She drives funny cars......

I will try not to say “Fuck” in this post.

Monday night was our first night without Brendan in a year or so (He is working at a forge in Toolville…..yes, Toolville (by Visalia)…….learning to forge knives. Talk about Slow Food!).

All was well until Calley brought in some wild-looking drunk from Big Sur to eat with him at the bar. It was “Fucking Durney!! this and "Fucking Durney” that when he recognized Dirk at the salad station. Fucking this and fucking that. It was all Alex and I could hear on the hot side, even over the music.

Finally, I could take it no more. I leaned over the short wall to the bar. “Hey! Hey, you! One more “Fuck” and you are out of here!”

The dude blearily focused on the source of the noise.

“Hey! Get me? One more “Fuck” and you are gone! Where do you think you are, Fernwood? One more “Fuck” from you and I will throw you the……….fuck…….out!”

So much for raising the national discourse.

Then I recognized the guy: Aldo….Son of Crazy Richard from Garapata.

Everyone knows Crazy Richard. And, Aldo actually worked for us once.

In 1989, the marque of the year at the Concours was Aston Martin, to commemorate the 25^th anniversary of Aston Martin’s big win at Le Mans….the first seven places. We got the job of doing all the Aston Martin parties at Laguna Seca…..a huge opening cocktail party, the private dining area….the works. I even had Talbott’s make a special bow tie for our workers in Aston Martin British Racing Green and yellow.

The demand for staff pushed us to new territories. Dana Godbe, once my chef and now my competitor at Grapes of Wrath, brought some of her Big Sur folk…..among them Aldo.

Aldo was and is a character. He is a bull in a china shop, even in Big Sur. A big guy with a big personality to match. I put him on the smoked salmon/oyster bar for the opening cocktail party. Big Sur guys can shuck oysters, and the knives are relatively dull, so no big downside.

This party was for Aston Martin, but was sponsored by Ralph Lauren…..who eventually stiffed us, or at least dragged us through the mud before coughing up the designer dough. Ralph himself was there, and his horde of advance minions made sure that all his wants were in place: Taittinger champagne, the oyster bar…..I don’t think we actually had to pluck the green M&M’s from the mix, but there were a lot of hoops to jump through. I met Ralph, and I remember thinking: “Why is this old queen pretending to be married to this hot blonde?” Whatever.

So…..Ralph got Aldo for his oysters.

For those of you that are not car people, the various Aston Martins are called DB-5, and DB-6, etc. The famous early James Bond car with the machine guns, the rotating license plate, etc. was an Aston Martin DB-5, I believe….but my friend Benny will straighten us all out soon in the comments department. Anyway the DB stands for David Brown…now LORD David Brown, the original engineer and proprietor of Aston Martin.

In the midst of the inevitable chaos of the party for 2500…. on asphalt…. on a coastal desert mesa…. in August.....I spied a very well dressed old English dude tottering towards the oyster bar, accompanied by a very tall young woman in riding boots. No. Brand new cowboy boots.

Uh oh.

The woman was hot is a way that works best in England, and maybe Kamchatka: tall, pale, thin….. with lots of dark mascara and with a very weird posture. She slithered towards Aldo and the oyster bar bent backwards, with her arms bent back and her breasts sort of thrust out and straight up. (This was pre-silicone. Well, pre good silicone). She actually slithered, or at least swayed rhythmically. The old guy tottered along with his gold headed cane in her wake.

Lord David Brown himself. Awww, shit. This can't be good.

I sprinted over just in time to hear this exchange:

Aldo: “Wow, baby! What can I do for you?”

She: “Are you serving oysters?”

“Oh, yeah. And whatever else you want!”

“Well, an oyster for me….and one for my husband.”

“This dude is your HUSBAND? Get the fuck outta here! He’s gonna need more than one oyster….he better stand right here for a while and have a dozen! How old is this dude?”

Lord David Brown was of course by now standing right there.

“He is eighty-six.”

“Yeah, no shit! He is 86’d OK! Get him the fuck outta here, and you stick with me!” Bow tie comes off….Aldo reaches for apron strings. I arrive.

“Aldo, calm yourself. Maybe Lord Brown and Lady Brown would like some nice smoked salmon?”

“Oh……Fuck…….I guess. Sorry. He is still gonna need more than one oyster…..”