We'll Always Have The Santa Fe Salad
Hard times call for small joys
New Year’s Eve was a dear friend’s birthday, and as a gift to her we decided to compile a book of our own “delights" a la Ross Gay. Ross Gay’s Book of Delights, which, if you read my newsletter, you have a 93% chance of owning, is a irreverent and moving chronicle of the author (a poet)’s daily joys. I love this book. One of my favorites is #24, Umbrella in the Cafe:
“A guy on his way out, after buying his Americano and scooting by my big red bobbing foot, and smiling softly at me, and me at him, looked at the drizzle through the big plate-glass window, put his coffee down, opened his umbrella, put it over his head, picked up his coffee, then realized, I presume, that he was still inside this bakery. (The window was very clean.) I saw him giggle to himself, realizing, I think, what he had done—let me interrupt to mention that a man with a sack of some sort slung over his shoulder just entered Choc-O-Pain and exclaimed, ‘Good morning, Jersey City family!’—and so lowered his umbrella and walked quickly out, with a smirk that today I read as a smirk of gentleness, of self-forgiveness. Do you ever think of yourself, late to your meeting or peed your pants some or sent the private e-mail to the group or burned the soup or ordered your cortado with your fly down or snot on your face or opened your umbrella in the bakery, as the cutest little thing?”
I have been thinking a lot about the pandemic these days, as I comb through the responses (463 of them!) to the 5-year pandemic-versary parent survey I created with my
sister Miranda Rake.We read the Book of Delights in April, 2020, in my intergenerational neighbors book club. Then, in very covid-times fashion, we emailed each other delights every few days, like our lives depended on it. On April 29th, 2020, I wrote:
“the moment just after Max kicks me, a few minutes before he will likely do it again, when, in the middle of saying something else, he says "i love you." like "mama, can i have a...i love you...can i have another pb and j quesadilla?" delight, in the midst of terror, delight.”
People wrote about the local fairy door and the guy who walked around our neighborhood banging a big drum and online eavesdropping and jokes their doctors made.
On May 1st I wrote:
“Delight: I was taking what I call a "rage walk" (delight of a sort, the pleasure of letting a big wash of dark emotions just come for you and not fighting it). I remembered one of my favorite albums of adolescence, a live Portishead album. I walked. I air drummed. I felt fucked up and also better. As I started for home, I saw my neighbor’s adult son, who really at this point is kind of an Adonis, jogging towards me. In my just-found peace and reconnection with myself, I gave in to the urge to clap for him as he passed by. It was not him. I laughed out loud. Delight.”
And on the 2nd:
“A bike ride with Max. We have had so much turmoil lately that moments like this are extra delightful. He pointed out that a tree trunk with a crack in it looked like a butt. We delivered brownie's to his old nanny, then ate one of the brownies we'd been intending to give away on her stoop. We listened to the hum of a leafblower while I recounted the entire Trojan war for the 1000th time. He sat between my legs and said to look for my kitty' "There you are" I said as he popped up "what were you doing down there?" "I was eating your vagina." Full belly laugh. Delight.”
2025 is upon us. It has already been ushered in with lots of joys and a lot of grief, individual and collective. My family life, and this endless winter break, has been transcendent and also very, very difficult. I have a feeling we will be needing Ross Gay and his delights again.
Here’s what a I wrote for my friend, what’s your delight???
The Cheesecake Factory
For Courtney
We are not in Oakland anymore. But where are we, exactly?? We might be in Italy - no, an Italy-inspired casino. We might be on the set of Real Housewives, or inside the world of an SNL sketch about a New Jersey small business that deals in decorative columns.
Wherever we are, it is clear that some magic has taken hold. Dozens, if not hundreds of aspirants wait for tables, not in the least bit irritated. Hostesses galore show groups to their seats. When I ask the young man who takes our names what his favorite dish is, he does not hesitate to recommend one of the Glamburgers, and I believe with every fiber of my being that he regularly eats them and truly loves them. He guides us through the maze of happy customers and asks if this is a special occasion for us. How, kind sir, could it not be??
Everyone at the Cheesecake Factory - the employees, the patrons, is middle class. You can tell that our server, Ryan, likes his job by the genuine enthusiasm with which he waits on us. When I ask him to describe the flavor profile of the Cheesecake Factory Reserve Pinot Grigiot, a question I never imagined myself posing to another human being, he offers me a taste. When, after ordering a 6oz pour of the Cheesecake Factory Reserve Pinot Grigiot, which ended up having a floral nose with hints of cotton candy ice cream (you can also get 9oz, which my friend tells me is referred to as the “American pour”), I break my wine glass, Ryan laughs it off and cleans it up in one expert movement.
There are no oppressed here, no oppressors. No one has heard of Matt Gaetz or cares if you have a Substack Bestseller check next to your name. There is only pleasure, only this:
Cheeseburger Spring Rolls. 990 Calories.
Bang-Bang Chicken and Shrimp. 1370 Calories.
Buffalo Blasts. 1670 Calories.
Or, if you prefer, the Skinnylicious Avocado Tacos, just 560 calories.
But I came here for a reason, the Santa Fe Salad (1670 Calories), favorite dish of my high school mall going days, perfect conclusion to an afternoon spent shoplifting bras from Victorias Secret and flicking through CDs at Sam Goody, the clank of their plastic, anti-theft cases evoking an ancient rhythm, one that calls forth satisfaction and possibility, just like the 37 pages of this impressive menu. My friend orders tortilla soup, even though she has not even glanced at the menu, and to our surprise, Ryan doesn't flinch, just asks “cup or bowl?” “Whatever you are looking for,” the decorative columns sing out to us, “we have the power to make it happen.”
I pay the check (I am so satisfied that I tip cash), take a slice of Ryan's go-to cheesecake, the 30th Anniversary Chocolate Cake Cheesecake (1320 calories), across the street to the movie theater with three plastic forks. At a lull in the action, I pop open the plastic container and dig in. It is even better than he described.
Afterwards, my friends and I linger in the parking garage. The suburbs are closing up for the night, but we are still amped. We see Ryan walk out the front door of the restaurant and climb into a burgundy SUV, maybe just beginning his night. I joke about asking him for his number, but we all know I don't need to do that. I'll be back, and soon
A grand hall of delights, that place!
Omfg. STANDING OVATION.