field notes SF – ramen, etc.

this much-requested food diary is the final post in the Bay Area “field notes” series. yum.

devoured: appropriately-named “Best Day of My Life” (BDOML) açai bowl c/o Bare Bowls. Friend’s response to snap story: “Is that weed?” (No, but it could have been.)
reunited withvictoria, cradling a massive “welcome” bouquet in her arms. Ecstatic tears ensued.
surrounded by: so much athleisure I might as well have been swimming in lycra.

tried: hint® @ Facebook HQ micro-kitchen #146; raspberry sorbet @ Sweet Stop; demolishing evil robots/frying bacon @ Oculus; surprisingly savory cajun tofu burgers @ Full Circle.
metwill (more tears) + ashu (“surprised to see us?”) + poz, head of intern videography.
basked: atop MPK 20, in Facebook’s High Line-esque rooftop garden.

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field notes SF – overheard on the Caltrain

this is the first post in the Bay Area installment of the travel series “field notes”. hope you enjoy!

overheard: “I heard Berkeley Hillel is, like, so much stronger than Stanford Hillel. I’m not sure why, I mean, I’ve been to both campuses and they both have solid Jewish communities…” – a gregarious young Jewish woman
sidebar: Whatever else it may be, Stanford is an overwhelming sensory paradise: the rows of palm trees that echo the countless arched pathways; the seemingly endless occasions for photo ops (including one where we witnessed a freshly-minted bride grab her groom’s asscrack, with Rodin’s sculptures eyeing them in the background); the colorful nods to Art Deco; expansive space to breathe, utterly antithesis to Columbia’s austere geometry; the omnipresent sun etching every crevice in gold, from the Quad to the Arboretum.

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On German lakes

we interrupt your regularly scheduled Prokofiev program notes with something that must be said.

[POI: a conversation where two people ask each other if there’s “any other unfinished business,” and the answer is, “of course,” but nobody dares utter it.]

dear _____,

One of my favorite memories with you is sitting on the edge of Lake Constance (Bodensee in German), close enough to the pewter-colored water to poke the swans squawking on the surface. You likely don’t remember it. A Cavalier King Charles spaniel bounced by. “It’s so regal,” you exclaimed, your voice hushed. “So English,” I agreed.

Things were untainted then, on that bench by the lake. I hadn’t yet loved you. You probably loved me, but you didn’t know it yet. You simply kept asking that I quiz you from your German notebook. Laid out maps for me in the morning before you left for class on the kitchen table, in case I got lost (I didn’t, thanks to your ever-meticulous instructions). Met me by the train station. Still slept on a board the third night because you insisted I have your mattress. When I think of the way you were kind to me those four days, in my ears I hear your voice: calm, assured, and steady, like marble.

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