Friends Adrie and Josh are in town from the Netherlands and we thought we’d treat them to some American southern-style home cooking on Friday night. Shellfish and pork are off the table, but I’m stewing up some chicken and dumplings. (I made the dish pictured here on my recent visit to mom’s.) So here’s the menu for Friday. Josh and Adrie, bring your traveling companion and y’all come!

Starters
Fried Green Tomatoes with a Remoulade Slaw

Main
Chicken and Dumplings
Broccolini Vinaigrette
Roasted Beet and Onion Salad
Green Peas

Dessert
Lemon Marmalade Tart with Fresh Whipped Cream

Champagne, Abita Beer, Iced Tea, Coffee and Chicory

PS: This was the opportunity I’ve been waiting for. I’ve been looking for an excuse to get my stand mixer for years — and making the Lemon Marmalade Tart gave me all the justification i need! The longed-for machine arrives today. Buon Cinquantesimo to me!

Tanti Auguri, Mark Matassa

cocktails
crostini misto
peperoni ripieni
bombay sapphire

antipasti
insalata fruitti di mare
oranges in harissa
crostino with manchego and tomato
crémant de bourgogne

primo piatto
risotto parmigiano with roasted bison marrow bones
brunello di montalcino

sorbet

secondo piatto
swordfish steak with a sauce of sweet pea greens
fried purple potatoes with cayenne aioli
broccolini vinaigrette
portalupi bianco

formaggio
pecorino and honey
absinthe

dolce
lemon marmalade tart with fresh whipped cream
coffee

Here at last is the re-designed Night Note, which we hope will accommodate lots of entries and big, beautiful photographs in the year to come.

It has been a busy Fall and holiday here on Covina Ave. Since the Global Economic Meltdown, gone is the season for being a philosopher-artist burrowing her way slowly into the heart of paint. This is a season for readiness. This is a season for keeping the tools sharp. A time to work.

And since the beginning of October, we have been working full-throttle. In the last week in November, Val and I and partner Donna Wares launched Seal Beach Daily — a hyperlocal news project. Think: an online publication — updated multiple times a day — with a mad devotion for one little corner of the world, for its lost pets and city council meetings, for its beach clean ups and Christmas tree lightings, its traffic jams and cable company woes and artists and food and sales tax revenues and what its people have to say.

It’s going great — glowing feedback, good numbers, advertisers, regular contributors, an encouraging community — but it is an all-consuming job. Want to jump into the hyperlocal game? Be ready to get your work on. Be ready to do it all: report it, write it, shoot it, code it, sell it, track it, love it into existence. And you better get yourself an exceptional partner or two, because it is not a one worker business.

So we’re working very hard to start a new business in an historic economic downturn, to be journalists during an historic meltdown of the newspaper industry, to do something satisfying for a living, when most people are just glad to have a job. But, since it has quickly become such a central thing in my life, there will be plenty of time to write about all that in the months to come.

For now, I’m so glad we managed to squeeze in the long overdue Night Note redesign. New: the “latest tweet” in the sidebar in my latest Twitter post. Foodie friends will note I post a picture of our dinner every night on Twitter. And for browsing fun, there’s a continuously updated list of suggested web reads. I’m determined to get posting here into the big blogging mix, so keep an eye on this space.

Above: An osprey photographed taking off at the Seal Beach Pier, the picture originally appeared with this post at Seal Beach Daily.

Last month, while we waited for the skies to clear over Hollister so we could go up for our breathtaking glide, we drove up the road to see what was on offer at the locally famous Casa de Fruta. The Casa is a fruit stand/roadside attraction on steroids with an overwhelming amount of stuff. The whole place was hung with new garlic braids. A new braid was on our shopping list for in this area — which is famous for its garlic production — and, the price was right, so we found a nice one and checked out.

We put the braid in the back of the truck and headed off to soar through the now-clearing skies. But when we got back to the car after our glide, the heavy garlic smell hit us as soon as we opened the door. Whoa! Val wrapped the braid in two plastic bags, put the package in a brown paper bag and then tucked it deep into the kitchen stuff in the very back of the Element.

A short time later, we were on our way to Berkeley and I had to roll down my window for some fresh air. Pew! Afraid to leave it to embed its essence into the car, we took the braid into our room at the Berkeley Rodeway Inn. We stored it in the little alcove off the bathroom and we opened our window onto the courtyard. But as I reclined in bed, blogging our day, I could still smell the garlic and it was starting to get to me. Finally, I’d had it. I took the garlic out to the parking lot and put it under the front wheel of the car, where, Val pointed out, it looked like a suspicious package. A stink bomb, I said. By then, I was crabby about it — I don’t care what happens to it, I just can’t stand to smell it anymore, I said. Let some fool steal it, then it will be his stinky karmic problem. Val said he thought it would be better if he bungeed it to the roof of the car, which he did.

Back in bed, I was thinking I didn’t like the way the weird little package called attention to the car. I knew I couldn’t breathe its perfume for another two weeks. We have to get rid of it, I told Val. Cut our losses. We couldn’t mail it to ourselves, because our mail was on hold at the post office for three more weeks and you can get yourself in trouble by stinking up government workplaces. Then it came to me: we’d mail it to Laurie with instructions to hang it in one of her out-buildings, where its scent would not offend. And let me just say: you know you have a good friend when you can mail your stinky problems to them. (Thanks, Laur, you’re the best!)

So the next day, with great relief, I slid the braid into a Priority Mail box and handed the stink to the USPS. What a free feeling! In a couple of days, Laurie reported the package’s receipt and the braid is now hung safely in her garage, where the dogs give it an occasional curious sniff, but human noses remain unassailed. This weekend the braid will finally come home to Covina. It will be stored in our garage, where we hope it will mellow, or at very least, inhibit termite colonization.

Ours is an internet story.

Faithful readers of The Night Note will know that Rita Matassa is a frequent commenter here, a Friend of the Night Note, and many will know that she is an important part of the M&M/NightNote blog-munity, being responsible for bringing one M — Mark — into the world. So Rita and I met in the cyber world a while ago, when our latest burst of blogging was just taking off. And although we hadn’t met each other in “real” life, Rita always has something to say to make me smile.

Today, as I was cruising through Oregon on the way home from The Big Graze Road Trip, I got to stop in Eugene and enjoy a very nice meeting, lunch (yum! brownies!) and conversation with Rita at her cozy house. The afternoon rolled by and we could have chatted on through the evening and I got to have that wonderful feeling of ease that comes with being good friends. We giggled a lot, shared histories, admired M&M, talked about newspapering and cooking and traveling and writing and making art, about getting to sleep, enjoying life and playing the cards you are dealt. Is there a better way to spend an afternoon?

Thank you Rita for my great afternoon! And for my little lunch bag — I am eating my brownie midnight snack right now. Don’t you love the internets? I do!

^ Oregon sunset

• WWL-TV live video

• Times-Picayune Hurricane Coverage

• Times-Picayune Abita forum

• St. Tammany Parish government

• National Hurricane Center

• Big resource list from JefTek [thanks nik]

John Kerry gave a good speech, one he wrote himself [TPM], making an eloquent comparison of Senator McCain and Candidate McCain. And there was his rightful indignation. He wore it well. My favorite quote:

Never in modern history has an administration squandered American power so recklessly. Never has strategy been so replaced by ideology. Never has extremism so crowded out common sense and fundamental American values. Never has short-term partisan politics so depleted the strength of America’s bipartisan foreign policy.

And the old yellow dog dem in me — the one that’s voted democrat in every election for 30 years, couldn’t help but like Joe Biden. His son, Beau, off to the Iraq war any minute, gave him great intro. (Andrew reminded me that Mitt Romney’s kids were serving America by campaigning for their dad.) And Biden’s whole story came off as warm and authentic and wise.

But, Bill. Well you cannot stay mad at Bill. When he starts with that, “Oh Baby, you know how I am …” You just want him to keep talking. His smart ease slays you. You want to scold him for his campaign hijinks, but it comes out, “Oh, Mr. President, you can lead my free world … just keep talking.” “People the world over have always been more impressed by the power of our example than by the example of our power.” Lip bite. Finger point. That’s right, Mr. President, go on.

Look at the example the Republicans have set: American workers have given us consistently rising productivity. They’ve worked harder and produced more. What did they get in return? Declining wages, less than half as many new jobs as in the previous eight years, smaller health care and pension benefits, rising poverty and the biggest increase in income inequality since the 1920s. American families by the millions are struggling with soaring health care costs and declining coverage. … Are these the family values the Republicans are so proud of? What about the military families pushed to the breaking point by unprecedented multiple deployments? What about the assault on science and the defense of torture? What about the war on unions and the unlimited favors for the well connected? What about Katrina and cronyism? America can do better than that. And Barack Obama will.”

Yes. Mr.President. Yes.

Later, I headed downtown on a bus crowded with people going to the big speech at Mile High. Everyone on the street was talking about the speech. I hooked up with Andrew who gave me a tour of the Denver Post newsroom (great views, hot flat screen displays, graphics dept. right in the newsroom) and we went off to lunch. We went down to see if we could eat at the Ships Tavern in the Brown Palace Hotel, where Barack and Hillary are staying. When we rounded the corner, there was a large group of people around the hotel watching a side door. “Doesn’t look good for the Tavern,” I told Andrew. As we walked through the crowd, we heard several people say that they didn’t know what they were waiting for. Andrew went to check with the doorman. Secret Service told him no one could enter the hotel now. So we were discussing alternate destinations — maybe we should wait too — when we saw the confused wait-ers turn their heads as one. And out of the side door came Hillary, resplendent in her cream pantsuit. She walked past the big SUV/Limo and right to the crowd that cooed, sighed with delight, extended their hands. There was the snap of excitement. “Thank you Hillary,” someone shouted. Every cell phone camera was working. Andrew got onto a newspaper box and took some pix with my camera, but Hillary was moving quickly down the line. A young woman came from the front of the pack, speed dialed someone on her cell and then said, tearing up, “Hillary Clinton just shook my hand and I’m going to cry. I’m crying. Hillary just shook my hand.”

Then Hills hopped in her ride and left the waving crowd looking as delighted as if they had crossed paths with a unicorn. They giggled with one another. Did that just happen? Then they started to reassemble themselves for another round of waiting for someone. Maybe Barack would be next.

But Andrew had to have lunch and get back to work, so we headed back to the main drag, the 16th promanade. On the way, I thought I saw House Majority Whip Rep. Jim Clyburn walking toward me, all by himself. He made such a great speech yesterday, but it was buried deep in the daytime session and there’s not even video of it on the web … I wanted to tell him I saw it and how good it was and how he should gget video of it up on his website. “Mr. Clyburn?” I asked as I extended my hand. “Willie Brown,” said the man who’s hand was already in mine. He was smiling. I was embarassed. “Well, it’s a great pleasure to meet you,” I said. Doh. It really was a pleasure. He’s a famous outspoken California pol and it would be fun to shake his hand any day. But I sounded so stupid. Ick! He laughed it off and went on his way. Me too. We walked on to the restaurant. I got got a big plate of pot stickers for lunch to remove the flavor of foot from my mouth. Mmm … plenty of ginger.

Now, I am back at Andrews listening to Al Gore give a really good speech at Mile High. Got to pay better attention. More soon!

But at about 5am I woke up in a sweat and knew immediately that I had screwed up bigtime. A hangover! A big one too, 7.5 on the doof scale (where 10 is when you beg to be put out of your misery and you mean it). And that was that, I was up and paying the price and by 5:30, my host was up too — actually being cheerful and offering help.

Poor Andrew! He was expecting a guest, not a patient or a fraternity pledge. How embarrassing. But Andrew and I go a long way back now and he has pretty much seen it all. Gracious as always, he wasn’t cross with me. He set me up with house keys, a transportation map and Denver info and went off to work today saying he would meet me anytime for coffee or lunch downtown. A lovely idea, but not possible. There were aftershocks all day long.

About an hour ago, the thing started to let go of me and I got up and made the bed, took care of the ice chest, set myself up to watch the convention on msnbc.com, sat quietly in Andrew’s serene apartment. I got my nerve up and tried a little of the cut watermelon Val sent with me and I’m actually feeling half human. Tonight, I’m pretty sure I will be together enough to take Andrew out for a nice dinner.

Andrew seemed in the pink this morning, doing his workout, going to the office. I guess I was pushing it — the long drive, the altitude, the last days of being 47 — these things add up. Well, I’m paying attention now.

Tomorrow I’m 48 and I’ll be sending some news from downtown Denver. Today, a nap might be in order.