Finally, a new restaurant to report on. Toasty is dealing well with his diabetes and is slowly learning to eat at restaurants once again. As long as he sticks to lean protein, plain veggies, and salads, he’s OK.
One of the reasons we eat out a lot is the nature of Toasty’s work. He has had an impressive array of embarrassing occupations. His first job after college and the Army was selling chemicals, degreasers for manufacturers of electronic components like printed circuit boards. When he began to work for this company he first had to spend a few months working in the warehouse so that he would have a feel for all aspects of the business. He would come home with horrible headaches, and one time he actually had an appalling bubble or blister on the surface of his eyeball. He said it was an allergic reaction to the weeds that grew next to the warehouse but I wonder. These chemicals were subsequently found to be quite toxic. Some – more than the average you’d expect in the general population – of the men who worked full time in the warehouse, filling the drums of chemicals and loading them onto trucks, later died of various dreadful cancers. That company is no longer in business. I don’t know what is now used to clean printed circuit boards.
His next job was selling “flexible packaging.” OK, plastic bags. Yeah, right, those things are biodegradable – maybe in a million years, after the sun explodes.
Next he sold cigar and smoking accessories – fancy holders and portable ashtrays and something called a CigarSavor that lets you smoke one of those delightful stogies half way and then save it and keep it fresh as a daisy for another pleasurable lung-blackening experience. Here in NorCal the anti-smoking laws are pretty stringent, but some restaurants and bars had set aside hermetically-sealed smoking rooms as private clubs to get around the restrictions. But the waiters who had to come into those rooms to serve drinks complained about inhaling the smoke, new laws went up, and the cigar-smoking culture around here died and the company was bought out.
Then he was a telemarketer. He sold products for calibrating spectrophotometers, so he wasn’t calling you at home just as you sat down to dinner, but he was cold-calling scientific labs, so maybe he got you at work. It was a tough sale, as a little bottle of this stuff cost hundreds of dollars. After a while the company decided to pay him commission only, which would have meant an annual salary of about ten dollars, so he quit.
After that he worked for me at the travel agency for a while. That almost resulted in simultaneous homicide. Then he did odd jobs – no job too big or too small, too dirty or degrading. He cleaned garages and gutters, weeded gardens, moved furniture, took loads of garbage to the dump, drove bratty kids to Hebrew school, and picked up dry-cleaning for women who were busy playing tennis. Actually, some of this was quite interesting, especially the garbage. You would never believe which sweet, mild-mannered lady puts down a six-pack every night! And, he picked up some odds and ends for me to use in my found-object collages. But that work is sporadic and back-breaking.
And finally, his current vocation: night watchman in a mortuary.
Traditional Judaism has lots of rules and rituals, some of which seem arbitrary and arcane. But the burial laws, or at least some of them, make a certain amount of sense. Jews are generally not embalmed, and hence are put in the ground as soon as possible, preferably within 24 hours after death. The body is not supposed to be left alone, as a gesture of respect and decency. Some families will pay to have a “watcher” sit with the body all night. The watcher is supposed to recite Psalms all night, and keep rodents away from the body, but the deceased are actually in the cooler, and while there is a resident mouse, he is more of a companion to Toasty than a threat.
Toasty’s shift is 8PM to 8AM. Due to the nature of death, he never knows when he is going to work. He’ll get a call in the afternoon and he has to get ready. My workday ends at 5PM, so unless I have leftovers in the house there’s usually not enough time for me to come home and cook something – he has to leave by 6:30 because of the awful traffic. But I can meet him somewhere along one of the freeways and he has plenty of time to eat and scoot.
One night we ended up at Café Grillades, located in Bayhill Shopping Center in San Bruno, a good location for us to meet for dinner. The food at Café Grillades is Mediterranean/North African/Middle Eastern. I had really tasty lamb chops that had been rubbed with a reddish color spice – not sure what it was, but it was very good. They came with salad and french fries. Toasty had lamb brochettes and asked for extra salad instead of potatoes. Most restaurants are happy to accommodate special requests. I don’t know if I’d try it in some chi-chi pretty food chef-driven place, but a strip mall restaurant needs to be flexible.
Café Grillades has an eclectic menu. Other offerings included couscous plates, paninis, and crepes, both savory and sweet. I couldn’t help myself – I ordered a strawberry crepe brule – with a crunchy top of caramelized sugar. I felt momentary guilt eating this in front of Toasty, but he asked for and received a dish of plain strawberries.
Something about crepes causes me to go weak in the knees. I don’t know what it is. They are sublime. I once made crepes suzettes for a dinner party, and while they were a lot of work they were the star of the evening, by far. The ultimate comfort food, unctuous, rich, buttery. So I am anxious to go back to Café Grillades to try their other dishes – and to have some more crepes.
One of the reasons we eat out a lot is the nature of Toasty’s work. He has had an impressive array of embarrassing occupations. His first job after college and the Army was selling chemicals, degreasers for manufacturers of electronic components like printed circuit boards. When he began to work for this company he first had to spend a few months working in the warehouse so that he would have a feel for all aspects of the business. He would come home with horrible headaches, and one time he actually had an appalling bubble or blister on the surface of his eyeball. He said it was an allergic reaction to the weeds that grew next to the warehouse but I wonder. These chemicals were subsequently found to be quite toxic. Some – more than the average you’d expect in the general population – of the men who worked full time in the warehouse, filling the drums of chemicals and loading them onto trucks, later died of various dreadful cancers. That company is no longer in business. I don’t know what is now used to clean printed circuit boards.
His next job was selling “flexible packaging.” OK, plastic bags. Yeah, right, those things are biodegradable – maybe in a million years, after the sun explodes.
Next he sold cigar and smoking accessories – fancy holders and portable ashtrays and something called a CigarSavor that lets you smoke one of those delightful stogies half way and then save it and keep it fresh as a daisy for another pleasurable lung-blackening experience. Here in NorCal the anti-smoking laws are pretty stringent, but some restaurants and bars had set aside hermetically-sealed smoking rooms as private clubs to get around the restrictions. But the waiters who had to come into those rooms to serve drinks complained about inhaling the smoke, new laws went up, and the cigar-smoking culture around here died and the company was bought out.
Then he was a telemarketer. He sold products for calibrating spectrophotometers, so he wasn’t calling you at home just as you sat down to dinner, but he was cold-calling scientific labs, so maybe he got you at work. It was a tough sale, as a little bottle of this stuff cost hundreds of dollars. After a while the company decided to pay him commission only, which would have meant an annual salary of about ten dollars, so he quit.
After that he worked for me at the travel agency for a while. That almost resulted in simultaneous homicide. Then he did odd jobs – no job too big or too small, too dirty or degrading. He cleaned garages and gutters, weeded gardens, moved furniture, took loads of garbage to the dump, drove bratty kids to Hebrew school, and picked up dry-cleaning for women who were busy playing tennis. Actually, some of this was quite interesting, especially the garbage. You would never believe which sweet, mild-mannered lady puts down a six-pack every night! And, he picked up some odds and ends for me to use in my found-object collages. But that work is sporadic and back-breaking.
And finally, his current vocation: night watchman in a mortuary.
Traditional Judaism has lots of rules and rituals, some of which seem arbitrary and arcane. But the burial laws, or at least some of them, make a certain amount of sense. Jews are generally not embalmed, and hence are put in the ground as soon as possible, preferably within 24 hours after death. The body is not supposed to be left alone, as a gesture of respect and decency. Some families will pay to have a “watcher” sit with the body all night. The watcher is supposed to recite Psalms all night, and keep rodents away from the body, but the deceased are actually in the cooler, and while there is a resident mouse, he is more of a companion to Toasty than a threat.
Toasty’s shift is 8PM to 8AM. Due to the nature of death, he never knows when he is going to work. He’ll get a call in the afternoon and he has to get ready. My workday ends at 5PM, so unless I have leftovers in the house there’s usually not enough time for me to come home and cook something – he has to leave by 6:30 because of the awful traffic. But I can meet him somewhere along one of the freeways and he has plenty of time to eat and scoot.
One night we ended up at Café Grillades, located in Bayhill Shopping Center in San Bruno, a good location for us to meet for dinner. The food at Café Grillades is Mediterranean/North African/Middle Eastern. I had really tasty lamb chops that had been rubbed with a reddish color spice – not sure what it was, but it was very good. They came with salad and french fries. Toasty had lamb brochettes and asked for extra salad instead of potatoes. Most restaurants are happy to accommodate special requests. I don’t know if I’d try it in some chi-chi pretty food chef-driven place, but a strip mall restaurant needs to be flexible.
Café Grillades has an eclectic menu. Other offerings included couscous plates, paninis, and crepes, both savory and sweet. I couldn’t help myself – I ordered a strawberry crepe brule – with a crunchy top of caramelized sugar. I felt momentary guilt eating this in front of Toasty, but he asked for and received a dish of plain strawberries.
Something about crepes causes me to go weak in the knees. I don’t know what it is. They are sublime. I once made crepes suzettes for a dinner party, and while they were a lot of work they were the star of the evening, by far. The ultimate comfort food, unctuous, rich, buttery. So I am anxious to go back to Café Grillades to try their other dishes – and to have some more crepes.
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