Sitting with my feet up on the bed wondering if I should go down to the lobby to get coffee. The room is pitch black and Bpb is still sleeping very soundly shortly after 6:30a.m. I love the adjustable brightness of the iPad display - it's great in situations like these.
Our dinner yesterday evening was moderately successful. Bread: cakey, non yeast with a cornbread texture - a little stale but good oil & vinegar for dipping; delicious Caesar salad and (shared) tiramisu; yucky crab ravioli. We regularly share a main course because we can't eat the enormous quantities of food so often served in restaurants, and his small portion would have been just right if the ravioli hadn't been drowned in an unappetizing broth laced with tarragon. I loathe even a whiff of tarragon, but unfortunately it is usually added by the bucket.
The server was very polite and attentive, but had such acute hearing that he knew our menu decisions without asking us. It was interesting at first but soon seemed intrusive. However, he did have a great ear and heard my "Canadian accent". I was floored, because I consider my speech to be relatively unaccented, but more Minnesotan than anything else. And here is a server in a San Francisco restaurant comparing me to the Canadians he listened to in Detroit where he grew up. For some reason, I felt a little deflated.
Another beautiful day ahead. Sightseeing and then dinner with Bob's cousin, Michele Hennessey at La Mar Cebicheria Peruana.
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