The contrast between the suckiness of 2004 in general and the perfection of today in particular is, shall we say, stark.
Woke up and had a beautiful, quiet time unstuffing stockings and unwrapping packages with Amy. Highlights include getting an iPod, which lives up to the hype and then some (Amy got the HP version, then worried that it was deficient somehow–no problems at all. And the interface makes me feel like I’m living in 2001. Although it’s 2004, so perhaps I shouldn’t be so impressed) and giving "Doctors, Professors, Kings & Queens: The Big Ol’ Box of New Orleans".
I’m still wowed by the iPod–haven’t felt this way about a thing since, uh, I bought Felix 10 years ago. Really. (That’s not actually Fel, but nearly.) What I love is the ease with which I can lug around and pull up stuff I haven’t listened to in a while, like Haywood’s "Men Called Him Mister". Haywood. Say that like Homer saying "Doughnuts," and you’ll know how I feel.
From the goods to the goodies: Christmas dinner. As follows…
NV Rose Veuve Ambal, which is delicious, dirt-cheap (~$10) and really a beautiful bottle. We drink a lot of non-Champagne French sparkling–it’s cheaper than the real stuff, and better than comparably-price Cali stuff. VA turns up at BevMo in SF around Christmastime, and it’s just prudent to pick up a few cases. (Note that their site is Flash-ridden crap. And the Anglais version doesn’t work.)
Arugula with some sort of truffle-infused cheese (pecorino? Amy gets it at Say Cheese in Cole Valley all the time, but I really don’t know what it is) grated all over the greens, which are then doused with truffle oil. Basically our house salad.
Pork tenderloin, as per Cook’s Illustrated specs, with their mustard-shallot sauce. Riddled the thing with spiced garlic slivers yesterday and put it in the fridge to soak in the flavor. My first time cooking anything like this, so I was a little anxious. Not too worried, since I’m a faithful convert to the CI mantra of roasting and resting, i.e. letting meat sit undisturbed after you remove them from the oven so that the juices are re-absorbed before you slice it. It was so damn good, it really was.
Browned, roasted potatoes with fresh rosemary and olive oil.
2000 Deerfield Ranch Winery, Cohn Vineyard Pinot Noir. I love this wine, but it’s apparently an idiosyncratic taste–Amy didn’t like it at all and stuck with the champagne. (Not that surprising–we picked this up at the Sonoma Family Wineries store, where an unusual number of wines appeal to one of us but not to the other.)
After dinner, a much-needed walk through Golden Gate Park, past SF’s crowning Christmas glory–the big cypress in front of McLaren Lodge that turns into a multi-colored, glowing ball each December.
Then, a glass of bourbon and "Holiday Inn" with Bing Crosby, Fred Astaire, and an assortment of minor ’40s players. A great flick for Christmas Night, but not really a classic. Hokey, love-triangle plot saved by the fantastic "Holiday Inn" setting. Literally fantastic–Crosby runs a nightclub in small-town Connecticut that’s open only on holidays (so each show features a holiday-themed revue)–and it’s simply a given that this little house in the sticks sustains top-notch players and musicians and pays the rent on 15 nights a year. Some of the holiday stuff is odd to contemporary eyes–like the blackface number celebrating Lincoln’s birthday. (Whatever happened to separate days for Lincoln and Washington, anyway? What other holiday crowded them into a neutered President’s Day? I’d love to have them back as separate events. Sans blackface.)
And now? I’m stuffing CDs into iTunes so I can stuff my little iPod as full as possible, and I’m posting my first-ever, uh, post.
And that’s why it was such a superb day. Merry Christmas to all, and to all a Good Night!
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