But it's not over yet.
After all of that food on Saturday, Tweedle and I still woke up on Sunday morning starving (at 7:30am no less). STARVING. As if we hadn't spent the whole previous day eating until we were stuffed.
Solution? Go to breakfast. Make sure to have mimosas. Always better with fresh-squeezed orange juice. Note to self: buy orange juicer.
This was a spectacular breakfast. Tweedle and I split the "Down South" (grits, bacon, the best potatoes ever, a buttermilk biscuit, and scrambled eggs) and the vanilla-orange scented challah French toast (which was lovely and almost creamy on the inside, but nice and lightly crisp on the outside). Tweedle's mother got the shrimp and grits - the shrimp were a little spicy, which I generally don't like in the mornings, but it was still very good. Oh, but the French toast. I generally don't like sweet in the mornings either, but if I had this restaurant with their French toast in my neck of the woods, I could easily become addicted.
Then we were full again. This is a vicious cycle.
Oh, I haven't shown you the pets yet. There is Fondue, the crazy over-hyper tail-chasing dog. And then there is Boris, whose favourite activity is to crawl up onto your chest as high as he can go and pet your face (luckily, he's declawed) - yes, he does pet you, it's a very sweet cheek stroking - while purring like a crazy maniac and sucking all the heat out of you. If he wasn't so whiny he'd be cute.
After laying on the couch sated, we got hungry again (surprise surprise!) and decided to rejoin the drunkards at for some of the Olympic games. By the time we got there around 1pm (there was a lot of lazing about beforehand, along with an aborted previous trip to the homies because we got there, realised we didn't have our own booze and we'd be the only girls, so we left until someone called us asking us where the hell we were), they had been drinking for five hours. That is, if they ever really stopped in the first place.
Hey, what's cooking?
Why, it's MORE hot links, of course! Gosh, those things can burn through your stomach lining.
An assortment of pictures from the Olympics. On the left you have the alcohol that Tweedle and I brought, including the scary Polish vodka. In the middle you have a close-up of the plaque and medals. Winners wear their medals proudly during the day. By the time we got there, they had only gone through ONE event (darts). It was going to be a long day. And on the right, you have beer caps in case you want to start practising.
Look at the boys, totally focused on the second game of the day, Bid Whist. I do not understand the rules of the game. They tried explaining it to us, but it was too confusing. Besides, Tweedle got banned from the card tables the last time she was there two years ago. So we drank instead. And drank some more.
Did I mention that we had to have Tweedle's mom drop off more alcohol for us because we ran out of vodka? Nothing says you're mature more than having your mom drop off booze for you. We tried to get her to do a shot (because she works at this middle school too) but she didn't want to. Oh well.
Eventually, we had to head back into San Francisco to meet up with Tweedle's friend for a mid-afternoon snack. Look at how pretty the drive is today! Incidentally, I so don't remember taking this picture, nor what I said to the half-dozen people I called. And why am I in this mindset where it's okay to bring go-cups of alcohol in the car?
Tartine might be one of the happiest places on earth. Seriously.
Believe me now? We ordered a brioche bread pudding with nectarine, this amazing large airy cheesy gougère, and a banana cream tart. I don't know which of the latter two was my favourite, it was so hard. I did like how the shell of the tart was brushed with chocolate, which then formed a hardened layer preventing the banana cream from making the pastry part soggy. Mm, but the gougère was just amazing. With a couple of glasses of rosé - well, it certainly was a lovely afternoon.
Tweedle and I, slightly drunk(er), stuck around for dinner too, and to watch the season finale of Entourage (very very important). The homies didn't have great food like this, I can promise you.
But we had to go back (we were getting called repeatedly asking where we were - I don't think "being civilised" was the answer they wanted to hear). So back we went, returning about five hours after we left.
By this point, they were only on their fourth event, spades. If you're keeping track, you'll realise that during the whole time we were away, they only managed to finish Bid Whist and play dominoes. Tweedle and I were tired, and so did not stick around too long. They didn't leave until 2 in the morning having finished spades, and thus resumed the next morning at 9am to play caps and hoops. Really, it's all about stamina, which I apparently don't have. But hey, it was an experience! And the perfect excuse to come back to the Bay Area and eat ourselves silly!
(I'm not writing about Monday because we didn't do anything. But I did see March of the Penguins before my flight. Go see it! It is cute! Baby penguins are so cute. Grown-up penguins are scary-looking. Morgan Freeman's voice is so soothing, and the musical score is great.)
(And yes. Today I am 25. It is always great receiving emails from old teachers telling you that you are now a quarter of a century old. BLERGH. However, the late soul that I always am, I wasn't born until after 11pm Pacific time. So that's like a whole fourteen hours from now.)