Benefit of the Doubt? Alaska Coffee Roasters

My daughter took the very early flight from Boston today.  She got off the plane at 9:00 AM and was hungry.  I was hungry.  It's New Year's Day.  I thought we should do something special.  We discussed, I made some calls, and we settled on Alaska Coffee Roasters, at 13130 Biscayne Boulevard.  It's been mentioned to me a few times, always with great enthusiasm, and it seemed just the occasion to give it a try.  And they were having a special holiday menu.  What could be better?

We arrived at about 10:45.  The place was less than half full.   The special holiday menu included eggs Benedict with Nova Scotia salmon.  My daughter loves Nova Scotia salmon.  She specified that wherever we went, they would have to serve Nova Scotia salmon.  And here it was, part of the holiday special.  What, in fact, could be better?

We ordered two eggs Benedicts with Nova Scotia salmon.  And a side order of hash brown potatoes, which are a favorite of mine.  The regular eggs Benedict were about $9.75, and the version with the salmon was $11.75.  The side of potatoes was $2.50.

After what seemed like longer than I thought it would take, our eggs were ready.  So were we!  Nope, they were the regular eggs Benedict, not the ones with salmon.  We sent them back.  Salmon was the whole point.  My/our potatoes were served at the same time.

If they couldn't have included potatoes with entrees, and if they had to charge separately for them, the saucer of potatoes presented to us should have been worth 50-75 cents.  Rounding up to $1.00 would have been pushing it.  No way that tiny amount should have cost $2.50.

My daughter and I began a somewhat lengthy exploration about what each of us does when things are not right at a restaurant.  She resolves never to go back, and she gives them something they don't want on Yelp!  I'm somewhat more inclined to say something, but I temper my confrontation.  I said I never ever send things back.  She seems not to, either.  The question was whether we tell anyone at the restaurant, and if we do, whom do we tell?  I tend to get a bit inhibited, and I'm likely to tell an employee, not the proprietor/proprietress.

This discussion was made more lively once our corrected eggs order arrived.  The eggs dishes were frankly cold.  This observation was what occasioned the discussion of whether to send something back.

My daughter decided to be more assertive than is her style, or mine, and she told Karen, the proprietress, upon being asked how breakfast was, that the eggs were cold.  Karen said she would tell this to her cook staff.  That's it?  Just tell them to present eggs hot next time?  When the clerk came over to ask us about our meal, and to let us know she, too, had heard about our cold eggs, I told her there was no way that small saucer of potatoes should have cost $2.50.  She did little more than confirm she heard what I said.

Very many years ago, my daughter's mother and I, and another couple, went out for a special French meal in Boston.  I can't remember what we were celebrating.  I don't remember the restaurant or what we ate, either, except I remember something about tiny quail.  What I remember very well was that after dinner, the four of us decided to go get pizza, since we were all still distinctly hungry.  And so it was again at Alaska Coffee Roasters.  I had already heard about their wonderful pizza, my daughter and I were still hungry, because what we had already bought and consumed was insubstantial, so we got a pizza.  The pizza, by the way, was as good as billed.  It was not, however, as good as the pizza at Tomato & Basil.  It was a special breakfast pizza.  You choose the size (10 inches or 12 inches), the one topping, which kind of cheese you want, and how you want your one egg cooked.  It was about $13 for the 12".

I had to agree with my daughter that an adaptive strategy in the face of an experience like this one would be not to return.  That's what I have resolved to do.  As we were finishing our pizza, Karen saw us eating it, and she said that if she had known the pizza was for us, she would not have charged us for it.  She did not, however, offer to reverse the charge already made.  If she had, I would have given them another try sometime.  The food wasn't bad.  It just wasn't right, and it wasn't enough, especially for the price charged.   What came closest to good enough was the pizza, although that charge was a bit on the high side, too.  Did I mention that the coffee was good?

The Canary in the Coal Mine

For those unfamiliar (are there such?), the purpose of a caged canary in a coal mine is to react (by dying) to early and undetectable gas accumulations, so miners will know a disaster is imminent, and they will get out of the mine.  More generally, the concept is intended to suggest seemingly minor and subtle irregularities that herald more dire eventualities.  The purpose, of course, as with coal miners, is to allow reaction to the minor and subtle irregularity, before the bigger problem comes.  Ideally, the bigger problem can even be averted.

For not entirely clear reasons, people do not like to recognize dead canaries, and they do not want to address the problems that resulted in the canaries' deaths.  It could be laziness, or it could be general lack of initiative, or sometimes, for those short-sighted enough, it could be a disinclination to commit to, and pay for, whatever will avert the impending big problem.

In the Village, we have streets that are shredded at the edges.  About 10 years ago, Village residents who live on the canal complained about water leaching up into their homes when the tide was unusually high, like after heavy rains.  More recently, some Village residents have complained about water pooling (literally) in the streets after heavier rains.  Sometimes, those spots on those streets are not easily passable for a while.*  There appears to be general agreement about a rising water table in south Florida, affecting the Village as well.  On 121st Street, between 11th Avenue and 11th Court, there is an access point to a drainage reservoir, and the iron access cover, as well as the support around it, have sunk about 4-5 inches below street level.  Apparently, this devolution is not new, since we have attended to it with patches over the years.

(* Last week, I was at Costco after a significant rain.  About 1/3 of their parking lot was so under water that no one could park there, and then walk to the store.  If it could have been argued that the heavy pooling would be gone in several hours, that fact would not have done Costco any good.  Had I not happened upon a spot where the grade was higher, Costco would have lost my business for that day.)

It is perhaps arguable whether this water problem is coming from above, in the form of excess precipitation, or from below, caused by rising seas and a rising water table.  What should not be arguable is that our current mechanism for removing water is not working well enough to protect our ground from oversaturation.

Some of us hope that the fix is easy, with only a necessity to clean out the drains and reservoirs we already have.  Others are concerned that we may need rebuilding, redesign, or even new construction of the water diversion system upon which the Village relies.  Unfortunately, there are some among us who don't even want to know the problem exists.  If they can somehow look the other way, explain away what the rest of us can see, or just get a car which rides higher off the ground, they can declare that there is no problem.  It's not surprising that those whose properties are directly affected are more vocal about the problem, and those who argue that there is no problem are not as directly affected.

What's also interesting is that if I think of the neighbors who are most vocal in arguing that there is no problem, or at least not one that needs to be fixed, some of them are among the more fastidious about maintaining their own personal residences.  They are also among those who are less willing to pay higher property taxes.  It seems as if their dedication and their commitment is to the building where they sleep and cook, not to the Village as a whole.  "Home," to them, is narrowly defined.

These neighbors don't want a canary in our coal mine.  It's not that they have any special affection for canaries.  It's just that they don't want to have to do what has to be done when the canary dies.  At this point, the canary appears to be having some significant distress.  It is, as they say, not at all well.

I Think I Understand, Although I'm Not Sure I Agree

At last night's Commission meeting, the subject of "McMansions" came up.  We have new construction in the Village, and some of the new structures, replacing old structures, are considered by some to be "McMansions."  The label is clearly intended to be pejorative, and the very clear implication is that those who so label these new houses don't like them.  In the discussion topic, as it was presented, one portrayal was that the new BP "McMansions" would look good in Doral or Palmetto Bay, but not in BP.  I tried to understand how that conclusion was arrived at, but I couldn't get a straight answer.

Three things should be understood, before we talk more about the new structures.  First, BP has Codes, which must be followed.  Second, some architect, knowing the Codes and having familiarized him- or herself with the Village, proposed the designs.  Third, the Planning and Zoning Board, which is sometimes frankly more restrictive, strident, and controlling than I personally like, approved the proposed structures as satisfactory with respect to the Codes, and adequately "harmonious" for the neighborhood.  That a proposed structure or addition, or even a paint color choice, should be "harmonious" with the Village is a decision P&Z are authorized to make, and it is the area over which I most often disagreed with them when I was a member of that Board.  I found them not permissive enough.  The light, then, was very green for the new structures some of us brand as "McMansions," and the last obstacle was the most restrictive of all.

I don't really know what a "McMansion" is.  The first time I heard the term used, it seemed intended to apply to new and large homes, seemingly the grandest in whatever was the neighborhood in question.  The name is clearly intended to recall McDonald's, although the connection is unclear.  Most likely, the association was to the imposition of something cookie-cutter, insubstantial, and pervasive.

During the discussion, I asked for a definition of "McMansion."  The sponsor of the discussion topic told me to "google it."  If I thought there was a definition, and that I could find out what it was, this kind of response suggested to me that there wasn't, and I couldn't.  So I asked my friend Judith, who lives in some upscale burg in Connecticut.  It seems she knows all about "McMansions," and she used words like "garish," "atrocity," "super-sized," "mass-produced," and "incongruous" (with the surrounding homes, I assume).

The Village is a unique place, and part of what makes it unique is its eclectic range of styles.  We have single story houses, and two story houses.  Our Code permits two stories, but not more.  We have old homes, and new homes.  We have Spanish style, Key West style, contemporary style, and plain old CBS.  We used to limit the color choice to white, until some brave ancestors of ours branched into off white, too.  Now, we permit many colors.  In a community like ours, it would be hard to think of a design style that was not "harmonious."  We don't do harmonious.  We do "have whatever you like, but keep it nice."  And some of us don't even do the latter.  (We're tightening that now.  We're starting to ride herd on the less fastidious of our neighbors, and some of them don't like it.  Funny enough, the current Commissioner who has been most protective and permissive when it comes to resisting a level of upkeep and property decorum is the same one who doesn't like "McMansions."  And that Commissioner, who doesn't like to control the design and upkeep preferences of BP homeowners, was quick to tell us we shouldn't be allowed to have fences or walls in front of our homes.  Go figure.)

Two properties were cited in last night's discussion.  They were considered to be the worst examples of neighborhood-destroying McMansionness.  One was what has replaced the "Larry King house," at 119th and Griffing, and the other is the super energy-efficient home on the south side of 119th Street between 8th and 9th Avenues.  As it happens, I have familiarity with each of these properties.  In about 2006 or 2007, I looked into the "Larry King house."  I was considering moving there.  But it was not a good layout.  It was disorganized, with apparently ill thought out additions, and parts that did not go together.  I passed.  A couple bought it a few years later, but they moved out.  They had wanted to add on a garage, but the property and setbacks couldn't handle it.  So the house was demolished, and there's quite the imposing two-story structure going up now.  It's still bare cinder block, and it's hard to tell what it will look like.  But whatever it is, I'm sure it will be a lot better than the house that didn't suit Larry King, or me, or the couple.  It will likely be a credit to our most upscale street.

The other property is in the block next to mine.  The new construction replaced a decrepit tear-down.  I had seen a virtual walk-through of it, and I later had an actual walk-through, when it was unfinished inside and out.  It's a magnificent property.  I made an offer, but it was not accepted.  I offered what the developer said he wanted, but by that time, he realized from recent sales that he could do much better.  It really is a spectacular home.  It's two-story.  As is the home two houses east of that one, the one catercorner from that one, and the one just east of that one.

Both sites look more imposing now than they will when they're done.  More than anything, they are partially concealed by protective tall and covered chain link fences at the front property edge.  Once those fences are gone, and the landscaping is in, I think we'll all be pleased.  Well, maybe not "all."

But in a neighborhood like the Village, it wouldn't be fair to consider these constructions "incongruous."  Every house is "incongruous," in the sense that they're all different.  These two are also unique: not at all "mass-produced."  "Garish" or atrocious?  Not to me.  "Super-sized?"  The replacement for the "Larry King house," looks like it's going to be very large.  Not too large for the lot or for the Village, according to the architect and the Village's P&Z Board.  The other house?  Roomy, but politely so.

I still don't confidently know what a "McMansion" is.  But if these two new homes qualify, I personally don't have a problem with them.  They're just part of the neighborhood.  I'd like to imagine we would come to be the kind of neighborhood in which they fit well better than poorly kept properties do.

Yet More Good, and Bad, News

The Sunshine Jazz Organization has promoted jazz locally for about 30 years.  Among their activities is a monthly performance that occurs at the Miami Shores Country Club.  It is scheduled for the fourth Sunday of every month, and the setting is the bar and lounge area in the back of the clubhouse.

Admission costs $20 per person.  You can defray that a bit by becoming a member of the SJO.  Membership costs $40 for a one year individual membership, or $50 for a one year family membership.  If you join when you attend the performance, that entry is free.  Subsequently, you get $5 off the admission price per person.  You have to attend five concerts a year individually to get your membership's worth.

Tonight's performance was a Latin jazz group called Oriente.  They are a well enough known local group who play in various locations in south Florida.  They bill themselves as presenters of "Latin Jazz, Blues, Rhythm & Soul," and they put on a great musical experience.  These are solid performers, and they work very well together.

That's the good news.  Here's the bad news.  The performances start at 6:00 PM, and they're scheduled to go until 9:00.  I went with two friends, and they called ahead to find out what the food offering was.  We assumed, naturally, that if a concert (we thought it was a concert) ran from 6-9 PM, there must be food.  My friends couldn't get any information, except a view of the usual MSCC menu.  They told me it's pricey.  There's a Sunday brunch at MSCC, but nothing listed for regular dinner food on Sunday.  They also left three voicemail messages, but they did not get a call back.  So we ate elsewhere, and arrived sated and ready to listen.

It seems the MSCC regulars know something we didn't know.  There is a limited menu for the lounge in back.  And that limited menu, and drinks, and post-golfing chatter, were what most of the room were there for.  They essentially ruined the experience for those of us (just the three of us?) who paid to come to listen.  For the regular patrons, the difference between music and no music is that they have to talk louder if there's music, so they can hear each other over it.  It seemed amazing to me that they weren't self-conscious about essentially yelling, while Oriente were trying to provide great music.

I'd like to recommend the SJO series at MSCC, but I'm not sure I can.  If you're curious, and you do go, try to get a seat or table near the musicians.  Maybe they'll be loud enough that you won't hear the rude chatterboxes over them.  The next SJO evening at MSCC is December 27.

It Depends What You Want. Anthony's Wood-Fired Pizza

Sylvia Linke told me about Anthony's.  She had eaten there, and she said it was great.  I mentioned it to Chuck Ross, when he and I were trolling for what to do about dinner, and he'd heard about Anthony's, and had wanted to try it.  I said we should.  He scolded me for being unfaithful to Dana Lulic (of Tomato & Basil), but he didn't disagree that we should try Anthony's.

Anthony's is in the strip mall on the north side of 123rd Street, in the block just east of Biscayne Boulevard.  It's the complex where LA Fitness is.  Anthony's is the last storefront to the east.  It's very new, having opened just a few weeks ago.

You don't feel Anthony's until you're right there.  You're greeted at the door by a trio of employees.  Two are 20-something girls, and the other is a 20-something boy.  They all smile, they're all very cute, and they couldn't be more inviting.  You have to realize Anthony's hires them to greet you.  They're not going to become your new BFF.  If you're there to take out, as Chuck and I were, they point you to the diagonally opposite corner of the room, to the desk that says "Take Out."  You make your way back there, where you encounter another trio of Anthony's cuties.  These are even friendlier than the ones at the door.  They literally nuzzle up against you, while you're making sense of the menu, and if you're not careful, you'll wonder whether it's the pizza, or the employees, you're there to consume.  I called one of the girls "my love," and she called me "darling."   Chuck and I had a slightly complicated pizza order, but she helped us settle on how to make it happen.  She then invited us to have a seat at the bar, where we met Veronica.  We thought Veronica, who reciprocally needed to know our names, too, would have served us anything, but Chuck settled for a beer.  I had already had one at home earlier, and I was thinking about the two bottles of wine that were waiting for us back at my house, so I passed.  Chuck got his Peroni, although Veronica scolded him that he should try something he couldn't get just anywhere (I'm not sure whether she was offering some other beer, or something else).  She brought him a taste of the house special, a beer they call "Fuhgeddaboutit."  It was very good.  And about $7.50.  It pays, apparently, to be friendly.  Chuck's Peroni cost $6.50.

Here's the thing about Anthony's: you feel like you're in another world.  The real world is suspended.  You can fall in love in Anthony's.  You can make love in Anthony's.  I told the girls I would be back to pick them up when their shift was over, which they told us was 11:00, and they agreed.  At Tomato & Basil, I tell Dana that I hope she and Leandro are the best couple in the history of the world, but if it turns out they're not, I want to know about it.  Dana knows I'm serious.  When I tell the girls at Anthony's I'll be back to pick them up at 11:00, they know I'm not.  It's really harmless and liberating fun.

At some point-- the promised 20 minute wait flew by very quickly-- our pizza was ready.  It was a "large," but smaller than I expected.  And with the array of toppings we ordered, it cost about $22.50.

Anthony's is lively and loud.  It's almost raucous.  It's crowded, everyone is having a good time, the TVs are on (sports, I think), and it's wall-to-wall flirting.  If you're not in a mood to flirt, don't waste your time at Anthony's.

As we were leaving, I realized something that hadn't been obvious at the beginning.  The front panel of glass doors at Anthony's retracts, and the inside of the store extends to the outside.  The limit is a convex metal fence that encloses several smaller tables.  Outside at those tables were dads and moms and their kids.  They were busy having their own kind of fun.

Chuck and I left, and the cuties at the front door greeted us as warmly on our way out as they did on our way in.

The pizza was good, but not better than some others, and not nearly as good as the pizza at T & B.  On the other hand, no pizza is as good as the pizza at T & B.  And the pizza at Anthony's cost a good deal more.

If you want great pizza, for a very good price, and you want a casual but sedate experience, and you want to deal with the loveliest woman there is (or the loveliest couple, if Leandro's there), go to Tomato & Basil.  If you want to kick loose, have fun, flirt, have perfectly decent food, and wind up with a big smile you can't fully explain, go to Anthony's.

What Do You Think About Our New Entry Signs?

There has been some dissatisfaction about our new entry signs.  They were intended for most entry points of the Village, except the 6th Avenue bridge.  There were to be eight signs in all.  As of now, four are erected.  They are at the top and bottom of Griffing, the top of 10th Avenue, and the top of 8th Avenue.

The dissatisfaction has been about two features of these signs.  One is the finish, and the other is the white backing.  Some people think both look bad.  Here's the deal about the signs.

We did not pay for them, for whatever that's worth.  We got one of those patented "grants."  We did, however, manage the design, material, size, and placement.  The Village gets full responsibility-- credit or blame-- for the finished product.

A design was offered to the Commission.  The design was represented by a computerized photoshopped "photograph."  The design was of an upside down triangle, which is the shape of the Village, with the name Village of Biscayne Park cut out, and the silhouette of a bird on one of the upper corners.  The material was CorTen steel.  The "photograph" seemed to show the proposed metal sign as being more or less red in color, with blotchiness that I imagined was supposed to simulate shadows.

The Commission approved this design.  The design was then presented to the Art Advisory Board and the Parks and Parkways Board, which jointly approved it.  An actual, almost life size, model was made and presented at the May 5, 2015 Commission meeting.  I will tell you now, with regret, I was not there.  Commissioners who were there included David Coviello, Roxanna Ross, Bob Anderson, and Barbara Watts.

Barry Miller of the landscape architecture firm Miller Sorvino gave much of the introduction.  He cited the intention to invoke the Village's "rustic charm" in creating the sign design.  Mention was made of the actual color of the model and of the white backing behind the cut out letters.  Barbara Watts recalled that the color of the sign in the preproduction "photograph" did not match the color of the model presented at the meeting.  She had Mr Miller confirm that the intended color and finish would be that of the model, not of the "photograph."  It was also confirmed that the color came from a constant and self-renewing patina of rust that is characteristic of CorTen steel.  Bob Anderson also noted the "rusty coating" of the model, that it was intended as a protective finish, and he added that he thought the model looked "really nice."  Little else was said of the composition of the sign or the color.

The model presented to the Commission had a white material behind the metal sign.  This was intended to make the cut out lettering clear.  The preproduction "photograph" showed cut out letters with no backing.  You could see plantings through the letters.  Bob Anderson again noted this, and the Commission was reassured that the intention was to install adequate plantings behind the sign, so the white backing would not ultimately be seen.  Nothing further was said about the backing.

Roxy Ross said she "really liked" the sign presented to the Commission, and to the audience, and to the Comcast videographer at the 5/5/15 meeting.  David Coviello "loved" it and considered it "beautiful."  Bob Anderson, as mentioned, found the sign "really nice."  Barbara Watts didn't have a conclusion.  As I said, I wasn't there.

Now, some of these signs are erected.  Some Village residents don't like them.  Two people have complained to me about the signs, and neither of these people was at the 5/5/15 meeting.

As a personal matter, I'm not in love with these signs, either.  I agree the rust patina is not what I expected, and I don't like the white backing.  I'd like to see it removed, as it didn't exist in the photoshopped advance advertisement, or if that can't happen, then concealed from the back of the signs with plantings, as Mr Miller suggested.  But if I had been at the 5/5/15 meeting, and if these issues had struck me then as they do now, it appears I would have been outvoted.  Three, if not four, of my Commission colleagues appear to like the signs very much.  So did the landscape architect, the Village's Art Advisory Board, and the Village's Parks and Parkways Board.  No non-Commissioner residents at the meeting complained, and none of the people who might watch the meetings on video contacted anyone to register disapproval.

But what do you think of these signs?  Have you seen them?  If you don't like them, do you have any thoughts about what you'd like to see done with them?  I don't know enough about CorTen steel to know if it can be sanded, primed, and painted.  If it could, and you don't like the rust patina--if it doesn't invoke "rustic charm" for you-- would you like to have it treated this way?  What about the white backing, to show off the cut out letters?  Are you good with that, assuming it gets hidden by plantings behind the sign?

"GiveMiami" Day

This year, GiveMiami Day is tomorrow, 11/19/15.

GiveMiami Day is an annual appeal, during which anyone can make a donation to any of a large number of local non-profits, and based on the amount of donations on that day, they are in some sense "matched" by the Miami Foundation.  The latter is a County agency that stimulates and pools available funds from private donors.

The "match" is nothing like 1:1.  I'm told that last year, the Miami Foundation was able to donate 3% of what the non-profits raised on GiveMiami Day.  It isn't known until GiveMiami Day is over-- until it's known how much the non-profits raised on their own-- what the "match" will be.

At any rate, GiveMiami Day is a great time to make a donation.  You can go to givemiamiday.org to see a list of non-profits.  You can donate as little or as much as you like.  It's all appreciated.

Blasphemy, I Know, But I Calls 'Em As I Sees 'Em.

I used to go to the Arsht Center for one thing or another.  In the early days, I went somewhat more often, because my aunt and uncle (yes, that aunt and uncle) usher and give tours there, and they were always in possession of complimentary tickets, which were given to me.  Eventually, when the comps started to dry up, I went less often, because the Arsht charges too much for events there, and even the events I most liked were getting priced out of accessibility.  Last year, I sort of quit going for anything, unless I had to.  I even quit going to flamenco at the Arsht.  I had needed an extra seat for a Miami Symphony Orchestra concert, and they wanted too much for the add-on.  They did not respect the deal I had with MiSO, and they wouldn't even take responsibility for the charge.  They said it was MiSO that set the prices.  I know better than that.

This year, I made an exception.  There's a terrific series of classical concerts, and I decided to subscribe to the season.  With extra concerts, there are six of them.  Last night was the first one. Yo-Yo Ma was the best of an elite group of musicians, all of whom were remarkably good.  The weakest link, and not bad at all, was the tabla player.  The program was unusually interesting world music.

I could have paid more for my tickets, but more was simply too much.  It was very distinct Arsht Center pricing, and it's clear they emulate NYC when they choose prices to demand.  The whole idea is that we are not NYC-- we're just as good for much less money-- but the Arsht decision-makers seem to have lost that understanding.  I was in the front row of the first balcony, and my tickets cost $91 each.  And that was a discount, because I bought the series.

The acoustics in the Arsht Center are amazing.  That means I could hear plenty well enough from where I was.  I could not see so well, though, since it was far away.  And this was for $91.

Legroom (lack thereof) is another problem with the Arsht.  There wasn't any in the balcony.  There's a bit more in the orchestra section, but it's not what it should be, especially for that kind of money.

My companion and I got there a bit late, too.  The concert was to start at 8:00, and we got to our seats at 7:57.  Never mind that the concert didn't start on time.  We should have gotten there at least 10 minutes earlier than we did.  The usher offered us one program.  We were told they were "rationing."  For $91, to sit in the balcony.  The usher did not walk us to our seats, either.  He just pointed to the front of the balcony.  I have acrophobia, too, but it was his job to "usher" us to our seats.

I'll finish this season, and that will be it for me and the Arsht.  I'll probably have to make another exception some time.  Maybe they'll get Hiromi back, and I still have to go there if MiSO keeps performing there.  The Arsht is a wonderful venue.  They just don't treat their patrons right.

The Good News is that I Can Save My Money From Now On.

My uncle and aunt like to go out to dinner with my parents from time to time.  But since my mother is now total care, and she still likes to go out, and I appear to be the only one of the "kids" who is willing to help out in this way, I "get the duty."  I could say I get a meal out of it.  But...

Last night, the five of us went to Cote, a French restaurant at 9999 NE 2nd Avenue in Miami Shores.  My uncle and aunt have been there before (my uncle estimates it has been about 4-5 times), and since they love French cooking, and this is French cooking, then they love Cote.  Also, the owner's name is Ivan, as is the middle child of my uncle and aunt.  So between one thing and another, Cote got the call.  At least it was better than Smith and Wollensky on the southern tip of Miami Beach, which is where we went last time we had this outing.

We arrived at about 6:30, and the place was empty.  It was more than half full about an hour later, so it seems we were just the early birds.  Ivan greets you, and his assistant brings you menus.  And water.  At some point, she brings you bread and some amuses bouche, which were modest pastries of no significant moment.

It doesn't take terribly long for Ivan to take your order.  The same cannot be said of fulfillment of that order.  And it seems Ivan knows what you're thinking, because the menu says "Fast Food is Not Good, and Good Food is Not Fast."  Were it only that simple.

The menu is not extensive-- why should it be, in a restaurant with seating for only about 20-30 people?-- but it's varied enough.  My aunt very fondly recalled Cote's carrot soup, but that item was not on the menu last night.  Not every dish survives the rotation.  There were more than enough other choices, though.  For people like me, who prefer to eat vegetarian, there was one item in the entrees: spinach raviolis.  If I refused to eat dairy, too, which I sometimes do, I would have been out of luck.  But I get ahead of myself here.

I was not sure how the bill would be divided.  My guess was that we would divide it in thirds.  I eat more than anyone else anyway, so I had no real complaint about paying a third.  And I don't order wine or dessert in restaurants, so I figured I was entitled to eat whatever I wanted.  Soups at Cote are $7.50 a serving, but they had a "trilogy" for $9.  Never having been to Cote, I thought it would be best if I tried three kinds of soup.  And it was so cost effective that I couldn't resist anyway.  So pea, lentil, and zucchini and potato it was.  The goat cheese salad, with apples and nice-sounding veggies, seemed irresistible, too, and I was willing to pay $15 for it.  My raviolis were going to cost $24.  My father ordered "what he's [I'm] having."  He eats a lot, too.  My mother ordered only beef tagine.  My aunt ordered onion soup and foie gras.  My uncle ordered the raviolis.  He's a light eater, so that was it for him.

To make a long, and not very happy, story shorter, the service was more than frustrating.  You can see that Ivan likes money, and he doesn't mind charging lots of it for the dishes he serves.  It seems he doesn't like to share the available money, though, so he's the only real waitstaff.  Only Ivan takes orders.  I guess that's his way of corraling most of the tip money, too.

Dishes come when they come.  And they don't come in any real order.  When I got my soups, my uncle got his raviolis.  My aunt got her onion soup.  At some point, my mother got her beef tagine.  We had to ask what happened to my father's soups, which should have been served at the same time mine were.  With this stimulus, my father's soups arrived.  Then, we waited.  My aunt got her foie gras.  My uncle was all but done. He was helping my mother, who has a difficult time feeding herself and was sitting next to him.  My father and I were wondering what happened to the rest of our meals, which supposedly then included salads and raviolis.  I told Ivan's assistant to cancel the salads, since it was getting late and we were just as happy to move it along and confine ourselves to the entrees. The result of the request to cancel the salads was delivery of the salads.  Ivan brought them, and I told him they had been cancelled.  He took them away.  But then I got to thinking.  When Ivan reappeared, I asked if the raviolis, those which had been served to my uncle some time ago, were almost ready.  If they weren't, my father and I would take the salads, and we would cancel the raviolis instead.  Yes, Ivan reassured, the raviolis were ready.  Apparently, they really weren't, but they came before anyone got more fed up.

We finished with profiteroles.  We got two orders, for the two couples (as I said, I don't do dessert at restaurants), and these two orders amounted to eight small profiteroles.  I have never understood profiteroles.  I have had them, and they are never better than a poor excuse for dessert.  They taste cheap.  And since no one had a stomach as big as his or her eyes were, except I always do, I not only ate some of them, but I ate more than I wanted.

The food was tolerable.  Maybe some of it was more or less good.  None of it was any better than that.  I had to finish my mother's tagine, and it was distinctly disappointing.  My soups were nothing special, and the raviolis were as good as they needed to be.  Portions were small, as is supposed to suggest high quality, or maybe rarity.  Absence might make the heart grow fonder, but it's not very filling.  Nothing at Cote dazzled.  Except the prices.

My uncle took out his credit card.  I took out mine.  My father, whose memory is worth, um, not that much, had forgotten his.  But he had an idea.  I (he) would pay for everyone, and he would pay me back.  I did mention my father's memory, right?  So dinner was on me, and unless I plan to remind him that he owes me $170, it will stay that way.

I won't be back to Cote.

Well, Don't That Just Beat All.

Yesterday, I went to the recreation center to meet up with some of the other Halloween volunteers, so we could get our assignments.  The event, by the way, was a great success, as it always is.  There were lots of people, and it seemed everyone had a great time.

While I was walking to my assigned post for the evening, I passed one of our neighbors, sitting on his steps, watching the people.  And presumably, handing out candy.  I know him just a little, and he knows me, just a little.  He and I greeted each other as I walked past, and he called out to me to ask if I was gearing up for next year's election, in which he assumed I would be running again.

I don't really know this neighbor, other than I know his name, he knows mine, and we greet each other.  But we have crossed paths.  I was one of the ones at whom he mobilized some anger over the sanitation, um, thing.  He came to the podium in those days to complain and to rail not only over the idea of outsourcing sanitation, but at those of us who were accused of ignoring the clearly stated wishes of a group of our neighbors, himself included.  For that reason, I have felt some lingering illness-at-ease between us, although nothing was ever said.  And now, on Halloween, here he was, sitting outside, enjoying the day, and greeting me, asking about my "political" ambitions.

"Absolutely not," I told him.
"Why not?"
"Because it's been a huge aggravation."

I didn't have to say another word.  He knew, and I knew, what was an important part of the huge aggravation.

"But it worked out fine," he pointed out.

"I know," I affirmed.



Not to worry, though.  I'm not running for re-election.  I have a better idea.  Since the Village is so small, and we have so many neighbors who know exactly how everything should be, I want to move us from a Commission/Manager form of government to a Town Meeting form of government.  We don't need middlemen.  We can get together a few times a year, decide what everyone wants, and hire some functionary to push the paper and make the phone calls.  Then, we can criticize them if anything is imperfect.