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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