WHAT DOES IT TASTE LIKE TO YOU?
No, this isn't about diminished expectations at Folsom Street, or in the gay bars on Polk. It's about kumquats. There's a back lot where I can see the kumquats on their trees in season.
Three trees in yards behind apartment buildings, planted long ago.
But they're all gone now. The season has ended.
The only other person there at that moment is a former black man.
Smoking and yelling "ooh girl" on the phone.
It isn't quite the same.
From the exhaust vents come the fumes of imperial rolls in the deep fryer.
And nearby is a pizza place, I can smell the yeasty reek of dough.
That's where I spotted the young woman with the nice forehead and the eyebrows that looked like wiggly caterpillars a few years ago. Her brows dimpled enchantingly as she realized that pizza was lovely.
The two young men who were with her may not have noticed, as all three were animated and talkative.
I saw it, however. Women and food, of course I'm watching.
Her face was alive with pleased surprise.
It was very delicious.
Maybe she hadn't had pizza before?
But she didn't look like she had come from overseas. Dressed very much like one of us. Local.
Likewise her companions. Well, other than that one looked like a teenage Leslie Cheung, and the other like an innocent and sweet-natured Lau tak-wah. Not the cynical pop-star we now all know.
She didn't look like anybody.
On a whim I ate pizza there again. Things have changed. The topping on the Athena is not the same, nor as good. There is no feta cheese anymore, and the pesto doesn't have the same saveur.
But I like the people that run the place.
One Arabian, and one Mexican.
A match made in heaven.
No, NOT that way.
Two slices; artichoke, cheese, olive oil, pesto, plus lots of chili powder.
Watched hicks in Kentucky wrestle hogs while eating.
The place was empty most of that time.
Three cablecars rumbled past.
I miss golden fruits.
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