A beautiful morning out there. I’m feeling grateful for the rain and am enjoying the season, which has actually felt like a proper December so far. Cold, wet days, and colder nights. Cozy interiors. Wool socks inside. Extra blankets. Stew weather and lots of roasting and braised dishes here in our kitchen. A couple nights ago my wife had prepared the latter: a long, slow braised dish she has mastered. She pulled it from the oven and transferred to a hotplate on the table for dinner. The girls had just gone down and we cracked a bottle of wine. One of the empty glasses slipped from my hand and, as these wine glasses do, shattered in countless pieces. A disheartening discovery followed, as we noticed two tiny shards on the surface of the open braiser. We spent a long time inspecting the topography of the dish and finally, perhaps driven by hunger and respect for time, convinced each other that no other tiny shards remained.

To say that our meal did not bring immediate gratification would be an understatement. A precarious endeavor, inspecting every spoonful and each tiny bite, chewing ever so slowly. Looking like a depressed koala communing with an elderly sloth. Accepting the absurdity of it all, our meal became something of an existential exercise or, at very least, a strange silent meditation. Interestingly, and not so surprisingly, as we progressed there was a heightened sense of taste and texture - and in some ways that particular dish never tasted better than that night, even if the occasional molar meeting a firm fennel seed or a crunchy peppercorn gave us fright, and led to indelicate deposits on our napkins. 

We could laugh about it the next morning. And this morning. It seemed like a funny and fitting metaphor for marriage, for parenthood, or just for life in general. Trying to slow things down, to enjoy every tiny morsel - while also bracing ourselves for unpleasant surprises, for pain. Negotiating what we can and cannot control. And ultimately, saying fuck it. Let's do this. Believing things will be ok. And even better tomorrow. Telling each other, let's keep going. Or let's stop and eat. The wine will be good. We can share our glass.


TONIGHT 12/16 at OAKLAND YARD: Thursday Night Flights from 5-9pm. All dry and delicious French Whites and a Red Flight of Beaujolais (Gamay) featuring different crus. Flights $12 from 5-9 and wines by the glass until close.

THIS SATURDAY 12/18: 'NEW CALIFORNIA' Flights. Four delightful, low alcohol and beautifully balanced wines from some of California's brightest young stars. Flights $15 from 2-6pm and wines by the glass all day until close (9pm).

See you soon,

Daniel