It’s not really a garage. It’s Queenie’s.
It was a beautiful Saturday morning, and it seemed like a perfect day to have breakfast at Queenie’s. As I walked out to the car, I noticed that the quality of the light and the air were somehow different than it is in the summer. It’s hard to explain exactly how, but seasons are more subtle here than they are back east. Having said that, I was delighted to discover that the leaves on the tree next to the kitchen deck have changed from green to gold in a quite eastern manner:
Not many trees have color changing leaves here where temperature changes are too modest to inspire the annual display of brilliance found in places where it’s unbearably hot in the summer and freezing cold in the winter. It rarely gets down to 32F/0C in the winter, and while we get the occasional heat wave in the summer, it’s not usually excessively hot, either, and it generally cools off at night.The seasons are more like: rain; no rain; fog; rain again.
We were in a no rain period when I headed to the beautiful south coast. It was one of those postcard days, with the blue waves crashing into white foam against the dark rocks, the sun sparkling on the water. Arriving at Queenie’s, I was lucky enough to get a window table. Next to me was a table of four white-haired gentlemen, who were having breakfast together and enjoying an animated discussion. It was nice to see people hanging out together and enjoying each other’s company instead of being on their phones. I had the impression that this was a long-standing tradition for these friends. After they finished eating, they all loaded into one pick up truck and drove off laughing, with the windows down.
My breakfast was fabulous: potatoes with sautéed onions, roasted garlic, green chilis, and smoked Gouda, topped with two eggs. Queenie herself came out to say hello – we are acquaintances from the Ledford House bar* – and I was surprised she remembered my name. She said, “Thank you for enjoying the food!” and I said, “Thank you for cooking it!” It was nice to see her. And breakfast was excellent.
As I left, I couldn’t help noticing the beautiful view across the street:
I headed to the Village after breakfast, with the intention of getting a pizza from the ever-delicious Café Beaujolais. By the time I got there, it was 1:00 in the afternoon, and I really should have known better. There were 6-8 people in line, which I knew meant over an hour to wait for the pizza, maybe an hour and a half. So I went back to the car. On my way home, I thought how funny it was that 6 people in line here makes me give up on the whole thing, whereas in the city – say, at Swan Oyster Depot – I would be thrilled to find only 6 or 8 people in front of me. I would feel like I won the lottery. It’s all relative, I guess.
*That sounded kind of bad, didn’t it?
A YEAR AGO: Some updates. And not feeling too festive.
FIVE YEARS AGO: A lovely dinner with friends.
TEN YEARS AGO: A lack of enthusiasm for library book annotations.
FIFTEEN YEARS AGO: Feeling a little under the weather.