It's not often I get two hot dates in one week!
On Wednesday, February 10th, Stacy and I had our 9th wedding anniversary. We celebrated by blackmailing Miss Rachel into babysitting while we went out. We don't actually have any good dirt on Rachel, but evidently she doesn't know that because she keeps coming back and babysitting for us, so she must think we have something really scandalous on her.
We went to our favorite South Bay restaurant,
Chez Melange in the Hollywood Riviera portion of Redondo Beach/Torrance. We had a great time and, as always, the atmosphere was wonderful. We started with champagne, a curry carrot soup and a salad with warm octopus. (We're suckers for octopus... get it? Suckers?) We both had fish for our entree, with Stacy getting an Italian flavored butterfish with a potato-risotto (wonderful) and me trying a Caribbean-style Ono with black beans and zucchini (also really nice). Instead of a sugary dessert, we went for a more classic turn and got a cheese platter to finish with.
We selected three cheeses from the twenty-odd on the menu: there was the Pierre Robert, a triple cream cows milk cheese which was very mild and creamy, the Humboldt Fog (pictured), a smooth goat cheese which brought with it a little bit of pungent kick, and then there was the Red Hawk... I'm not quite sure how to describe it. The blurb on the menu said it was aged 4 weeks for added "intensity." I wasn't intimidated, but I probably should have been. When the platter arrived, we knew it was coming long before we saw it. There are cheeses that are aromatic, and then there is Red Hawk. This was a cheese! A cheese to curl your toes and strip the hair from your chest. Red Hawk? More like dead hawk! I think it spent those four weeks aging in the bottom of a nest. All the other patrons in the restaurant kept looking over our way and their expressions did not seem to imply that they wished us a happy anniversary. Stacy got a little bit down, which left the rest for me. As much as I malign it and joke about having to buy a couple of quarts of Scope on the way home, I do have to admit that I actually kinda-sorta liked it. I'm glad Stacy at least had a nibble, because she wouldn't have wanted to ride home in the car with me if I'd gone Red Hawk solo!
On Friday night the YMCA put on a special Father-Daughter dance. We'd made plans weeks ago for L and I to go, and L's excitement mounted as the fated fête approached until I thought she was going to burst from overcarbonated anticipation. I actually managed to get off work a little early and swung by a flower shop and picked up a corsage, feeling a little awkward telling the guy behind the counter that I needed it for a dance I was taking a 5-year-old little girl to. When I got home, L was dressed to the nines and looked about ready to have a stroke. She was quite upset that we hadn't had a chance to practice dancing all week like I'd said we should have, and I think she was afraid they might not let us in.
We arrived right on time and the hall was a mass of awkward, nerdy engineering-type dads with a bunch of breathless and bedecked little girls ranging from 4 to 14. I was happy to see one of my good friends from work, Carlos Muñoz, was there with his daughter, who was two or three years older than L. It was super cute and wonderfully cheesy (but not Red Hawk cheesy!) and we had a fantastic time. L seemed to think dancing consisted essentially of twirling endlessly under my arm. It worked for us, so I didn't push it, especially since I wouldn't have been able to bring any dapper moves to the table if asked. The music was a mix of pop and dance and the usual faux-dance standbys. The chicken dance made an appearance as did at least one Kongo-line. All the Dad's got suitably misty-eyed at "You Are So Beautiful to Me," though I got a little creeped out when they played "We Are Family."
It mercifully only went from 6:00 to 8:00. A late night for us, since L's bedtime is usually around 7:30 and she is typically out like a light. She was all gusto and drive the first hour. If I went back to the table at any point to talk to Carlos or catch my breath she'd quickly be tugging on my sleeve again. It made me smile over and over each time she'd try to drag me away from whomever I was talking to and get me back on the dance floor. By 7:00 some of her energy was faltering and instead of twirling endlessly under my arm, she took to collapsing as I held her, hoping that I would whip her back and forth and she wouldn't actually have to stand to dance. Not being the fittest of fathers, this got old quick. (They had announced that there would be a prize for "The Sweatiest Dad," and I was utterly terrified I would be the hands on favorite.)
As the evening progressed and L became more tired I suggested that we could go at any time, but she would not leave a moment early. At one point we sat on the sidelines and she laid her head on my leg, her eyes puffy and her lids bobbing, but still she wouldn't hear of leaving. Eventually the last dance was called - "Good Night, Sweetheart, It's Time to Go," of course - and we wrapped up the musical magic. Of course there was one final after-prom stop I wanted to make before going home and to bed. It met no objections from my date either.
On Wednesday, February 10th, Stacy and I had our 9th wedding anniversary. We celebrated by blackmailing Miss Rachel into babysitting while we went out. We don't actually have any good dirt on Rachel, but evidently she doesn't know that because she keeps coming back and babysitting for us, so she must think we have something really scandalous on her. 
We went to our favorite South Bay restaurant, Chez Melange in the Hollywood Riviera portion of Redondo Beach/Torrance. We had a great time and, as always, the atmosphere was wonderful. We started with champagne, a curry carrot soup and a salad with warm octopus. (We're suckers for octopus... get it? Suckers?) We both had fish for our entree, with Stacy getting an Italian flavored butterfish with a potato-risotto (wonderful) and me trying a Caribbean-style Ono with black beans and zucchini (also really nice). Instead of a sugary dessert, we went for a more classic turn and got a cheese platter to finish with. 
We selected three cheeses from the twenty-odd on the menu: there was the Pierre Robert, a triple cream cows milk cheese which was very mild and creamy, the Humboldt Fog (pictured), a smooth goat cheese which brought with it a little bit of pungent kick, and then there was the Red Hawk... I'm not quite sure how to describe it. The blurb on the menu said it was aged 4 weeks for added "intensity." I wasn't intimidated, but I probably should have been. When the platter arrived, we knew it was coming long before we saw it. There are cheeses that are aromatic, and then there is Red Hawk. This was a cheese! A cheese to curl your toes and strip the hair from your chest. Red Hawk? More like dead hawk! I think it spent those four weeks aging in the bottom of a nest. All the other patrons in the restaurant kept looking over our way and their expressions did not seem to imply that they wished us a happy anniversary. Stacy got a little bit down, which left the rest for me. As much as I malign it and joke about having to buy a couple of quarts of Scope on the way home, I do have to admit that I actually kinda-sorta liked it. I'm glad Stacy at least had a nibble, because she wouldn't have wanted to ride home in the car with me if I'd gone Red Hawk solo! 
On Friday night the YMCA put on a special Father-Daughter dance. We'd made plans weeks ago for L and I to go, and L's excitement mounted as the fated fête approached until I thought she was going to burst from overcarbonated anticipation. I actually managed to get off work a little early and swung by a flower shop and picked up a corsage, feeling a little awkward telling the guy behind the counter that I needed it for a dance I was taking a 5-year-old little girl to. When I got home, L was dressed to the nines and looked about ready to have a stroke. She was quite upset that we hadn't had a chance to practice dancing all week like I'd said we should have, and I think she was afraid they might not let us in. 
We arrived right on time and the hall was a mass of awkward, nerdy engineering-type dads with a bunch of breathless and bedecked little girls ranging from 4 to 14. I was happy to see one of my good friends from work, Carlos Muñoz, was there with his daughter, who was two or three years older than L. It was super cute and wonderfully cheesy (but not Red Hawk cheesy!) and we had a fantastic time. L seemed to think dancing consisted essentially of twirling endlessly under my arm. It worked for us, so I didn't push it, especially since I wouldn't have been able to bring any dapper moves to the table if asked. The music was a mix of pop and dance and the usual faux-dance standbys. The chicken dance made an appearance as did at least one Kongo-line. All the Dad's got suitably misty-eyed at "You Are So Beautiful to Me," though I got a little creeped out when they played "We Are Family." 
It mercifully only went from 6:00 to 8:00. A late night for us, since L's bedtime is usually around 7:30 and she is typically out like a light. She was all gusto and drive the first hour. If I went back to the table at any point to talk to Carlos or catch my breath she'd quickly be tugging on my sleeve again. It made me smile over and over each time she'd try to drag me away from whomever I was talking to and get me back on the dance floor. By 7:00 some of her energy was faltering and instead of twirling endlessly under my arm, she took to collapsing as I held her, hoping that I would whip her back and forth and she wouldn't actually have to stand to dance. Not being the fittest of fathers, this got old quick. (They had announced that there would be a prize for "The Sweatiest Dad," and I was utterly terrified I would be the hands on favorite.) 
As the evening progressed and L became more tired I suggested that we could go at any time, but she would not leave a moment early. At one point we sat on the sidelines and she laid her head on my leg, her eyes puffy and her lids bobbing, but still she wouldn't hear of leaving. Eventually the last dance was called - "Good Night, Sweetheart, It's Time to Go," of course - and we wrapped up the musical magic. Of course there was one final after-prom stop I wanted to make before going home and to bed. It met no objections from my date either. 
4 comments:
We'll have to keep our eyes out for Red Hawk!
I bet N would have loved the Red Hawk cheese...lol The pictures from the dance and the videos were precious! Your date was beautiful! Her date was outstandingly handsome! I am just a little biased on that seeing how they both mean the world to me!
Love~~ Mimi
Great blog! Glad to see my pics and videos made your website.
I can't tell you how much I have enjoyed reading this. You are one super guy, Steve. Happy Belated Anniversary to you and Stacy, and thanks again for Tales from The Hood. At the dance you made sweet memories you'll never forget. By reading about it, I won't either.
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