresh berries. Carol told the waiter that I liked
blue food, so he brought a side of blue sauce (supposedly
lychee, but it tasted like raspberry Jell-O). J., being the
contrarian always (maybe he learned this from me), had a
second serving of fish and chips for dessert; he reported
that this incarnation had a doughier crust.
Amazingly, my father, mellowed with age, pulled out his AmEx
card and paid for dinner yet again.
=
Carol and I were scouting out for places to eat for our
annual picnic for one of the food groups we're part of. The
moderators took Kaufmann's, and we were going to Bottom of
the Bay down in Laurel, but serendipity took us to Scooter's
up in Elkridge, another place on the to-check-out list. It's
kind of divey, next to a cheap motel just north of 175 on
US 1. A little smoky when we went in, but there were some
appetizing smells coming out of the kitchen.
We started off with a good though extremely thick cream of
crab soup and nice sweet bread (sort of halfway between
challah and Chinese bread).
They didn't have steamed crabs on the menu (promised that
they'd be out "tomorrow"), but it was steamed shrimp night,
so I tried those out. The advertised pound of large shrimp
turned out to be over thirty 20-counters, so about 1 1/3
lb. Most were fresh and firm, nicely cooked, but covered with
an amazing amount of flake salt, red pepper, and celery seed.
Without the salt, these would have been perfect.
We then split a fried seafood platter, which was enormous
and nicely dry-fried. The advertised 5 oz flounder fillet
was twice that size and quite good. Three scallops were
acceptable - tasted like Mrs. Paul's back in the good old
days when Mrs. Paul's actually tasted like something - and
two oysters impeccable and gigantic. Two butterflied 2/3-oz
shrimp. The downside was one pathetic little crabcake that
was supposed to be 3 oz but was really closer to a 1 oz
crab ball - even so, it was made with good sweet backfin
and special meat and a relatively small amount of filler.
This is an Anheuser-Busch house, and we had a pitcher of
Spring Heat, which is a knockoff of Blue Moon: it was nicely
citrused and has the added advantage of not tasting as
though it had urine in it. I found it low in alcohol, but a
quick web search divulged that it claims 5.2%.
An entertaining sidelight: when we went out to the car
afterwards, Carol did this "oh my God, they're so cute"
thing, pointing at something in the dusk. I squinted and
eventually made out three miniature goats, two near the car
and one playing king of the hill, perched on top of the
restaurant's air conditioner. Carol is a sucker for cute.
==
UA 107 BWI ORD 1253 1359 735 2A
became 1350 1438
We took off and landed nearly an hour late. This of course
would have put my connection in doubt, but there wasn't
much to be done, so I had multiple glasses of the Tamas
Chardonnay (Central Coast) followed by some Courvoisier.
The meal choices were a chicken fajita wrap or a garlic
shrimp salad. I had the former - fairly palatable, quite
spicy, a generous amount of chicken, cheese, slivers of
Jalapenos and bell peppers, corn, tomato salsa. For afters
a thinner version of the multi-chocolate thing. Oh, yes,
hot nuts (really hot, I burned my hand) beforehand. The
lone FA in the cabin, Janiel, was excellent, and she got
a GTEM (after which I received a napkin note of thanks).
I had pegged her wrong as one of those young squealy types
who don't get much done (she had engaged a passenger in
conversation, complimenting her on her glasses ["are they
Designer?"] during boarding, clogging the aisle for a
minute; plus she had jumped and shouted "oh my God" twice
before we took off - once when somebody dropped a suitcase
or something and the other time when she found one of the
cockpit crew in the galley area: I think he was waiting
for the restroom). Anyway, once we got going, she was
constantly attentive, efficient, and good.
Contretemps. The butt in 1B suddenly and rapidly reclined
his seat into the tray of 2B, so vodka screwdriver cascaded
all over my seatmate and beyond. Naughty. Seatmate was
fairly cool about this, as was the FA.
Several of us (1C, 2A, and 2C, and who knows how many
behind) were trying for the same connecting flight. We
hustled to the gate only to find that the flight was
delayed half an hour.
UA 149 ORD SFO 1456 1720 777 2A
became 1900 2055
When it came time to board, the crush was pretty amazing,
and I decided to put my trust in a woman who, like an
irresistible force, parted the seas in front of her. Turns
out she had 44B, in zone 3 or 4 or something, but at least
she was my blocker for thirty feet or so.
The agent boarded GS, first class, and 1K, followed by
business class and Star Gold. As I had 2A, I was pleased
by this, but the plane turned out to be configured in the
usual two-class domestic way.
The fellow in 2C on the previous flight was next to me on
this one: we exchanged ironic and knowing commentary through
the peculiar events of the afternoon.
I think the first excuse was flow control owing to low
ceilings and a drizzle that had lasted all morning. No big
deal; we settled in for a short delay, but that wasn't all.
The second announcement: a catering issue. Okay, that takes,
what, ten minutes? It took half an hour. Next, a problem
in the hold - apparently one of the cargo modules had been
loaded incorrectly and had jammed, and the rampers took a
while to fix it, and still there was stuff to be loaded that
had been in queue after that. So that took us to about two
hours behind schedule, whereupon they told us they had to
change a tire, but we were free to stay on and partake of
free wine. I called the 1K desk to be protected on another
flight; after a bit of misunderstanding as to where I was
and was trying to go (the overseas call center, despite my
having called the 1K line), and the offer of a nonstop into
Oakland that would arrive a bit after 10, I decided to stick
with what I had. Shortly thereafter, the purser, a pleasant
enough fellow who had tried to keep us apprised of what was
going on, told us all to deplane. He looked as if he were
about to cry.
Eventually I left with the end of the crowd, but only after
extorting a Courvoisier to go.
They did in fact change a tire (why they couldn't figure out
that we had a flat when they were figuring out the cargo
thing, people will be asking until the end of time), and it
did take only an hour or so, but reboarding was a zoo and
ate up a whole lot more. The gate agent tried to make things
better by improvising a new boarding method, alternating
passengers from the red and regular lines until the former
was exhausted. I don't think it worked, and instead of
making regular line people happier, he just made red line
people more upset. When we got packed in again, we found
that all but two of the crew had gone illegal, and they
basically had to go and find a whole new crew. Luckily there
are apparently lots of FAs hanging around in the ORD area
just waiting for work.
I'd passed on a second lunch (choices being the same as
on the previous flight), but after we replaned, realizing
that I'd miss supper, I reconsidered and asked for whatever
was left. The word came back that there was still one of
each, so I tried the salad - okay slightly wilted greens,
six warm okay shrimp (little or no discernible garlic), tubs
of Caesar dressing. Carrot cake, not bad, for dessert.
The flight itself was also a bit slow, and we landed 3:30
behind schedule and well too late for the planned dinner at
Classic Sichuan in Millbrae.
I'd been voicemailing work2fly, goalie, and KathyWdrf as
things developed, my last notice being a cancellation. Sad,
I've wanted to try the place, which has taken over Kwong's.
Another time.
Realized that I had just time to hurry to gate 73A, where
VPescado was coming in; we stopped by for a bite at Yankee
Pier (his connection was at gate 73 in an hour, so no chance
to go to the mid-terminal food court, where the stuff looks
more promising). My crabcake appetizer appeared shortly -
and sat under a nonfunctional heat lamp awaiting VPescado's
dish, which was some shellfish and pasta thing that should
have been dead easy to make but ended up taking 15 or 20
precious minutes. Maybe the pasta was made to order - it
looked pretty decent. The crabcake did the job, being sort
of light but still giving me something semi-palatable to
entertain myself with. It was made with mostly real but
mechanically separated strands of crab and didn't thrill.
I had an Anchor Steam (warmish and flattish) as well. I
liked the place better when it was called the Crab Pot
(metonymized in common speech among my San Fran based
friends to the Crack Pot then the Crack House).
KathyWdrf came by while we were eating - she had the
express meal of chowder, a sandwich, and fries. I tasted
the sandwich and fries: both were better than my crabcake.
It was shortly time to get on yet another flight; said
goodbye to Kathy and went back to my gate for another
completely full flight -
UA 180 SFO BOS 2320 0754 752 2A
became 2324 0815
I conked out during the safety message and slept until after
7, which would have been fine, but we were 20 min late, and
I could have used that much more snooze.
The fruit and cheese thing was presumably offered after I
fell asleep.
My purpose in doing this zigzagger was (in addition to the
miles) to judge the finals of another competition, this one
of high-school-age music students from all around the state.
Owing to the tender age of the contestants, I will not be
as forthright in my descriptions as I was of the young
professionals whom I heard last month. Let it suffice to say
that our winners, Terence Hsu, Tavi Ungerleider, and Wendy
Wang, showed both technique and poise that would be the envy
of fully formed artists. The other candidates (none of whom
was shut out from receiving votes) also showed a high level
of musicianship. As it was, we had one each pianist, string
player, and singer, with the pianist, Terence, taking the
top place on all ballots. We predicted a good future for the
others, as well, the cellist being mature far beyond his
years and the mezzo quite remarkable in her own right. I
didn't vote for her, as I didn't like her diction, but how
many high-school students have training in German and
Italian; I acknowledged that her presence and the quality of
her voice were remarkable for her age. My third choice was
voted down by the others as not being as interesting as the
others, although nobody denied her musicianship.
We had dessert and Moscato with the contestants and their
teachers and parents (I guess the kids got raspberry
ginger ale punch); I wangled a bottle of neutral but fairly
acceptable Prosecco for myself.
And then I had to get up at 6 for an 8:00 flight.