I hope my readers had a good weekend. I mostly hung out with Tiffy, who came to town for a special dinner party. We met Rich for lunch on Saturday and then hung out on the three-season porch in our condo. Why we don’t use that room more is beyond me. When we first moved in, it was Cashmere the Rabbit’s room, but she hasn’t been there in a couple of years. Travalon did get some furniture to put in there, so that helps. In the evening Tiffy, Rich, and some other people who do not have names on this blog went to a dinner party we had to pay for. Let me explain: a young couple (with an adorable 15-month-old daughter who loved me) throw these dinner parties, and you pay to go to them. This is their seed money to start an actual restaurant, although they are thinking of continuing more of the popup dinners because running a whole restaurant when you have a baby is a daunting proposition. Anyway, she is the chef and he is the sommelier; they both trained in Chicago and did an amazing job, besides being very personable. She did say she was embarrassed that during an interview she said she served “hyperlocal” food, meaning from her own backyard garden, and her family has not stopped razzing her for using that word. However, it must exist, since Spellcheck is not hating on it. Travalon, meanwhile, went on a guys’ trip to Chicago with Cecil Markovitch, the Single B-Boy, and Mr. N’Awlins, and they had an excellent time too, visiting a Greek Orthodox church with a weeping icon, a Mexican art museum, and a church where they went to Vespers and Mass. Then they had dinner at a Greek restaurant.
Sunday morning Tiffy, Travalon, and I went to brunch at Tavernakaya, since I had seen a few weeks back that they were advertising it but nobody was there, and you know how I feel sorry for people. Apparently word had already spread, because it was quite busy when we were there. It was really good: brunch basics with an Asian twist, like my eggs benedict were over Asian buns instead of English muffins. You could also get basic American brunch food or straight-up Japanese fare. Then we watched the first half of the Packers game, but it was so bad that all three of us loyal Packer Backers decided we were wasting our lives, so Tiffy headed home while Travalon and I went for a hike at Indian Lake with Rodney. (We did tape the game in case the Pack made a historic comeback, but of course they did not.) They can’t be good every year, but do they have to be this bad?? In the evening we went to the Parched Eagle Brew Pub for a pizza and a beer, and when I asked the brew master if he was going to brew a sour beer because I love those, he said, “And for good reason!” He said he is working on two, but that sour beers take a very long time to mature. This I did not know! Maybe that is why you don’t see them very often.