In 1970 we were young Mill Valley exiles racketing around Europe in our new fire-engine red Volkswagen camper. One summer afternoon we stopped for lunch at the bar/café in Stockholm’s Royal Swedish Opera House where, for some unknown reason, we had trouble ordering two glasses of wine. A young man seated near us offered to help clear up the confusion and then laughingly told us not to feel bad about it, because the waiter was from somewhere in the Balkans and didn’t speak either passable Swedish or English. In this odd way – because we were foreigners – we met an extraordinary man.
Archive for Work and Adventure – Page 24
Are we back in Paris? No. The Sweet Life Patisserie is just one of the many Oregon surprises we discovered on our back roads drive to San Francisco. This local treasure is tucked away in a quiet neighborhood (775 Monroe Street) in Eugene. It’s very American but the pastries and coffee are good as those in any patisserie we discovered in Paris. It’s always crowded, so you’ll likely change your mind more than once as you peer into the display case waiting your turn and feasting your eyes.
This is the main intersection in the small town of Glen Ellen, California. The street sign in the photo directs visitors to 23 local wineries and tasting rooms. Just over the hill from Napa and a few miles north of Sonoma, this is California wine country without the hype. You’re not likely to see any Ferraris here, no Guccied-up juice bars, no designer boutiques, or four-figure dinners for two. It’s the kind of place you might have run into M.F.K. Fisher or Hunter Thompson (both former residents) at the local supermarket.
This came in the mail yesterday. It’s wildly misleading.
Well… I did pay my dues for 50 years. That must have been a factor. “Service” is another matter. Does it count if I only practiced (keyword) for 9 months?
Last week I noticed my old firm’s name roll by in the credits of Woody Allen’s latest film, Café Society. Yep, Loeb & Loeb is Woody’s legal counsel. How fitting. My experience at the firm was like something out of one of his films. On my first day, Goldie Cohen, a secretary for one of the senior partners, told me that as a goy I would never understand what was going on at L&L unless I knew a little Yiddish. She offered to provide some informal tutoring, so whenever I passed her desk she offered up another Yiddish morsel. Meshuga, eh?
It’s mid-afternoon in Rome, and we’re standing in a narrow cobbled street near Malafemmena Restaurant. Piero, the owner, sees us and calls out, “Mr. Jack! Buon giorno! Vieni qua! You come! Sit! Please… I bring you a Limoncello.” Piero, in his too-small rumpled suit, is just clearing his last lunch table and wants us to sit down with him. He’s craving a cigarette and conversation. Via Vittoria is shady, cool and quiet. Three blocks away the Piazza di Spagna is hot and noisy.
Malafemmena is Piero’s restaurant. The name carries a double meaning. The direct translation is “sinful woman.” I ask him why an upscale restaurant in the city’s most exclusive neighborhood bears such a questionable name. He tells me that it’s also the name of a famous Neapolitan song written by a actor about his estranged wife. The explanation seems very Italian.
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