Mr. Food Musings and I Go Out to Dinner! (or, A Tale of a Recovery)

Holy guacamole, folks, we went out to dinner last night! I know, it sounds pretty anti-climactic -- a food blogger and her boyfriend went out to eat? (yawn). But this is the first time we've been able to do that in about 2 months.

YEEEEEEEEEEEEHAAAAAAAAW!

I got all gussied up in this dress I bought right after Mr. FM fell. I've been saving it up for a special occasion, and a few weeks ago when it was starting to look like what we thought would be a l-o-n-g recovery was going to stretch into a r-e-a-l-l-y  l-o-n-g recovery, I set my goal: I'd wear that fancy new dress with the silk black top and the flowy white skirt when Mr. FM and I could finally go out to eat. I've been looking at my pretty spring dress, fingering the soft flowery fabric for weeks, shutting the closet door on it day after day with an apologetic glance. "Pick me, pick me!" it seems to say. I know, honey. I know.

Then yesterday dawned all rosy and warm outside, but it wasn't quite so nice Chez Food Musings. Mr. FM gets these terrible spasms that mutiny and take over his entire body. Sometimes they're mild, other times violent, but either way they make it hard for him to walk. Yesterday they were pretty ugly, but we soldiered on and went for a walk around the park near our apartment.

"Doesn't the beautiful spring weather cheer you up?" I asked as we passed by a clear view of the Bay all the way down to Alcatraz and beyond.

He was silent for a moment, then looked left at the water.

"I wish it did," he answered.

As the weather got ever so much worse -- the sun pouted behind pale gray clouds, the balmy breezes turned cold and a smattering of rain drops fell -- Mr. FM got ever so much better. By the time acupuncture was over, he was in damn fine spirits and his tremors had all but vanished. We talked about what we might do for dinner, and I floated the idea of catfish and okra.

Then I got got all glinty-eyed and slid him a sidelong glance.

"Or, if you feel up to it, we could go out." My heart was pounding. Disappointment is easy to come by these days and I didn't want to get my hopes up.

"Okay."

That was it. A simple yes.

So we headed home, swinging first by our favorite café for a bittersweet hot chocolate, then dropping into the market for dinner supplies -- just in case. At home, Mr. FM trudged to the bed, exhausted from the afternoon's activities, and begged to rest. I handed him a few magazines and trotted off to get some work done.

A few hours later, 'round about 8 o'clock, I went in to check on him.

"Ready for some dinner?" I asked. Then I held my breath. Would we go out? Or stay in?

"Why don't we go to Vivande?"

As quick as you can say jackrabbit, I brushed on a fresh layer of lip gloss, slipped my party dress over my head and pushed Mr. FM and his cane out the door. As we walked along, I really did feel a bit of a spring in my step. Who cares that the San Francisco wind was blowing hard enough to turn my coif into a rat's nest? I was off to dinner with my beloved (in my pretty dress!) and all was -- almost -- right with the world.

"Why Vivande?" you may wonder. "It's your first dinner out in ages, why not go somewhere with a lot of bells and whistles?" I'm glad you asked. An excerpt from my very first post on Vivande, over a year ago:

For Mr. Food Musings and me, it’s a special place: the place we used to go on Sunday nights, back when I was an advertising slave and couldn’t bear the thought of another work week full of bitchy clients and impossible deadlines; the place we still go when one of us has gotten bad news, or when neither of us can face cooking; the place we’ve taken family and friends for as long as we’ve lived around the corner; the place we dash into when the rain starts to fall and we need to get inside, quick; the place we go when we’re making up. We bought our very first black truffle there, about two years ago. We carried it home, proud and careful, our baby nestled in a soft bed of arborio rice. We set it on the counter and stared at it for a while. "Is it really ours?"

Last night we ate the first favas of the season, sautéed with onions in olive oil and topped with thin shavings of ricotta salata. I twirled forkful after forkful of fettucine in a sauce of tomatoes and cream flecked with green onions. For dessert, we shared a lemon tart (what else? Vivande's is the best I've ever had, not counting my Aunt Margaret's but hers isn't for sale and it isn't close by so what can you do?) Our friendly neighborhood waiter welcomed us back and was nice enough to ignore the fact that Mr. FM hadn't shaved in a week and was wearing track pants ("my old folks' clothes," Mr. FM calls them).

We love Vivande, oh yes we do.

As we sat at our table last night, talking politics and sipping wine, I felt happy, a kind of happy that most people haven't had the bad luck to ever feel because it's the kind that comes to you only after you've walked up to a wall built of sorrow and fear, leaned your head against it and put palms flat to touch its rough surface. "How will I ever climb this wall?" you think. It seems to stretch from the ground to the sky.  But you look for a handhold and a foothold, and you start. Sometimes you slip and fall, maybe just a few scary feet, maybe all the way to the bottom. Every now and then someone comes along to give you a boost. Then you look up one day and realize that, okay, your hands may be bloody and raw from clambering and your legs may be sore, but you can see the top. And you know that, as much as it will hurt to keep climbing, as much as your muscles will ache and strain, you can do it. You might even think, if you have had a few glasses of wine, bring it on.

Vivande Porta Via, San Francisco, 2125 Fillmore Street, 415-346-4430

 

Comments

[Mom]

With spring comes the promise of rebirth....so bring it on indeed! Yippeeeee!

[sam]

I am sitting at my desk at work, having a little break, reading your blog, and your post is making me cry. And my colleagues must think I am a right soppy one.

[Catherine]

Mom -- amen.

Sam -- oh, poor you, I didn't mean to make you cry! I hope they are tears of joy, and that maybe they'll convince your colleagues you need a DAY OFF???

[Fatemeh]

What is it they say?

"One small step for man, one giant step for FoodMusingskind"?

Seriously, lovely Cat, this is a great big step, and I'm so happy for you guys BOTH!

[emily]

I'm so glad ya'll were able to go out for dinner.Baby steps,baby steps.

[Tea]

I am delighted to hear the news, my dear! Your post had me teary eyed by the end--lovely news and lovely writing. I am so pleased for you both (and now I have got to get myself to Vivande for a lemon tart--my favorite).