My secret life: You have no idea

There are parts of my life that I never write about and rarely talk about with anyone I know. Many times, at night and on the weekend, my husband and I will look at each other and one of us will say, “The people at work would never believe where we are right now.”
We don’t go to strip clubs, crack dens, or swingers’ parties, but we’re pretty addicted to inner-city ethnic restaurants, blues bars, and gospel services at poor black churches, and we spend a chunk of our shared free time sampling all three.
Today, I was typical.
I was up in San Franciso doing meetings–a lunch at the Hayes Street Grill with a colleague of my 5ive partners and a friend of hers who is launching an interesting new business, then I drove over to the Sunset area and spend some time with some folks who have a great start-up I am advising on.
Home by 5 and at 6 we head ed over to McCreery Road to the First MIssionary Baptist Church where the Highway travelers, formerly known as The Gospel QCs friends and bandmates of my husband, are holding a concert, or program as they call it.
Last weekend it was Eli’s Mile High Club in Oakland, where our good friends Steve Freund and Wendy de Witt were playing.
And the restaurants–truth is, my son doesn’t want to go out to eat with us because we like to try such funky ethnic places–last night, we had grilled flatfish and pike with rice and dishes of pan at a Korean Fish BBQ joint in Santa Clara, finished off with Saffron pistachio ice cream from REAL ICECREAM., the home of the best mango kulfi I have ever had. The only other customers in the fish joint were one of the waitresses and her friends, who seemed to be having a Korea-American booze and BBQ orgy, frying everything from shrimp to beef to bacon on the grill as they drank Korean firewater and diet cokes. Last meal out before that with Spencer was at the Mexican breakfast joint on the East Side where we have huevos con nopales (eggs with cactus, a wonderful dish) and huevos chiquailles, a truly scary mess o’sauce.
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