My father picked me up at six o’clock tonight. We went downtown to hang out together, just the two of us. We first went to a club on the 27th floor of the Foshay Tower where I had a delicious sidecar cocktail (it’s the floor in the photos where the balconies appear near the top of the tower). It’s one of those clubs with leather seating, wood paneled walls, and expensive but incredibly-well-crafted cocktails. From 1929 until about 1970 the Foshay Tower was the tallest building between Chicago and the west coast of the United States. As you can see, there are now several buildings almost twice its height. The Foshay is now mostly a Hotel W, but it remains an amazing art deco showcase.
After cocktails, we went to dinner at Sea Change in the Guthrie theater building along the Mississippi River in downtown Minneapolis. I had a couple raw Wellfleet oysters, a starter of raw scallops, and as an entrée the best bouillabaisse I’ve ever eaten—all accompanied by an extremely fine bottle of Sancerre. For dessert I had affogato, which was something totally new to me. I intend to have it again, though—it’s a small portion of excellent vanilla gelato with cool espresso poured over it, and in this case two adorable, tiny biscotti (biscottinii?) to soak it up with. I am sated and delighted.
I know I am incredibly fortunate to enjoy such a great relationship with my father. He is still alive and still very healthy. He is funny and intelligent, and we enjoy each others company enormously. Add to that his insistence on picking up the tab for all of it, and I count myself as lucky as a man can be. Can you tell I am still glowing in the aftermath?