Was it the sun, or the waterside location on San Francisco's Embarcadero? Perhaps it was the easy-on-the-eye-ness of the passers-by who were perfectly dressed for that sun. Maybe it was our waiter, who was a great host and more camp than a row of tents. Could it be that having oysters two days in a row was getting to me?
It surely couldn't be the company? Age-less but centuries-old friend Stephen, who despite having spent years in England (where I first met him), more years in California (where I continued trading obscenities with him), a couple years in Australia, then time in Cincinnati and now Salt Lake City, still speaks in his native Scottish accent, is here with us this week-end.
Anyhow, Rob Roy and I had a shellfish-bashing, Chablis-slurping lunch of Bluebeard proportions, and yea, it was good.
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