Croissant the Bay

 Reader,

I don’t know what day today is.  Hate me if you want to.

Today was a day full of food porn and a ballgame in the saddest place in MLB. 

The day started with RR having fulfilled her assignment “to find a place for breakfast” by taking us (okay, I found it logistically) a mile and a half away (a long way in a cuisine heavy big city).

Aris*****s (it’s too much to remember) supposedly has the best croissants IN THE COUNTRY.  No, not just the city, the whole dagnabit country.  

They were good.  Photo goes here.

 

Okay, I don’t know how you determine that.  But I’m going to concede: it’s hard to imagine any BETTER. 

Loaded up on sugar, we took the cautious rout and took the bus up the hill to Grace Cathedral.  Google maps warned that it was 243 feet up. !!!! This picture may demonstrate it.

I took no pictures of the cathedral, which was built after the nice combo of earthquake and fire in 1906.  It is a classic neoGothic design, very impressive.  With lots of stained glass, a huge organ, and…well, that about covers it.  We then walked 200 feet DOWN to the gate at China town, another SF landmark. 

Now we begin the stories du jour.  We take the BART under the bay to Oakland for the ballgame.  No, it’s not weird that here comes a woman who loudly starts “I don’t mean to show no one any disrespect…” which you know isn’t good.  She pitched for money for her and her 3 kids who were in a domestic abuse situation and needed a precise amount (she told the amount to the penny) for a hotel room tonight.  Everyone stared down in our car. 

Then the car stops at the second station on the Oakland side and the announcer (probably not the same stoner from the day before) says we have a jam up ahead and there’ll be a 2 to 5 minute holdup.  

Holdup is right.  Here comes two policemen.  One comes through the next car, through the door between and another comes through the open door next to me and they have this couple in the corner cornered.  “Someone has reported you for smoking marijuana on the train” I hear the cop say.  Busted.  Big time!  They pulled a pipe out of the guy’s hand; the woman protested some.  With some patience they got the two of them up and off the train — they had a cart which I think was their worldly belongings — and they stood them outside the train.  And then the train took off. 

Sherlock here thinks the delay was for that.  :)

I told RR we weren’t in Bloomsburg anymore. 

The stadium is a bit of a dud, as I suggested yesterday.   Here’s the prerequisite shot. 

First, the stadium is an odd shape.  From the picture you can see the bullpen is on the sideline.  There’s a lot of room there.  

The place is dead.  Half the venues were closed; there were a couple decent places to eat, but nothing like Seattle. 

And there was no one there. If you can’t tell by the picture, it was a sparse crowd.  Officially, 25% of capacity.  On a sunny day against the best team in their division, a rival (they booed two Astros players incessantly), on a holiday afternoon.  There’s a word for that. 

And then back to San Fran to meet my stepsister and her two daughters.  She took us to dinner at Fog’s, which is a tourist trap on Pier 39 (tourist trap central in San Francisco), and we had a decent meal.  I had the risotto with seafood and RR had the mixed grille.  

But here’s the funny thing, which may be story #3 of the day: halfway through dinner, in walks a couple and sits across from us — it was the same couple from last night at the Peruvian the place — the one with the Peruvian woman and the non-Peruvian man.  They waved to us and we talked.  Turns out she IS Peruvian and he isn’t.  :). And she said the food the night before was not up to Peruvian standards. :). GTK.  It was very funny.   We made sure we weren’t going to the same place tomorrow, but they are leaving and going back to Cincinnati.  She kept calling RR “Becky.”  LoL.  And I have no idea what their names were, Susie an Keith? 😂 😂😂 

Tomorrow Napa.  It’s supposed to be 88.  I’ve frozen for days, so I will be v v happy. 

Till then, enjoy your croissants.