Gatos Cats

With a quick email, i invited a couple of old friends out to dinner in Los Gatos. There's a chow joint i've been intending to sample down there for quite some time, called "California Cafe." Funny how alliteration makes the name sound clever, yet "West Coast Restaurant" is equally as generic a title.

There were three generations of white Los Gatosians huddling outside the front entrance, blocking our passage. After a couple of polite "excuse me's" with no reaction, i puffed up my chest, dropped my voice an octave and approched each of them individually. "Excuse me." The older ladies were toughest to budge, not moving until i stooped over and put my mouth in their eyeline. I'm surprised we didnt have the po-po trying to hunt us down after that. I could go on and on about how money does not equal respect, etc etc, but i had too good a time to spoil it with a minor downer, especially on the part of someone else's pomposity and ignorance - i have a difficult enough time dealing with my own.

D&J looked great, as usual. Wifey was blindingly stunning in her t-shirt and jeans. Much like all of our previous restaurant experiences in the LG, Wifey knows someone working on the floor or behind the bar. Mr. Manager hooked us up with a couple of appetizers not on the menu. It's always nice to get free grub.

He surprised us a bit later with a "Gift Card," that they were giving away for a previous promotion. The value of the gift card was to remian unknown until the end of dinner, where you found out how much of your meal was comped. Funny thing, we recieved a full comp. On a $270 dinner. I have no more words for that. Maybe these, "I should have ordered the filet."