Last weekend Nora and I took the 11:15 train to Berkeley to grab French food in the Gourmet Ghetto. (A short story I just read* describes Berkeley as being "full of nerds and dirty teenagers with their noses pierced like cow noses and also, the disabled." Still, let's give it the benefit of the doubt. Not that there's anything wrong with nerds, dirty teenagers or nose piercings. Or, the disabled. But anyway.)
We started to walk along Shattuck.
The restaurant we went to prints their menu on disposable tablecloths. Creative! For dessert, Nora got the sorbet duo. I made her share some of the chocolate scoop.
When it got dusky out, we rode the Richmond train back to Mission. Came home to eat a bowl of Spaghetti-O's in record time, then headed out to barbecue in Zack's backyard.
* Aforementioned story is "If You Can Hear Me Thinking" by Kiara Brinkman, which I found in the free books shelf at my internship. It was published by One Story, a literary journal that features, as the title suggests, only one story per issue. Each installment is about the size of a slice of store-bought bread. While this format can feel a bit anemic in comparison with fatter, glossier journals, there's also something tender about it. You just have to learn to be satisfied with slightly smaller portions.