A Lady in London

I love ham. When I was a kid, the woman who ran my day care center nicknamed me The Ham Girl. While the other kids were on their best behavior for the prospect of a Sweet Tart or some Pop Rocks, I practiced the art of decorum in hopes of a few slices of Weight Watchers Deli Select.

My mother, who could easily eat her weight in chocolate (and has probably tried), has always been a bit disappointed in my lack of interest in the sugary things in life. However, she is indefatigably supportive of my love of ham. So much so that the other week she threw a big family birthday party for me, complete with a giant honey baked ham.

Sure, there were two sinfully chocolaty cakes from Miette at the end, but the ham was the main event. Well, not the only main event. The birthday weekend kicked off on Friday night when my brother and his wife flew up from San Diego. We all met for dinner at The Oasis, a Silicon Valley dive bar that is popular with Stanford students, t-ball teams, and everyone in between. A few beers and a giant pizza later, we were well on our way to food coma.

The next day I worked on my wine coma while spending a day in Sonoma. Taking advantage of the unseasonably warm weather (85 degrees in April!), we all headed up north to taste some wine and have a picnic lunch under the oak trees at Ledson, a stunning castle-like tasting room with great wines and a generous staff member who kept pouring from the reserve bottles. By the time I got home, I was in desperate need of a nap, but somehow managed to power through an evening of dinner with my family and drinking with friends.

Sunday the weather in San Francisco was well into the 90’s, an occurrence that anyone who has ever lived in San Francisco will know is rarer than finding a Republican within the city limits. I woke up early to take a long walk on Crissy Field, where the water in the Bay was a glassy reflecting pool for the Golden Gate Bridge. I had never seen that before. It was stunning.

After running a few errands and picking up cakes and cupcakes at Miette’s new Chestnut St. store (why did they have to wait until I moved away to open a store in my neighborhood?), I drove to my mother’s house, where it was 96 degrees outside. We took a long walk with the dog, admiring the trillium and irises and having to constantly remind ourselves that it was April, not August.

That evening my cousins and aunt and uncle came over for my birthday dinner, which featured the aforementioned ham. I helped myself to two giant servings of sweet honeyed ham, after which it was time for cake and ice cream. My mother made everyone sing “Happy Birthday” twice, once for each cake, and reminded me that on my very first birthday I stuck my hands in the cake instead of blowing out the candle. This birthday I didn’t stick my hands in the cake, but I hardly stuck my fork in it either, full as I was of delicious ham.