Sunday, February 01, 2009

It's a Man's Life at the Super Bowl

Bowl of "Wings"Image via Wikipedia

The previous two years my particular 'band of brothers' has watched the Super Bowl at the Sportsman's Club in Pt. Molate, that hidden treasure located somewhere north of the east anchor of the Richmond Bridge.

It reminds Big Pat of Alaska, and not just in its oxymoronic quality of shabby beauty. There are some nice houseboats in the marina there. There are hulks, too, and people live in the hulks. Some of the personalities one encounters have a certain Alaskan quality. Life has dinged some of them, cracked some and squashed not a few -- but not entirely. They endure, drinking a little, hoping a little, inspecting their wounds, rejoicing the wounds are not deeper and have at least scabbed over.

It may be Alaskan but it's also Californian: There was a smashup followed by a period of drift. But now they have come to rest on a lee shore. And they are still alive, and that is something.

We had thought we might go back to the Sportsman this year, but Big Pat rubbed up against a couple of these personalities a while back, and they are tetchy sometimes. They sit on that line between respect and disrespect, and are quick to take offense. As I said, there was some rubbing up, and some offense was taken, so Big Pat was not absolutely sure his bright face would be welcome at the Sportsman's, so we will watch the game at Peter the Great's instead.

Peter's greatness is in his heart and his soul but also in his cooking, for which we might (if required) forgive deficiencies in heart and soul. (Of course, it is not required.)

There will be buffalo chicken wings. There will be wasabi deviled eggs. Nostalgie de la boue is one thing, and nostalgie de le cuisine is something else again, and better in the long run.

And yet: Here is last year's adventure.

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