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August 22, 2007

I dream of pot roast

There, I said it.

While I was waiting (fruitlessly, as it turned out) for the cable guy to come this morning -- and afternoon -- I napped a bit after reading. And when I woke up, it took me a good 20 minutes or so to recall the vivid dream I'd had.

I had driven from the Mercury News on a slow night (Amy was there, as was Bud), to get dinner. (For those of you not familiar with the work environment, this never happened. Ever. Even on an actual slow night.)

In fact, now that I think about it, I had actually done this: Walked downtown (again, something that would never happen), where I'd hoped to find dinner, but nothing looked good on the way, and I soon found myself at my car. On Santa Clara Street. Why it was there, I haven't the foggiest.

So, I jumped in, and, with little urgency, drove somewhere south. Los Gatos, perhaps, or even Santa Cruz. Where I entered a restaurant that was familiar to me in the dream, but is ostensibly some combination of every slightly fancy and/or hip eatery to which I've ever been. (Some elements of Mustards, Manresa, Zuni Cafe, and L.A.'s The Kitchen.)

I waited forever, with an older gentleman, while they sat patron after patron, and finally this older gentleman pointed out to the hostess that we would like to order some take-out (despite this obviously being the sort of place that doesn't specialize in that).

I had my entire menu picked out: I was having the roasted chicken (Zuni), the pot roast (The Kitchen), various and sundry sides and two desserts. Apparently, I thought, if I came this far, might as well get two meals.

It was at this point, well over an hour into my ventures, and not having yet ordered, I thought I ought to call Amy to tell her I might be running a little late. And then I woke up.

Odd, to say the least. I'm not consciously craving good American food. But there must be some part of me that is.

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Comments

does this mean i am the woman of your dreams?!

You got that right, Brisk!

(Mmm, brisket...)

Dude,

I dream about pot roast, and I'm in Chicago.

To the tune of "I Dream of Jeanie." Sorry. It's rough.

I dream of pot roast with the light brown gravy
Out of the crock pot, and smelling so savory
I see the onions dripping, I see the potatoes
I smell the lovely carrots as the scent hits my nose.

Who wants to take the next verse?!?

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