The news said something about Tropical Storm Ernesto. Strangely, it was not the news that a tropical storm was on its way to making landfall that piqued my interest. It was the name "Ernesto."
Because, the dinner last night was at "Ernesto's!"
"B" picked me up from the motel, and asked me whether I was ok with Mexican food.
"Sure. Any food is ok, because the prime thing for me is your company, and not the food itself" I told him. "But, that does not include McDonald's" I added.
It was the end of happy hour, and there sure were some happy customers, talking away in a jet-plane-engine-decibel level.
The Quesadilla in the menu looked tempting. I was curious about the "Colorado" and "Navajo" chicken options. I asked the middle-aged waiter for explanations, which he gave me with one of the best smiles I have seen recently. But, I didn't understand a single word he said. Often, a pleasant demeanor more than makes up for communication issues.
"I will try the Navajo chicken, please" I said without having a clue about how it is prepared and how it differed from the other option. "B" placed his order. His was with a glass of beer, and it was lemonade for me.
We talked and ate. I cleaned up my plate. "B" asked me with a smile, "so, was this better than the Mexican food you had at Weed" That Indian-Chinese-Mexican thing?" I was so delighted that he remembered this from a year ago.
This was many, many times better. Muy bueno!
The bump on the road knocked me off the recollection mode, and into the present. Steve Inskeep had moved on to some other topic. I looked up at the temperature display. 68! The utter fear of temperatures in the high 90s, or even 100+, made me do something that I rarely do: speed at almost ten miles over the speed limit. The funny thing is that even then I was the slow vehicle. Welcome to California!
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