Friday Report 8/24/07

Greetings, one and all. Here's this week's Friday Letter. Enjoy !

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You've seen fathers and mothers do this: The baby's cute little buttocks is just too beautiful to resist.

The father or mother, while dressing or bathing the baby, will give it smoochies, or make a rude noise by blowing air through the lips against the baby's skin.

All four of my babies loved it. They would laugh and giggle and wiggle with glee when their mother or I would do this.

Kiss a baby's bare butt? Wouldn't get away with anything like that now. These days it would be considered molestation.

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When we go out to eat with friends, I'm always the last to finish. Always, unless I've ordered a ''Pine Float.'' (For those lacking food service experience, that's a glass of water and a toothpick.)

Why am I always last? My friend Larry suggests it might be that I'm the one doing all the talking. (I don't deny the supposition. I am after all trying to become a saint, and when I become one, I will be called "Saint Loquacious.")

But I really don't think it's because I talk more than others. Rather, I eat more slowly.

Which brings us to the subject of "Fast Food." For me, there just isn't such a thing.

With fast food, the idea is, you only get a half hour for lunch. You're too vain to take a sack lunch and bite the bullet. So you go somewhere ''fast.''

You get a double burger with cheese, jalapeno chiles and beans. Oh, and french fries, and a milkshake. You ingest all this in about 7 and 1/2 minutes, then wonder why you can't stay awake after the lunch break.

Dining is one of my pleasures. I like eating. Like just about anything else, one shouldn't rush into or through one's pleasures.

Haste negates the pleasure. This haste includes beginning the meal too soon. For myself, fine dining is done in the evening -- not at 5 p.m., but 8:30 or later. Certainly, a fine dinner would never be served before sundown.

Where do I get all this? From restaurants in which I was once an employee. In 1980, I was a bread baker for Sun Valley Company. There, the Lodge menu could truly be called ''cuisine.''

That place had real "silver" silverware, gold handrails at the stairs, crystal glassware, linen napkins and tablecloths, and fine china tablesettings.

The chef was a tall curly haired, brown-skinned man from Mexico City, whose name was Joe. He knew his stuff -- Mexican style steak, fish, shrimp and lobster were his forte'. Sometimes, a lowly gringo baker could persuade Joe to provide a sample. Knock your socks off.

The waiters paid the company to work there. That's right, waiters, no waitresses, and each man paid $25 up front to the maitre d'hotel before beginning a shift.

Waiters wore formal attire -- tuxedoes. Other staff wore starchy white food-service double-breasted jackets, and baker's hats. I wore the same uniform, although my clothing was usually more soiled than that of the waiters, because my work was in the bakery, not the dining room.

The bar opened at 8 p.m., and dinner was served no sooner than 9 p.m. Tables were reserved for the entire evening -- there was no pressure for diners to hurry. No one was waiting in line for the table. Service people could provide more personal attention to diners, and because of that, tips were better -- way better. Sophisticated, I thought.

People tell me, "You shouldn't go to bed on a full stomach." Maybe. But then, explain to me why it is that "a nap" is so appealing right after Thanksgiving dinner.

The body concentrates its energy on the digestive tract, robbing a little blood flow from the brain, lungs and muscles. Rest, or sleep, seems natural to me after a good meal.

Alas, I admit to being unconventional in all this, and it's socially costly. We hardly ever ''entertain'' in our home because everyone we know takes the evening meal at 5 or 6 p.m. My kitchen isn't geared up for that. I'd have to leave work at 3 p.m. to get a good meal ready that soon. (I get to work at noon, so that cramps my style.)

Best case scenario: We arrive home at 7:30 p.m. after work. I've some ingredients prepared. I start the oven or the cauldron, and soon after that, the meat begins cooking. We have a beer or a cocktail while I'm preparing the rest of the food.

At 9:30, dinner is served. At 10, dessert is served. I "read" (nap) until 10:30, then get out of the chair and go to bed for the night. I like it this way.

I don't work on a dairy farm, so I don't have to go to bed at sunset.

It just seems more civilized than gobbling a big chunk of steak during the heat of the afternoon, then trying to be studious or conversant until 10:30.

But I said we were unconventional.

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Word of the week: Happenstance. Chance or accidental happening. It's not Latin ! It's Middle English, from "happenen" or ''hapnen." Or, as my darling daughters used to say, "It was on a accident."

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Next week's word: analgesic.