.Salmagundi's.

All those mutterings about communication, follow through. Keeping up. With whom? The Jones?

My last blog entry was six-ish months ago?

Yeah, well, perseverance is not my strong suit.

I took a trip shopping today. I don't do it much at all, shopping that is. Not at the malls. No, I shop for groceries and the like. It's painful now. I do not partake in once a year pairs of shoes at Nordstrom, for instance, with the rationalization that I am getting them at the yearly men's shoes sale, therefore I was saving money. Most times, when I go to the mall now, it is just this bitter taste in my mouth of something that used to taste good.

At first today's adventure was just as it has become: this painful look in a world that is no longer mine. Then the self-loathing washes over me that I would ever consider such a life meaningful or worthwhile. Looking at all the metrosexuals and mousse-monsters preening and considering each piece of clothing, each item carefully, deciding if it is "them" or not.

This time, for some reason, I put that wall of bitterness aside for a few minutes to remember back when...

Every time I step in the mall there is a little part of me that steps into South Coast Plaza, circa 1984. I thought nothing of a day at the mall window shopping, picking up a couple of doo-dads. After all of that, lunch at, say Salmagundi. Lunch wasn't cheap there. Six or so soups, all scratch made that day. 

Isn't this sad, but I could probably walk you through the line. Grab your tray after looking at the chalkboard menu. Flatware, then to order your salad, soup, quiche if you were having it, and I always did. Salmagundi's was the first place that I ever had quiche at and I made a point of having it every time I ate there.

In the dimmest awareness then, though very clear to me now, was that quiche was one of the first things that I made a point of learning how to make, I loved it so much. I was just started to grasp that if I was going to love all of this fancy food and eat it on a regular basis, I damn well better learn how to make it because there was no way I would ever be able to afford it otherwise.

I guess even then I knew that I was never going to be a financial powerhouse.

At this point one would receive these dishes and order your drinks. Pick up the French bread. What were they? Crisp and a good chew to the outside, small enough for a serving for one--a Bâtard? It was the first time that I remember having such breads, and with sweet butter.

Dessert fallowed as you made your way to the cashier, and as wonderful as that all looked, I knew enough to know that I would have no room for that. That and a drink. How much did I spend? I remember it being breathtakingly expensive. Ten bucks? Probably. I looked up on a site with that number in mind. What was breathtaking then, is breathtaking now, once you adjust those dollars. The estimate that I got would be that I would need to shell about twenty dollars for that lunch if I were to have it now.

If I could.
And I would again, in a heartbeat.