It’s always sad to break with tradition, and New Year’s Eve 2012 was the first time in I don’t know how long that Kathy and I were not in our Nick & Noras snorting Zeds (Canadian Zees) by 10 p.m.
Shalom, tradition; this was fun.
But, gawd, you’d have that we had kids the number of precautions we set up for ourselves. Taxis and a hotel stay: I guess better safe than sorry, though Kath and I both concurred that 10:30 p.m. was probably not going to be Crash Cab.
We had a lot of fun, though. Kath’s biz had a cool rate on the Exec floor at the Concord Hilton, which allowed us a nice Snappy Hour with wine and snacks in their Concierge lounge while we played these crazy card games ( “Gloom” and “We Didn’t Playtest This at All”) that K got me for Christmas. WDPTaA was silly fun; Gloom’s rule pages glazed my eyes, and then it all made sense: very simple overall, very macabre. Can’t wait to play encore une fois.
We dressed across at the room and cabbed it to the Walnut Creek Yacht Club for our Dungeness Crab Party reserve seating. Fixed was the price, and family was the seating style.
Our “family” at table included United Airlines pilot Al and anesthesiologist Stephanie. Holy Crap! Here’s a Discovery Channel series if ever there was one.
Man, I don’t want to go all “Ice Loves Coco,” but Kathy does love calamari. The antipasti are hooked up with a reduced balsamic, rendering syrup a great forkful whenever you can snag some from the plate. A wonderfully filling meal of antipasti, Calimari and Dungeness crab with aioli. Lest we forget the Albacore confit salad kickin’ it on the iceberg lettuce tip. Crazy how these disparate pieces, introduced to a glass of Chablis (itself introduced by the importation prowess of Kermit Lynch), knit together.
Taxi back to the Hilton, where we actually stayed up till midnight. Shocked, I say! Shocked!
We grab a quick, early comped breakfast, then head home to brew some coffee, give extra food to the Baklava and Fritter kitties, ignite the Hoppin’ John in the slow-cooker (Black-eyed peas on Jan One is supposed to be good luck {here’s hoping}), then hit the bricks to Bethel Island and the annual Frozen Bun Run.
Check Kathy’s pic. Again, it’s a crazy tradition wherein everyone is welcome to sign in to jump into Delta freezing waters and ski/board/whatever behind the motor, all on January 1 of the new year. Clothing optional, of course.
It didn’t take more than two free-pour Irish Coffees to forget the chill that the Delta can bring on, even with clear skies. I can only imagine what semi-nude Bun Run participants, let alone Harley-esque spectators pulling on a cold beer, could possibly be thinking.
As usual, lots of laughs (Bun Run virgin Drew wiped out mere meters from the start), and bikers et al (again, check Kathy’s pic) proved to be the coolest cats on the turf. As Kath noted to me, these were not people who went to bed at dusk.
It’s the one time that I can wear gloves for more than 5 minutes, sport a polyester jacket that does not breathe, and consider wearing earmuffs. Back in the Lisa Marie, I couldn’t wait to doff the do.
Back home, John is Hoppin,” and downright delicious.
Wanna talk in 2013?
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