By all rights, it should be an awful night here at Chez ‘rina. Lloyd’s cold turned out to be a serious flu bug, featuring 102-degree fevers, night sweats and the kind of coughing I used to hear only in hospitals. (He’s getting better, but he’s still not well.) I have no fewer than three dear friends suffering trouble: trouble in love, trouble in money, more trouble in love, heartache beyond my comprehension. Dream Company finally told me that Dream Job came down to me and one other person, the other person being an internal candidate who has grown greatly in her current position, and this new position would be a giant leap forward for her. (This is yet another reason why Dream Company is my dream company; how can you begrudge a company who recognizes greatness in their employees and promotes from within? They did tell me to keep in touch with them, particularly after I mentioned I might have a *lot* of free time on my hands come July.) The preliminary note-taking for the egg project is going slowly, achingly slowly, cold molasses slowly. My inner gym rat has left the building, replaced by my inner manatee. The Brooklyn landmark restaurant Gage & Tollner, open for over 100 years, is closing on Saturday, yet another restaurant that never recovered its pre-9/11/01 business. Current events, never a picnic, especially in this city, continue to be filled with unhappy violent accidents and meannesses, and the stupid and venal continue to be rewarded while the brave and true are frequently put upon.
All this, and yet, it is not an awful night, for I have an exaltation of mood elevators about me.
If you are trapped in a conspiracy of bad juju, you could not ask for a better mood elevator than to have the world-famous nakedjen come to your town; meet you at your office; take a picture of you in your favorite shoes, the ones that make you feel like a heady combination of rock star, vampire slayer, venture capitalist and sex kitten; and then whisk you off to dinner. Trust me, I know. Further mood elevation will take place if you and Jen go to the world’s smallest Venezuelan restaurant and chow down on arepas (sandwiches made from a masa harina-based griddle cake) and snacky little appetizers and glass after glass of papelon con limon, a drink made of water, loaf sugar (a type of molasses-rich unrefined sugar) and lime juice—oh, god, but it’s a gorgeous thing to drink, and I will marry the person who can teach me how to make it. And long after Jen finds her way back to sunny California, she will keep your spirits high by way of the chocolates she was kind enough to bring you, specifically Donnelley chocolates, 1.5 oz bars that look like gold ingots from the outside, dark chocolate left alone in its plain gorgeousness, or flavored with five-spice powder or cardamom. The wrappers are handmade, and they are breathtaking, almost as breathtaking as the chocolate inside.
Now, Jen alone would provide enough sunshine to get a body through the rest of a long week, but thanks to the kindness of friends and some well-timed retail therapy, I have found myself to be even more cheerful. (Yes, I know how un-Buddhist of me it is to find so much pleasure in material stuff, and I know how shallow I am to mention said material stuff and my loving friends all in one breath. My loving friends I hope will understand. All others may bite me. *grin*) Between King Arthur Flour and Penzeys, I am now the proud owner of a dozen vanilla beans, a set of flexible silicone mise en place cups, a nifty 1-cup swirl mixer with an instruction sheet straight out of the 1950’s (what exactly is Harvard vinegar sauce?), a bottle of boiled cider, two pounds of Merckens milk chocolate and 40 pounds of flour (25 pounds all-purpose, 10 pounds pastry, 5 pounds pumpernickel). Five pounds of Wilbur Buds, my favorite choccies in the world, are on their way to my office. When I came home tonight, I made a pilaf for dinner, using the last of the pecan rice I bought at Kalustyan’s and the last of Sunday’s roast chicken, flavored and fragranced with dried cranberries, butter, onions, bay leaves, a cinnamon stick, half a dozen cardamom pods and a piece of star anise. It was warm, savory and luscious, it made me feel calm and happy on the inside, and it made the apartment smell just amazing. Lloyd is getting better on an hourly basis, and sounds like he may have turned the corner on this flu at last. Tomorrow is the start of a three-day weekend, and I have the feeling that great things are in store for it. I have the kindest friends in the world, friends who respond to my postal delinquency with no recriminations, nothing but kindness and happiness that we are back in touch. And I am lucky enough to have in my life someone who writes the best love letters in the world. You know who you are. 
ahem. there is someone waiting very patiently for their update letter that was dangled in front of their nose last night, missy.
love, tristan