Birds of a feather...

One of my fondest discoveries in San Francisco was a quaint little bar known as Blackbird, it's in the Castro, on Market and Church and from my understanding just recently opened. It was referred to me by my cocktail-loving DJ friend, the one who was just recently proposed to (yay!)

Upon entering the establishment, I took an immediate liking to the place. A rather modern place, with a few stylistic old world elements (think along the lines of Hendrick's imagery) to enhance the venue's character and lend a nod to the era of when bourbon and gin cocktails reigned supreme. A somewhat narrow space, with concrete-gray colored walls; a few high-boy bistro tables in either window; an industrial, metal table towards the right of the entrance surrounded with an octet of institutional chairs, and an orange leather booth that ran along the left side of a pair of long, narrow, raw wood, high tables with matching institutional stools.

The bar itself was made of a heavy, dark wood, and had an antique appearance (also lined with institutional metal stools.) Suspended above the bar was a row of exposed tungsten bulbs dangling at various lengths and intervals--hmmm... notice a trend recently? (I must confess, upon my latest relocation to Midtown, I myself, installed exposed tungsten bulbs in my bathroom.) Adding even more length and vertical movement to the space, the ceiling was covered in slender boards of unfinished wood, wood that very much complimented the tables.

Blackbird's drink menu, written in black magic marker on rather large pieces of brown butcher paper (another charming touch) is hung against a perpendicular wall entirely decoupaged with old newspapers. Listed are about a dozen house cocktails, (which appear pretty impressive at first glance-until realizing about a third of them are vodka based) accompanied by a decent selection of beer and wine. (Upon a subsequent visit, I discovered they have very friendly happy hour prices as well.)

Slightly further into the space, another booth of orange leather, this time much lower and much longer, a row of square, raw wood tables and (surprise, surprise,) a bundle of industrial metal chairs. Toward the back lay a much used pool table and an ever slightly used photo booth, as well as the restrooms.

For my first drink I was torn between the Batida, which featured real coconut milk or the Dutch Courage which contained egg white. I went for the liquid courage: Bols Genever, maple syrup, egg white, lemon juice, lime juice, a dash of orange flower water and served with a sprig of mint. I was pleased at Blackbird that they measured their pours and squeezed fresh fruit for every order. Unfortunately they don't use fresh eggs, they use egg whites from a carton and I immediately could tell the difference. The yummy, creamy, frothy, milkshake-like texture I am so fond of, was just not there.

For round two I asked for a custom cocktail and my bartender was at a bit of a loss. (I'm so thankful such a situation seldom happens to me in the Emerald City.) I attempted to guide her through a beverage I had enjoyed recently at Vessel and was able to recall most, if not all, of the ingredients. She did her best, but the result was not quite exactly what I was hoping for.

The mediocrity of my cocktail mattered little for the people-watching here was spectacular. I sat at the lower booth, facing the bar, on my right, were two married European couples and to my left, a table of assorted Hipsters--boys and girls. I would watch people as they filed in; the Pretty People, the B-Gays, the Lipstick Lesbonics, the Bears, the Cubs, the Cougars, the Yuppies (yes, they still do exist,) the Daddies, the Bridge-and-Tunnel crowd (think Tavern Law on a Saturday night,) and the tourists (myself included.) I found it a bit fascinating seeing such an array of people flocking to the same watering hole, and they all were actually interacting with one another. That is something we seldom see in the Emerald City.

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A few days later I brought in my friend who was the impetus of my whole SF trip, she had just finished Nursing School at the prestigious University of San Francisco. I flew down, along with her sister, to keep her company on the drive back to the Emerald City. That day we discovered Blackbird's great happy hour. Wine $4, Beer $3 and Wells $3. She had a vodka with soda. I had a cocktail, which is not on special (High Maintenance? Maybe, but hey, I was on vacation.) This time I went with the house Negroni: Blue Coat Gin, Aperol, Lillet Rouge served with an orange twist. It worked. I have a friend in the Emerald City who loves Negronis and I know he'd take a liking to the Blackbird Negroni.

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My last venture to Blackbird I went to meet up with my DJ friend (did I mention he's recently engaged?) It was a Wednesday night, around 8 o'clock and I was a bit early. The bar was the most crowded I had ever seen. After patiently waiting to place an order I was informed they were sold out of their house specialty, The Martinez. So I just went with a whiskey sour. $3. I didn't realize it was still happy hour. Perhaps that explained why it was so crowded?

It took awhile for me to secure seating, but I was in no rush. One of the long wooden tables near the door was eventually vacated after which, I slid into the high booth and just drank in the scenery while sipping on my sour. My friend arrived, sporting a new haircut and took a seat beside me. That wasn't the only thing new he wore. He had a ring on his left hand. I was so excited! Turns out it's a Teno.

For the sake of old times, my friend ordered us a pair of Last Words and we plotted our plans for the night, where we might go for dinner and further drinks and where we'd end up for some dancing. Well, our plans evolved as we met some lost couch surfers. My friend told them of a nearby hill, Corona Heights, where you can hike up and take in a fantastic view of the city. I was feeling a bit adventurous so after filling ourselves with some burgers nearby we stopped off at the corner store and grabbed a bottle of Maker's (and a can of coconut water,) and set off for the hill.

Though pretty steep, especially for an urban hike, the climb wasn't bad at all and well worth it. Once we reached the pinnacle we were able to take in an amazing view of the entire city. We found a boulder to perch upon and broke open our bottle of Bourbon. As the hours went by, the more we revealed to one another: we spoke of love, lost and found; of family; of life, past and present and the possible future; all the while we watched the city slowly become shrouded in layers of fog and mist until we found ourselves at a loss for last words, surrounded by a sea of glowing brume and an empty bottle of whiskey.

Trophy hunting.

After several hours of traveling on a plane, a train and an automobile I found myself in the fog-shrouded part of San Francisco known as Inner Richmond. A friend of mine, originally from the Emerald City, has recently finished Nursing School; her sister is scheduled to fly down and meet us we are all driving back together with her belongings. It was shortly after midnight when we rendezvoused and I was thirsty, (the beer on my flight having long since worn off.) Fortunately, my friend lives walking distance to a number of bars, I chose the one with sexiest name: The Buckshot.

The place was packed, much like any dive bar on a Saturday night at midnight. I ordered a shot of Fernet and a pair of PBRs (hey, "when in Rome...") My friend and I found a little spot between the shuffleboard table and the skee ball machines, where we could indulge our curiosity and observe the crowd. Underneath the gaze of countless mounted hunting trophies (so many and so varied Linda D., herself, would drool at this collection,) we took note of the various cliques, each group of drunkards easily distinguished by the uniform attire they wore, whether it be of an athletic jock-like variety, urban gangsta', or bridge 'n' tunnel mini dresses with heels too high to gracefully strut in paired with obnoxiously monogrammed Coach bags (sorry, at that price point there are a lot more labels to choose from and not all of them are made in China.)

I suggested we migrate towards the dance floor for better viewing of the various weekend courtship and mating rituals occurring all around us. We wove through the boisterous mass and were able to find a pair of stools to perch upon and continued our analysis of the crowd. (And quite honestly, we were also checking out the boys.) Apparently I got caught checking out a tall, dark and handsome guy, with a great build and chiseled jaw line, his eyes locked on mine and immediately he came over and sat next to me on a vacant stool asking me what my name was (Gush!)

Beside my newly befriended hunk-of-a-friend, I was completely beside myself. I could scarcely believe he was talking to me! He kept reaching down to adjust his socks and every time he would press his leg closer to mine (Gush!) We shared more about each other, where we came from, he himself being from San Diego. He was surprised I was 31. I was surprised he was 22. (Cougar! I know.) He did preface our conversation with saying his girlfriend just left (Really? Was that some sort of invitation? I can never tell.) He kept asking me why I wasn't out on the floor dancing, I tried to play coy and mumbled something about wanting to wait until a song I really liked to come on before hitting the floor. So we kept talking, he told me he worked at a retail store downtown and that he's used to being around a lot of gay people because of it, all the while he kept getting closer, our arms touching, our shoulders touching. I couldn't have asked for a warmer welcome to SF (Gush!)

He finally went out onto the dance floor and a flock of girls surrounded him. My friend kept encouraging me to get out there and after a few songs, I went. He was happy to see me, but I made sure I maintained a distance from him, (I didn't want him to think I was making assumptions, but sometimes it's hard not too, especially when cheap beer is involved.) Before leaving, being obliged to meet up with some other friends, he made a point to say goodbye to me and I ended the night gushing and glowing.

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A few days later, while downtown looking for a sweater to ward off the ever-present San Francisco chill, I decided to do a little "drive-by" where my hunk-of-a-friend works and as I walked by, sure enough, there he was in all his glory. It took him a moment to register how he knew me, then he smiled and opened his arms to give me a hug (Gush!) He introduced me to a co-worker of his, a slight, coiffed and well manicured Asian boy, who graciously complimented me on my leather jacket (BR.)

"So did you have fun the other night?" My hunk-of-a-friend asked me, three times. (Isn't it true, when nervous, people tend to repeat themselves? Just sayin'...) He asked if I were going out again this weekend. I told him I'd like to, but wasn't sure, just playing it all by ear. I asked him if he ever goes out during the week. He suggested I take his number and maybe we could go out together sometime (Honestly, it was his idea, not mine!) So I entered his number into my phone and shot him a text and took my leave, after another tight hug, of course (Gush!)

Quite the souvenir to come home with, if you ask me (Gush!)

A highlight* *from SFO

One evening in March, at a schmoozy networking event for men who enjoy the company of men (homosexuals,) on the terrace of a somewhat pretentious (for the Emerald City) hotel, I met a bright, charming young (my age) man, who was up visiting his brother (a fellow socialite.) Having gone to a few of these events in the past one tends to recognize (at least I do) faces (and outfits, and accessories.) I find it amusing whenever a new face appears (fresh meat) and witnessing the crowd's reaction to someone new. (Curious? I'll take you out for a little social experimentation sometime. Contact me.)

As the event wound down, me, my socialite friend and his brother went to eat and drink. My friend's husband (yes, apparently in this day and age men can marry men-yipee!) is the general manager of a restaurant in one of the Emerald City's livelier and more colorful hotels. The three of us decided to hop over (more like climb or hike--the Emerald City and all it's hills) and pay him a visit. 'Twas such awhile ago I can not recall what it is we tasted and enjoyed. I do remember, my friend's brother, is a smoker and I would accompany him on his breaks for fresh air. Outside I eagerly shared with him what I knew of Emerald City's skyline and it's history.

No tour of the Emerald City is complete without a stop at Vessel, my home away from home, (a home I regard with much pride and joy.) The delight upon my new found friend's face was quite evident. I did not realize until then he had the palate and passion for cocktails (and good food) as I do. Needless to say, we imbibed.

The next morning the comment he left on my Facebook page read: "those last words haven't finished talking. so glad we made it to vessel though."

It is now August and I am visiting in his city of residence, San Francisco. He is a DJ and was at a party last night in SOMA. He is no longer single, and I, being the florist that I am, drew out the story of how that came to be.

Shortly after his trip to the Emerald City, he was out doing his DJ thing and saw someone he was compelled to meet. He asked for his name and introductions were made, and they spent the rest of the night chatting, dancing and smiling. At the end of the night contact info was exchanged and a few days later contact was made and a date was set.

Forgive me for not being able to recall the venue or the details of their date as I was two cocktails and two whiskey-gingers deep, but I do remember the subject of singledom was brought up and both boys found them to also share that in common, as well as other hobbies and passions. That seemed to cement their connection even more.

Recently, the two went for a long bike ride and during an abeyant rest for them to catch their breath, my friend's breath was taken away as his beau dropped down on one knee and stated his intention to have him in his life ever more and today they are going ring shopping.

I had the pleasure of meeting the fiancé last night, along with a host of other friends, fellow DJ's and acquaintances of the blissful two. When my friend's beloved arrived, instantly a Japanese quote I am fond of came to mind: "When two hearts are as one, eyes are more eloquent than lips." So intense, yet gentle and full ardor was his gaze for my friend, who returned the look with the brightest smile and a gaze just as earnest and ardent.

I am certain these two will never be at a lost for words, ever, their glances will always speak volumes.

Fruit never falls far from the tree, especially Siamese fruit.

Recently I took a day trip up to Vancouver, British Columbia, with my mother's eldest sister, to visit one of her best friends that she has known for over 30 years. The two met while attending the University of Washington, my aunt needed an extra quarter for bus fare and asked a fellow student in the copy center if she could help her out, which she did. The next day after paying her back, my aunt inquired where her classmate was from, noting that the generous girl had a distinct name that resonated with my aunt.

"I'm from Thailand," her new friend answered.

"What?! Me too!" My aunt exclaimed.

They have been best of friends ever since. My aunt's friend ended up emigrating to Canada after graduating from the UW and marrying a Japanese man, together they run a very successful sushi restaurant and catering company. Most recently they were commissioned to provide sushi and assorted Japanese culinary delights for the Canadian glitterati and athletes during the 2010 Winter Olympics. Often, they also do catering for locally touring musicians and entertainers.

My aunt and I took the train up to Vancouver, her first time ever on the US railways. Upon checking in we discovered there was a snafu with our booking and we were scheduled to board the train to Vancouver, Washington and not BC. My anxiety subsided with the arrival of my aunt, late, causing us to miss the Southbound train, which turned out to be a blessing in disguise; we still had time to catch the correct Northbound train. When dealing with the ticketing agent, my aunt, being in a near-panicked state, flustered and having a tendency towards hot-headed-ness (much like my grandmother, her mother,) was not the most pleasant person to deal with. Things got to a point where the profusely sweating ticketing agent had to excuse himself and leave the counter before continuing to assist us. When he returned, I maintained an air of calm and did my best to assuage both parties and was relieved when my aunt was refunded for the mis-booked Vancouver, Washington tickets and the rest of our itinerary became sorted out.

We had about an hour and a half until the Northbound train departed and decided to get something to eat in nearby Chinatown. I was wary of us straying too far and not making it back in time to make our train, so I opted for the closest place with the most options, the food court in Uwajimaya Village, it sufficed and we made it back to the train station with leftovers for the ride up and a quarter of an hour to spare.

During the four hour ride, my aunt and I were able to do quite a lot of catching up. It had been years since we've last spent such a significant time together. She told me stories of her childhood and hardships endured in the Third World, her impetus for becoming educated and successful here in the United States. She confided in me in her reasons in selecting her husband and why she endured so long in a marriage overlaid with seemingly endless obstacles and intricate challenges. It's quite something to relate with one's elder relatives on a peer level, it adds a whole new dimension to the dynamic of the relationship. Apparently I'm an adult now.

From my aunt's stories I gleaned a clearer reflection of myself. My aunt also shared with me moments of her childhood, which help me see how her heart has been shaped to resemble the form it now possesses. She told me tales of her hopeful youth, of yearning to be successful with her exacting marriage while simultaneously running a strenuous business. She spoke of heart-breaking experiences and wounded pride; a pride I too posses. Coming from the Land of Smiles, we Thai may be quick to reconcile and forgive, but we have memories as long as elephants, (perhaps that is why the elephant served as the crest of our ancient Ayutthaya Kingdom,) we seldom forget when we've been wronged.

It has been said by many we are a people of beautiful stock, have a penchant for aesthetics, are also known as loving and gracious to a fault, and renowned throughout the world for our hospitality--I suspect that is exactly why it is unfathomable to our prideful egos whenever we are shown discourtesy or disrespect; seeking not revenge, we yearn for justice and accountability.

The hours I spent with my aunt I saw in her my grandmother, my mother and myself. Strong-willed spirits who endure and endure and endure. We love easily and fiercely, and are adored by many. We rejoice in the blessings of life, both simple and grand, when abundant, and cunningly persevere when our path becomes littered with hardships. And when wounded, we are not quick to forget.

Is it Hot in Here, or is it Just Me?

"Take your pleasure seriously." -Charles Eames

A good credo to live by and one they take to heart at my absolute favorite bar in the city, Vessel. As my birthday season came to a close, last Saturday, I celebrated with a grand finale, A Midsummer's Night Heat, at Vessel, one of the sleekest bars in the city. Recently, Vessel was ranked as one of the "100 Top Bars in the World," in Food & Wine, and in 2008 featured as one of the "Best Bars in America," in Esquire. Some find the stark, white walls, transparent Kartell Ghost chairs, leaden gray floors and chartreuse-green glass staircase a bit too cool, uninviting and pretentious; I, myself, simply think of Vessel as an extension of my living room (and the dark and sexy Rob Roy, my basement.) 

At first glance, the bartenders at Vessel are all handsome (surprise, surprise,) suave (in a nonchalant way) and collected, (need I add cool to the list?) As I've gotten to know the dashing boys over the years I have also found them in addition to being straightforward, actually very genuine, personable and warm-hearted. The charming, svelte, female cocktail servers are all also very easy-on-the-eyes, ever composed and just as attentive, clicking throughout the night in their high heels and little, form-fitting black dresses.

I arrived a tad bit early and the bar was empty, save for the staff who were passing time playing with their smartphones. After my supple, custom cocktail was crafted, (thanks KL,) I decided to prop myself on one of the stools in the window facing Fifth Avenue and almost immediately the paparazzi began snapping away. Perhaps it was the outfit? A brand new pair of dark slim fitting denim jeans (Club Monaco,) cream-colored sleeveless tee featuring an abstract floral outline in fuchsia (Benetton,) brown wool vest (vintage) and newly polished black, knee-high leather boots (Nordstrom Rack;) for accessories I wore a black leather belt (Gap,) a black, leather, tassel belt that I wore as a layered necklace (also Gap,) a wool driving cap (TJ Max,) and a trio of pheasant and ostrich feathers.

While waiting for my guests to arrive, I sat, still and poised, as groups of tourists snapped away to their hearts' content, marveling whenever I would shift positions or sip on my sumptuous cocktail. My first pair of guests finally did show as 9 o'clock rolled around, a dear pair of friends engaged to be married next February. They joined me in the narrow window and we reminisced of a drunken night in years past in the very same seats. Shortly after, a newly acquainted friend and her darling husband, whom I had admired from afar at a previous at Vessel, arrived and we migrated to the bar proper.

Everyone that showed that evening, nearly twenty of us in total, put forth effort in their party attire, which I very much appreciated. Fitted and flattering cuts of cloth, flashes of skin and decadent accessories. I must say, we made quite the collection of chic urbanites: A doctor was in the house, as well as an architect, an engineer, a graphic designer, a fashionista, a venture capitalist, an accountant, a mathematician, several educators, a fencing instructor, a chef, a social health policy professional, and a trio of aspiring models.

Life is too short not celebrate every occasion that comes our way, and there are many, though a number go unnoticed, but one of the main reasons why I enjoy hosting parties so much is to have a hand in creating an opportunity to for like-hearted people to meet one another. As always, at my parties, well-suitable connections were made amongst my guests, which invariably fills me with a deep-rooted sense of pride. I always get a thrill of pairing people up, whether it be romantically, professionally, or otherwise. I like to think of it as playing the part of a socialite wife, or even, an urban geisha: "Dear, have you met so-and-so, they are in such-and-such field, quite similar to your line of profession." "Darling, I'd like to introduce you to so-and-so, they belong to such-and-such organization and are looking for x,y and z."

A smartly furnished room filled with lovely, well-intentioned, good-looking people all imbibing on top notch cocktails makes for the perfect combination for a memorable and enjoyable evening. I couldn't think of a better way to celebrate the end of my birthday.