what we eat after dark

 We walked all the way to the ferry building again, just for the coffee. And without too much searching, there was a sandwich with fresh mozzarella and hard boiled egg.

 The other night we were walking through Chinatown in search of noodles. And we stopped at a store that sold little silken shoes and shiny chopsticks, and we asked, “where can we get a good bowl of noodles around here?” The girl in charge pointed us to a little place up Clay Street called Capital Restaurant.
“I don’t know if it’s good. But we get every single meal there.”
That seemed like enough of a recommendation. And so we hiked our way up the hill, and we walked into Capital Restaurant. Everyone turned around and looked at us, and that seemed like a pretty good sign.
We ate wonton noodle soup with barbecued pork. Every bit of it.

Then last night, we ate Burmese food at hands down the most recommended place in this city, a little clean and coconut smelling joint called Burma Superstar. We met family we haven’t seem in a long time, and we played it cool and kept track of our own worth. We worked out of love, and remembered that this is our work.

On our way home, we went to Maria’s pastry and we sat with a napoleon and coffee. It was dark as we made our way back.

 I am eating with my mother. And tonight we went to Zuni Cafe. My friend, Andrew, was working the chicken station and so that’s what we had. And I sat there, happy, eating, getting drunk while my mother drank bubbly water, us, watching Andrew make chicken at the wood fired oven. He is a friend who feeds my soul. And when I had sobered up with quince sorbet and coffee, he took me downstairs to see the walk-ins.
 
My mother and I walked into the night, and, unsure of what bus might take us home, we hopped on the trolley car with the late night tourists, all abuzz with meals and city walks. The road was steep, and the air was clear, and as we passed California Street, my mother said, there! That’s where I lived with your father. We slept on blankets.

I was born here in this city, you know.

I have been away from the girls for nearly a week now. I’m thinking of their cheeks and their hugs, and their asking everything of me. I want to go home. I want to answer everything for them.

And Joey. He went home on Sunday morning, after our sweet friends were married, but before my mother came out so that we could do the family work we came to do. He’s waiting for me at home as the snow falls. California’s got nothing on an October snow. I can’t believe I’m missing out on such weather. I’m ready to go home to him, too.

Tomorrow is our last day. I think we might go back to the ferry building, for coffee and cheese. And California will do it’s thing, and then we will say goodbye.