Global Warming Revisited

Long-time readers of this blog may recall that we were sweltering at over 100 degrees last June here in San Francisco. Well. Today it hit 97 and it's only May! I spent most of the day on the deck, in the shade of the rusting ergometer.

Erika, on the other hand, engaged in a badly timed cooking frenzy: asparagus, goat cheese, and Goose Egg quiche (Thanks Chris!), citrus salad with anise syrup, and a middle eastern chickpea soup. And more bread from the freezer, of course. This time it was the walnut raisin, along with gifted baker Alan Gump's own sourdough whole wheat walnut (thanks Alan!).

After all that time in the kitchen, and a lovely brunch with dear friends, Erika and Peter took advantage of the heat to walk to the new ice cream place at 24th and Harrison, Humphry Slocombe. The deep Mission's answer to the yuppified (and delicious!) Bi-Rite Creamery, this place is known for their "extreme" flavors. Extremely hip that is. They take branded flavors to a whole new level, which annoys Erika, but still. The ice cream is pretty good. She and Peter shared a two-scoop single of "Surprise Breakfast" and "McAvoy Olive Oil". See, there is that branding. I mean, McAvoy makes some pretty amazing olive oil, but really she got that flavor only because it seemed to be one of the most innocuous and therefore baby friendly. Salted Licorice was not going to cut it and neither was Blue Bottle Vietnamese coffee. Strawberry candied jalapeno? No. Foie Gras ice cream? Well, maybe. Pistachio bacon was another maybe. But she also needed something to balance out that other scoop, which is a cute name for bourbon ice cream with corn flakes. Yes, she fed the baby bourbon ice cream. Call child protective services NOW.

He earned it though – that kid worked hard today. He stood all by himself today for the first time, and even took a teeny little unassisted step, showing off for guests Alan and Serena. We have invited them back for every day next week. I'm not too thrilled about the little guy getting so close to walking, because it means I won't be able to outrun him so easily. I certainly don't envy the teething though – I can hear him screaming from his crib right now as the rest of us engage in relaxing Sunday evening activities. Martin is off working on the plane and no doubt sweating like a pig. I am watching the birds in the neighbor's yard from our pleasantly breezy deck. And Erika is enjoying a glass of wine and watching the sunset (Whoops! There it goes behind the hill!), in between stints standing by the poor unhappy baby's crib and offering him ice cubes, infant tylenol, and hugs.

She is still working on the whole intuition thing, from her last guest post. It may have earned her another 5 days at Esalen. Stay tuned. In the mean time, her biggest struggle is differentiating between her inner voice and the voice of the little devil on her shoulder that represents all of her favorite sins. Sloth. Gluttony. Their voices are eerily similar.