Cafe Chou Chou

Many great memories were made this past weekend, but I wanted to write about one in particular while it's relatively fresh in my mind.

I had one of the best dining experiences of my life on Saturday night.
My friends and I had made reservations for Cafe Chouchou at 8 pm in San Francisco. None of us had ever been to this place but I had seen the great reviews on yelp, and for the sake of quick decision making decided to try it out.
The first five of us got there around 7:45. We saw a quaint, unassuming small bistro on a indescript corner with simple, neon blue letters spelling the name "Cafe Chou Chou." It looked like it could seat around 20 - 25 people at most. As I walked inside behind my friends, I noticed a tall, reddish-blond haired man whom I thought to be a waiter shake my friend's hand. Initially I thought somehow my friend must have known this gentleman, but then the waiter bent down and kissed my next friend (female) on the hand, and the next two on the cheek. And as I stood there in a bit of confusion and surprise, he turned his attention to me and with a huge grin spitting his freckled face, crushed me tightly and shook my hand too while declaring his joy at having us at his restaurant in a thick, french accent. This gentleman turned out to be the owner and chef of Cafe Chou Chou, and over the next couple hours we could see how his personality affected everything around him, from the customers to the employees to the ambiance to create a fantastic dining experience.
As 7:45 became 8:00, and 8:00 became 8:15, our group of 12 were still outside waiting. I went inside to check on the table and inquire as to how much longer the wait would be. The owner looked almost mortified that he couldn't seat us yet as there was another table lingering after dinner, and with a look of uptmost resolve on his face grasped my shoulder and firmly reassured me that we were in his heart every second and he would not stop thinking about us. Then he looked up, and as if a brilliant inspiration had come to him, declared that he would tell all of us! Leading a bewildered me outside to where my friends were waiting, and after more fervent kisses and crushing hugs, he told us it wouldn't be much longer. Over the next 15 minutes, we saw various customers finish their dinners and depart from the restaurant, and I noticed that without fail, the owner thanked every single one of them, hugged/kissed every single one of them and every person left with a smile on their face. He came outside again, and brought every single one of us a glass of free blackberry champagne, and so we spent the next 5 minutes drinking outside, toasting this amazingly friendly, cheerful frenchman.
Even though our wait was almost 45 minutes after our reservations, the owner's charisma and service were so exemplary, the wait just didn't matter. This is one of the best dining experiences I've ever had, and we hadn't even gotten to the food yet.
Over the next couple hours, with warm, crusty, fresh-baked bread and half a bottle of red that the owner complimentarily changed into a full bottle of another wine he personally recommended, I ate New York kobe beef grilled to a perfect medium rare with a delicious glaze I sopped up with that crusty bread. I had full, huge steamed mussels that were loaded with an amazing, savory fragrance, and tender slices of duck with berries soaked in wine. Hands down; however, the best dish of the night was the warm goat cheese tart that practically sang to my palate. Everyone raved about it and simply could not get enough. The tart itself is like a caprese, but as apt as that description is it still doesn't do it justice.
We had a large party, and were one of the last customers to finally leave. As the night wound down and customer after satisfied customer groaningly walked out the door into the cold San Francisco evening, I saw the chef joke and chat with his employees, then grab all five of them and give them a tremendous embrace as they all laughed away. I can only imagine that he truly loves his job, his cafe, and all the people around him and he must be fantastic to work for.

The night finally ended for our group as well, and as all of us left there were more hugs to go around, more kisses for the ladies, more handshakes for the men. We all left the restaurant warmly satisfied, practically glowing with the knowledge that we just had an absolutely amazing experience that was simply worth every cent spent and more.

Anna

I stumbled through the empty streets, the dark blue night sky a vast backdrop for numerous spots of angry orange-red flames. The distant fires painted a startling contrast against the calm melancholy of a silver moon that perched above me as I half-walked, half jogged closer and closer to the fires. I could feel the heat begin pounding in the night air, a strange combination of warmth mixed in with a cool evening breeze on an autumn night that made the skin on my face tingle and prickle. Every now and then, other people ran to and fro, helping hands that moved forgotten memories. The one thing that struck me was the absolute silence in the air, the quiet that had settled in around me so peacefully if I closed my eyes and forgot the increasing heat I could almost imagine myself in a different world altogether.

And that’s when I first saw her. She was quickly walking back the way I had come, a soft white quilted blanket draped around her from head to toe, wisps of long, black disheveled hair framing a strangely familiar face. Her house was not too far from mine, but closer to the encroaching flames. We walked together, simple and direct, and she learned that I loved to cook, though not for a living. I learned she loved to dance but had never gone swing dancing. She said that she had come from the East to start a new life for herself, and with soot smudging her right cheek, she looked up and smiled at me.

Her name is Anna.

Honor

It's always somewhat surprising and a bit disconcerting to see how so much of one's temperance can change in a week. A week ago, I woke up in the morning and remember having the most delicious stretch. It must have lasted for a good couple minutes and included many varied yawns and exclamations of different sizes and shapes.

Last night I finished the 4th western I've read in the past couple weeks. Reading westerns always overwhelm me with a sense of lonely nostalgia. They're filled with tense and mounting danger, a culmination of injustices and vagrant evils that tests the hero's morality and integrity, and finally settles into a simple, determined, grim and lonely fight of Good and Evil. It's about vast strength of character against men "as poisonous as a rattlesnake," and the few and far friendships of kindred spirits that acknowledge each other in the bold, calm, steady gaze that tells of careful scrutiny and reserved judgement. Some part of me desperately desires to find such meaningfulness, to be lost somewhere and then discover the stark, simple depths of my own strength and heart in the face of insurmountable trials; to walk with courage and boldness of spirit. Westerns always have beautiful, wild, lonely areas where great men emerge out of the dust to appear with magnificent strength and determination, walking a broad path of justice and honor, and then disappear over the mountains into far horizons from which we can only imagine dwells Courage and Integrity, where men grown to become men, where "they cut them wide, and they cut them deep."

It's interesting to think that while westerns have a reputation for violence in gunfights and Indian battles, what I've found most common in westerns are always in-depth, introspective characters that carry a lonely, wild courage, and a deep, educated wisdom of self-perception, born of simple, undeniable truths of Life and Honor.