in 
The Muse, Foodie Chic
The Muse, Foodie Chic Tuesday
12Sep
The Indulgent Life
Tuesday, September 12, 2006 at 02:28AM 
Of all of the millions of meals we eat in our lives, how does one or another become the one that you remember? Is it the food? Is it the person enjoying the meal with you? Or is it the occasion? We all have meals we will remember forever - some expensive, some miserable, some perfect. I will forever remember the most delicious filet mignon I ever had at Terrence Brennan’s in New York City: it was after a long trip, I met my parents for dinner, ordered a steak and a giant Manhattan, and felt my whole being settle into relaxation. This was all followed by Baz Luhrman’s “La Boheme” on Broadway…a meal and a show unlike anything. There is a lunch I had one Sunday in a tiny seaside café in St. Tropez... My friend Alexandra and I drove in from Aix-en-Provence for lunch and a day at the beach. It was April, and the town was quiet, full of the locals no one ever sees come August; our café was quieter still - far from the Vieux Port at the side of a small square. Even our impoverished studenthood allowed us the most tender housemade pasta, and a huge plate of garlicky Provençal mussels, which, I was convinced, had been neatly plucked from the rock in the sea only a few feet away. I remember the sunshine, the crisp, cold white wine, the orange and ochre of the stucco buildings, and the delight at having recently met my first wild peacock. Then there is the dinner at Nepenthe in Big Sur almost exactly three years ago. While this dinner was not of superior quality, my boyfriend at the time had driven us there the entire day, not sure of the name of the place, but certain it was “just up ahead…” I remember my enchantment of Beatnik-Bohemian California, the wild, kelp-y ocean, the heat of the late-summer, and being in love for at least an evening.
I will also remember another meal, a last-minute dinner-date with my friend Robb. It was on a Wednesday night, September 12, 2001. Robb came over for a cocktail and we went on to dinner at Foreign Cinema in the Mission. I love this restaurant, and I cannot think of a time when I have ever had a bad meal there. This night was no different, but stranger, and even more surreal than the eponymous films they show during dinner. I remember that we were two of the only five or six diners in the entire restaurant. Without the usual crowds in there, Foreign Cinema seemed to echo with emptiness – it’s spare concrete and raw wood beams sounding every whispered conversation. We sat outside, and for the life of me I cannot remember what movie was playing on the vast white wall. I do remember ordering champagne and oysters to start. Small, perfect, icy, Kumamoto oysters. Why not? We said to each other. We laughed and told stories. We talked of terrorism, art, the Princess Diana conspiracy, our current love lives, and our mutual best-friend Astrid. Actually, Astrid was more of a big sister to me, the way Robb was always a big brother for the many years I had known him; Astrid had been Robb’s girlfriend. On that night, she had been gone from our lives just over five months. We ordered a Bordeaux for our main course, and then went on to the cheese course, coffee, and the famous chocolate pot de crème. I remember a hazy end of my wine glass, wishing for more of the reassuring contentment brought about by such a meal in an uneasy time, knowing that it was merely a quick-fix assuaging the pain inside both of us. But was it because of the day before, or the day five months before? It was a confused emotion then, and now.
Robb and I agreed that we would have been perfect for each other, if only I were older and he younger, and if only, …if only. I remember wondering where I would be in the coming years. It was before my current job, before my first one-bedroom apartment, before I had ever been to New York, and before this messy war permeated everything. I remember wondering if I’d ever be able to forget Astrid’s laugh, or the way she had taught me to smoke a cigarette. I did not foresee the anger I would feel about her death in the coming years.
On that night, it was okay for us to try to make it all go away in an extravagant show of deliciousness. Everyone else felt the same ugliness, the unspeakable violation, the overwhelming hurt – gluttonous responses were only normal. I was surprised that more people were not out enjoying a spectacular meal, instead of huddling indoors around CNN and a pizza. I try never to judge the choices people make when they are so confused with pain; some people choose shopping, or sex, or alcohol - anything that begins to make you feel again. We chose a meal that we agreed Astrid would have loved.
Reader Comments