My daughter is still sick so it’s a slow Saturday. I don’t
claim to have the definitive answers when it comes to the Fatherhood game, but
I have a desire to do activities on the weekends, which counts for plenty if
you ask me.
Checking my email, the kind folks at Benihana graciously
reminded me that I should return to their establishment for a fine experience. In
the email I was thrilled by the photo of a chef – smiling with sincere warmth
in his eyes, posed as if he was cooking me
a great meal. I imagined his precise movements and concentration, his smile
reminding me of a zen koan, his patter, of Buddy Hackett.
I had saved the hat from our Benihana-rama, and with the
can-do spirit which defines the pioneering outlook of our great state, I made
my son a bagel with cream cheese – all the while playing make-believe that I
was a top chef amusing the masses at Benihana.
But after the all the excitement died down and the food put
away, I awoke to the realization I was still in Portland, in my own messy
kitchen. Instead of being overcome by ennui, I did what people do here and wrote
a blog post.
 |
| Not a simulation |
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