Fine dining in Superior California

Sometimes you just have to get away for a day or so.

I ostensibly have a real engagement tomorrow, up here in the wilds of Northern California. A sub-committee meeting of the commune to which I belong. An event that, if all goes well, will be as boring as all sub-committee meetings ever and always are.

In order to fortify myself for this bout of excitement, I went up early. Which means abandoning my family for approximately 36 hours. My reward for this bout of hooky being a nice dinner out in Redding.

“A nice dinner out in Redding,” the man says. Sigh. The food was perfectly fine — yupped-out low-country fare — if wildly overpriced. Fifty dollars for halibut better involve a blowjob, or something equally mind-blowing, is all I’m saying. What I had was three cheese tagliatelle with pork chops and turnip greens and a serviceable glass of pinot gris. It was fine, totally fine. But it was also in a strip mall.

And there were no people of color. At all. Not even a hapa girl to serve as hostess (cough cough) or a criollo-looking young man to bus the tables. It was jaspers as far as the eye could see. Also, a lot of perfume.

Now, to be fair, no one brandished a peppermill at me. I guess some things, at least, have changed since 1978.

Published by A garrett renter on Welbeck St.

An online diarist, because writing longhand just seems so tiring.

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