Originally Posted by violist (Post 14565520)

UA 187 IAD SFO 0654 0944 752 2D

The downstairs diamond security lane was quick as could be,
and I was plenty early - too early for the RCC, which now
opens at 0600. A half hour to do the e-mail (couldn't catch
a signal outside), and then to the plane, where as usual at
IAD, half the people are zone 1, so the chosen 24 had to
wade through lengthily and obnoxiously.

On the plane, agreeable enough but not very forthcoming
service and bad Courvoisier (VS). Breakfast was your usual
rubber omelet, sausage, and home fries, in reverse order of
edibility. The fruit appetizer was quite good; a special
treat of Upland Farms strawberry banana nonfat yogurt was
quite bad.

We landed a little early.

UA 478 SFO PDX 1047 1239 319 1C

We were delayed owing to the late arrival of our equipment -
didn't even start boarding until 11-odd, which boded ill for
my connection. Drowned my apprehensions in more Courvoisier
(a double, bad, followed by a single, good) willingly
supplied by a youngish brunette FA with terrific legs; when
she noticed my appreciation, I swear she started wiggling
her bottom in my direction. I lost track, but we got to our
gate just about 1310.

There were 7 of us who arrived right around departure time
to find a bit of a scrum: the AS flight had cancelled, and
they were trying to shoehorn two planes' worth of pax into
one. As the idiots at UA hadn't been able to print out my
boarding pass, my seat disappeared, and I ended up in the
way wayback.

CO 309 PDX ANC 1320 1607 739 27A was 8F

I felt a little crammed in. The pitch is terrible, the seat
width ungenerous. I think that CO Y is some of the worst
hard product in the developed world, and onboard service,
which I remember from the old days as having been excellent,
has become curt and unexceptional. I forced myself to get a
couple hours' sleep.

On landing, it came to light that my bag had missed that
last connection. A nice agent took my info, but in the midst
of that, the carousel stopped, and she had to unload it. As
she was this tiny 100-lb thing, and I am bigger and
ostensibly stronger, I helped her with this task.
Unfortunately, I'd forgotten how much stronger my right is
than my left, and I strained my left shoulder dealing with a
bag that must have been filled with sinkers or something.

My friend Bill waited patiently as I did the appropriate
paperwork. By the time I was done, an hour had passed.

No worries, our reservation at Club Paris wasn't until 7.
Despite its hoity-toity name, this establishment specializes
in beefy things, so we had various beefy things.

The prime rib comes in two sizes - Connie ordered the little
one, but Bill and I changed that order to the big one, which
we figured to split the leftovers of between us. Medium-rare
came medium-rare; tasty beef; I annexed all the gristle and
fat, of which there wasn't all that much.

It's interesting how the same cut of meat can taste hugely
different when cooked differently. A grilled ribeye also
medium-rare was of much beefier flavor and quite delicious.

My New York came extra rare as ordered (I could have stood a
shade or three rarer, though. Its flavor, strangely, was
muted in comparison to Bill's ribeye. Still a good piece of
meat.

The steaks come rubbed with garlic, salt, and pepper.

No room for dessert.

The Kenwood Shiraz, a mediocre, slightly too sweet wine,
enhanced the rib cuts but did nothing for the sirloin.

I got to share space with Bill's cat. As I'd been up for
23 hours straight (not counting airplane snoozes), I slept
pretty well.