April 17, 2005 – Living the Good Life

April 17, 2005 – Living the Good Life

My wife IM and I went into San Francisco last Friday afternoon to celebrate our wedding anniversary. Who would have gotten married on April 15th, the deadline for filing federal and state income taxes? We would and did more years ago than either of us would like to recall. Driving into San Francisco to celebrate this date in our lives used to be a regular occurrence. But after 9/11 in 2001 when the Silicon Valley went into one of the worst economic slumps we’ve seen since arriving in 1974, we fell out of the habit. We became home bodies, celebrating with dinners out, close to home, or with our daughters and their families. We were mirroring the behavior of middle-class America, who had their sense of well being devastated. This trip was our getting over that loss and returning to a way of life we enjoyed before anyone knew the name Osama bin Laden.

I had been remiss in not making a dinner reservation when I made the hotel reservations on Thursday. The hotel where we like to stay in downtown—the Hotel Nikko at 222 Mason Street—was booked Friday night so I opted for the Hilton, which is across Mason Street at 333 O'Farrell Street. When we stayed at the Nikko in the past, we would make dinner reservations at Campton Place Restaurant in the hotel of the same name at 340 Stockton Street. I called them on Friday at noon but by then the earliest reservation we could get was 9:00 PM, too late to dine. We also liked the Restaurant Anzu at the Hotel Nikko, which is where we decided to spend the evening.

We arrived at the Hilton right at 5:30 PM as the evening commute was making its way out of the city. I’ve always enjoyed the feeling of running against the crowd driving into the city, which for the most part is an easy drive: north on California 87 to Interstate 280 and just over 40 minutes later you’re entering San Francisco at China Basin where 280 flows into King Street crossing over 6th and running across 5th, 4th, and 3rd, where a left turn takes us to Howard Street. A left at Howard and a right at 5th takes us north across Mission and Market Streets, and onto the three blocks of short Cyril Magnin Street--the street is named after a once well-known San Franciscan who was president of chic women’s clothier Joseph Magnin, Co. and played Pope Pius XIII in the 1978 movie Foul Play. A left at Ellis off Cyril Magnin and across Mason, we turn right into the garage at the rear of the Hilton. Checking the car with the Valet, we take the escalator to the lobby level then walk through the hotel’s restaurant and shopping area to the lobby registration desk. There a two-deep queue was waiting outside the roped area for the four reception desk agents. Once two in the queue had been called to the reception desk, a Hilton employee asked the two of us to form the line in the roped area, which we did. The reception agent gave us a nice room on the 22nd floor in the taller of the two Hilton’s towers.

On our way to the room, I couldn’t help noticing the increased number of armed security personnel, posted along the hallways as well as the entrance to the elevators. In the past, hotel security wore suits and concealed any weapons they had. The guards in the hallways now were in uniforms with holstered handguns on the hips in clear view. Arriving at out room we were pleasantly surprised by an unobstructed view of the bay as well as most of the city from South of Market up to Nob Hill. IM and I are avid city watchers. We’ve spent hours looking out at the endless activity of San Francisco, which resembles a larger-than-life kinetic sculpture. In the hour before we had to get dressed for dinner, IM city watched while I read the April 18th issue of the New Yorker, which had come in the mail before we left. I got sucked into an article by John McPhee entitled “Out in The Sort.”

McPhee is a prolific writer, who has written more books than I’ve gotten around to reading. The two I have read, Assembling California and The Ransom of Russian Art, are both great reads—they are reviewed on the Literatureview.com website. His latest article continued his streak. It begins with a description of Clearwater Seafood, an Arichat, Nova Scotia seafood processor that catches, sorts into 16 different grades, and ships live lobsters worldwide. The details on the operation of Clearwater are vintage McPhee storytelling. But Clearwater is only an introduction to a much larger piece on UPS, the common carrier that gets Clearwater’s catch to individuals—e-customers—as well as commercial customers—Marks & Spenser (its biggest customer in the UK) and just about every upscale restaurant with lobster dishes on their menu worldwide. The major U.S. hub for UPS is in Louisville, Kentucky on 250 acres between the parallel runways of Louisville International Airport. It houses a marvelous 28-acre Rube Goldberg construction containing 122 miles of computer controlled belts and monorails. The contraption enable UPS to sort a million packages a day. How this is accomplished is told in McPhee unique style.

IM had gotten herself all dolled up while I finished reading. I hurried to catch up to her, as she hates being late for anything. It’s her British upbringing of corporal punishment for tardiness that she has imparted on both our daughters—our youngest is as punctual as IM, but our oldest tends to run late like her father. In my older years, I’ve adopted IM’s habits, though tonight by reading instead of getting ready, I’ve put us five minutes behind our 7:30 reservation at the Restaurant Anzu. The Maitre D’ is more forgiving than IM’s schoolteachers would have been and seats us immediately. Two glasses of Perrier Jouet Champagne to celebrate the occasion and we’re both getting a bit tipsy—neither of us ate much more than a bagel during the day. A New York Strip for me while IM takes a chicken dish. I start with salad and she with a Shrimp & Curry Soup with Taro and Carrots that she finds most delicious. The dinners arrive and I have a second glass of champs, IM switches to a soft drink. Neither dish is to rave about but we’re hungry and they do fill a void. We finish the evening sharing strawberry shortcake with Amaretto mousse and fresh mint, another disk we both do rave about.

We walked the short distance back to the Hilton and spend the evening—a good two hours, watching the city’s lighted kinetic sculpture, opening the windows to let in the sound of sirens, horns, and the other sundry noises of the city. It was good to be back doing what we loved to do.