Lemon Sorbet

Each course at NAOE evoked such excitement, almost like that giddy feeling in the first part of a relationship. After that thrill, you begin to think about each melding flavor, how the flavors work together, how they complement one another. You find strengths and weaknesses alike. The ending always came too abruptly, no matter how much or how little I enjoyed it, and I was promptly handed a lemon sorbet to cleanse my palate – get ready for another one, they tell you! Perhaps I am unusual in my response to this, but I do get fairly attached to my food, and I don’t take well to switching. That’s what the lemon sorbet is for – it’s tart and cold, and doesn’t allow you to look back.

What is scarier with your dating life is that there is no finite number of courses, no magical number of relationships that will set you on a path to satisfaction. Two courses may await you, or twelve. Even more surprising are the people who keep going past three, past that uncomfortable feeling of being swollen with regret, to find out what else awaits them – what bravery! Or fickle desperation, either one.

I write to you from my lemon sorbet of sorts. I don’t fully appreciate the taste of my last course anymore, although I remember soft notes of honey and mint, followed by a harsh burnt crust. I will procure my next course with greater meticulousness. I don’t know that I am brave enough to go through more than three courses. I love too easily, and feel full too easily. And so, for my next course, I’ve stubbornly shooed away the chicken pasta (sure, it’s good, but it won’t blow me away) and the buttered lobster (generally over-promises and under-delivers). The next one – oh, I will make the next one count. It’s going to be sweet, but airy.

And now, I take you to San Francisco. The good news is that the city was painstakingly picked out, with all the precision you might expect from someone who gets full with three courses. And with that, I bring you to foodie heaven.