What's a Juror to Eat?

It's no secret that I'm shallow and self-obsessed, so it should come as no surprise that my first thought when I started jury selection for a month-long asbestos cancer trial was, "Eek! Where will I eat lunch every day???" San Francisco's court house and environs have little to recommend them in terms of restaurants. There are plenty nearby, but most are of the McFill-in-the-blank variety, and the good ones are either closed for lunch or too pricy to rely on every day. What's a girl to do?

When the clock struck noon on Tuesday, the judge immediately adjourned us. It didn't seem to matter that the defense counsel was in the middle of a question -- courts apparently run on a very strict schedule, and at noon they eat lunch. For an hour and a half. I couldn't believe it. I mean, who has ever heard of a lunch break that long that didn't involve wining and dining a client? Not only that, yoohoo, none of us jurors wanted to take an hour and a half lunch break. Trust me, Judge Judy, there is NOTHING TO DO down here, okay?! We want to get in, get out, and get back to our lives. Let's get this show on the road! We don't care if the attorneys need to make phone calls or brush the lint from their suits.

Nevertheless, we were freed for that long, and as I exited the building, careful not to return a smile from the Evil Defense Attorneys, I found myself lost. Where to eat? My first thought was Zuni Cafe, but it seemed like a damn long walk, and besides, I'm not keen on eating in nice places by myself. My only healthy option seemed to be Subway, but without a list of area restaurants I couldn't be sure.

As I looked around the square, squinting into the sun, my eyes drifted past the buildings: the gilded dome of City Hall, the Bill Graham Civic Auditorium, the main library, the Asian Art Museum. And then it clicked -- a review I'd read of the city's museum restaurants. I parked my gaze at the AAM's hulk and headed over, passing a hot dog cart on the way. (Did I hesitate? Yes, dammit. I love hot dogs and I thought about buying one or two or seven and feeding them to myself one after the other in the square. But I walked on, health and heart in hand.)

After grabbing a cute red sticker with white chopsticks on it -- my free admittance to Café Asia but not to the collections -- I briefly checked out the museum store. (Who knows where a girl will find something to spend her hard-earned cash?) Then onto the café, which politely asks you to read the menu outside and decide on your menu choice before getting into the cafeteria-style line. A modicum of organization, this place.

Two soups tempted me -- the Thai coconut chicken and the soba noodle and shrimp tempura -- but I wasn't in the mood for slurping up hot liquid. (And besides, who knew when Judge Judy would give us our next potty break? Advance planning is the name of the jury game, folks.) I wanted the spicy salt and pepper fried chicken with egg noodles and tempura veg, but my desire to retain some semblance of my once-thin self overruled my id, so I settled on the green tea soba noodle salad. I nabbed a very cool wooden tray shaped like a rectangle but slightly wider in the middle and placed my order. While I waited -- all the salads, stews and soups are assembled, dressed and/or garnished å la minute -- I checked out the mirage of Japanese treats around me: teas in every leaf of the rainbow, Hello kitty! cookies, wasabi peas. My sense of fun got the best of me and I nabbed a box of chocolate covered biscuit sticks called Pocky. They are an addictive mix of dark and milk chocolate, and in fact I have been crunching and munching Pocky after Pocky as I type. (Bad Pocky. BAD! Go away, Pocky, and leave me alone!)

The salad was served in a big fat white bowl. I caught bite after bite of baby greens, soba noodles and pillowy tofu with my chopsticks, relishing the zingy soy-sesame dressing, snapping raw zucchini matchsticks and curly orange pepper strips with my teeth. I snacked on the occasional edamame and read my new book. Every now and then I'd look up at the other juror who was eating there, wondering if I could scheme to interview him about his experience installing asbestos-laden pipes. He was a shoo-in to get kicked off as soon as the picky attorneys started booting potential jurors, and if I could parlay his tips into a reasonably convincing "summer job" of my own, the thinking went, maybe I'd get sent packing too.

Alas, I was so wrapped up in finding every last lovely noodle in the thicket of greens that he escaped before I could apply my cross-examining prowess. Drat! (Slurp.) Nevertheless, I returned to court much happier than I had left it, knowing that a pretty good Asian lunch awaited me any day I needed it --- which turned out to be only the once.  Yes, folks, I was rejected for my lack of impartiality on Wednesday afternoon...just in time for lunch.

Comments

[sam]

you are cracking me up.
sorry you didnt get selected.
I would have chosen you, for sure!

[Catherine]

Well thank God you weren't doing the picking! A 4-week trial is a bit much, even for an under-employed writer like me!

[clare eats]

Just imagine all that money to be made on jury duty LOL NOT! Those soba noodles sounded very yummy though

I never would have been impartial enough either.

[Susan]

There's actually a great hole-in-the-wall Mexican place across the street for you to check out when they call you for civic duty two year from now ;-)

[Mom]

Personally, I think you've done your civic duty by reviewing a nearby restaurant with good food so that all future jurors can enjoy a nice lunch before heading back to grease the wheels of justice!

[Catherine]

Clare -- I know. How do you tell a man who is dying because of asbestos exposure that he can have nothing -- NOTHING -- for his pain and suffering? It takes a stronger willed person than I.

Susan -- see, I should have emailed you before jury duty! Next time...

Mom -- I couldn't agree more!