Well, the good news is that after packing up house in Melbourne, saying goodbye to friends in Sydney, flying across the Pacific, and gorging our way from LA through the Central Coast all the way up to San Francisco, I finally have a spare second and an internet connection to put up a blog post. The bad news is the reason that I have the time is that Sarah and I have been grounded by what we thought was food poisoning, but what we now believe is part of a norovirus epidemic sweeping the States. It ain’t pretty.
I’ll spare you the gruesome details, but there was lots of writhing in pain, sweating and unspeakable bodily acts. What, too much info already? Don’t get me started.
The biggest tragedy in it all lies in that it struck me down the night before we had reservations to dine at The French Laundry in the Napa Valley, something I’ve been waiting to do much of the past decade. Yes, I begged and pleaded my way in, reached a sympathetic ear and got a 5.30pm Friday reservation, only to have to give it up in an instant that very morning. Murphy’s been beefing up his law, methinks.
In any case, with a new camera in hand and dozens of good eating experiences, there will be lots to share in the weeks to come. But today I just wanted to share some misery, and build upon the wide sympathy I’ve already received from my Facebook friends and the Twitterati. Sometimes you just need a shoulder to winge on.
In the meantime, I’m relegated to the anti-foodie diet: toast, soup, hot water, and maybe a sandwich if I’m lucky. I’m dreaming of my first slice of pizza once the stomach pirates have been driven out of my shipping channel. I’ll keep you posted.