Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The Challenge: A Working Girl's Afternoon Off

Last week, my parents came to visit. They are always up to things, but my mom found a window to swing by the Financial District on a sunny Friday afternoon. After some hugging and mutual dress compliments, she said those magical words of parents everywhere: "Well, sweetie! Where would you like to go for lunch?"

I replied, "Just let me get my list." (Commence rummaging through oversize handbag.)

And because she is a particularly indulgent mother, she suggested we go to Perbacco. Now, keep in mind that my mother used to be a young urban professional herself, back in the day, in 'frisco, no less, during the 80s. Rest assured that she knows how to treat a working girl to lunch.

Perbacco it was. Is it just me, or does San Francisco have approximately a bazillion upscale/Italian/Californian/rustic/house-cured/house-pickled restaurants? I don't really care. If they are all this good, keep it coming. Per 7x7's recommendation, we had the salumi misti. Made in house using "traditional Piedmontese recipes." You heard me.


But we really fell in love with some Brussels sprouts. Now, Brussels sprouts and I are old friends, but I understand there are people in this world who feel otherwise. If you labor under any delusions that you don't like Brussels sprouts, for heavens sake, I beseech you to stop boiling, steaming, and otherwise abusing them. Roasting really makes their nuttiness sing, but Perbacco does one better. Panfried, crispy-edged, bathed in (most likely an unconscionable quantity of) brown butter, tossed with burst capers, and sprinkled with a generous handful of Reggiano, they were to die for. Little cabbages to die for, I say. (Slams fist clenching fork to table.)

Then, after you've polished off your exquisite Italian/Californian/house-cured lunch, I highly recommend blowing off work for the afternoon, and going shopping at Loehmann's with the original working girl. One never knows. That next Diane von Furstenburg could be just around the corner.

Thursday, October 20, 2011

The Art of Email

I'm an avid reader of etiquette columns. Etiquette, it seems to me, is ultimately an expression of how much care and thought you extend to members of your acquaintance. It's also clearly delightful to read anecdotes of people behaving badly. Someone's neighbor keeps giving them terrible cakes? Outrageous! You tell them, Philip Galanes. Where would we be without you.

If there is one area in which etiquette is lacking, however, I'd point to email. To be fair, email is a younger medium, and the social customs are not as ingrained just yet. (By comparison, my Great Aunt Leigh's first edition of Emily Post from 1922 contains suggestions on sharing tennis courts and how to tie a red ribbon on your pony's tail if he kicks. Email is what, 20 years old? Whereas it would appear that grouchy ponies have been frequenting the hunt club for centuries.) I also know we're all short on time, and admittedly emails, by nature, are meant to be written and read fast. But you know what? I think we can agree that there is room for a little more care and craft in most of the emails one reads these days.

A few points to consider:

Salutations: Use them. It takes approximately two seconds to type "Hi Ali," and hit hard return twice. And to paraphrase my friend's mother, writing someone's name on something is a really easy way to make it personal. (I believe she was talking about homemade Valentine's cards at the time, but the point stands.)

Signatures: Again. Use them. It'll make you feel strong. These should require at least a half second of thought--I read a charming piece in the Times demonstrating the pitfalls of automatic signatures. The classics such as "Thanks" and "Sincerely" never fail. Personally I tire a bit of "Cheers," which seems to me to be misused by most Americans (more as a general cheerfulness, rather than the British usage, which is more of a casual "Thanks"), but as you would. And let's face it, a well-crafted signature is a delight. "Stay fabulous!"

Capitalize and punctuate: Okay, I get it. Not everybody adores semicolons the way I do. But periods? Commas? Seriously? No one is that busy.

Emoticons: Emoticons are a really easy way to inject a little bit of warmth or tone. I use them all the time, in texts, Facebook posts, gchats, and casual emails to friends. But let's be firm. They have absolutely no place in any kind of professional email. And honestly, at the crux of the issue, when it really comes down to it, there's a much better way to express warmth and tone: words. Use your words. Even if it's just an "I kid!" bookending a sarcastic comment, or an "it was such a pleasure" or "so delightful" amending a sentence, there's a more elegant and accurate approach you can take. You'll end up looking smarter for doing so.

Proofing: Read before you send. There is an unnamed person from an unnamed institution that I once attended, who periodically sends out email newsletters, updates, and solicitations to an alumni list. Every time I get one of her emails, I immediately start counting the typos. It's embarrassing. She looks incompetent, and more to the point, it very much lessens my desire to hand over my money. If you're writing a long, formal email, go ahead and draft it in Word. While email clients have some spelling checks these days, there's no support for grammar. And regardless of level of formality, at least give emails a quick scan before hitting send.

Responding to invitations: It seems to me that with the immediacy of email, people are really slipping on RSVPs. Just because you can respond up to the last minute absolutely does not mean that you should. So don't take your host/hostess's time and efforts for granted. When you receive an invitation, open up your gcal. (It's one click away. I promise it won't hurt.) At which point, let me remind you, there are two correct responses to an invitation: you say thank you and accept, or you say thank you and politely decline. It is absolutely amazing to me how many people of my generation skip right over that first part. I really don't want to hear about how busy/important/hung over you are! I just invited to cook you a homemade meal on Friday night. I would be happy to talk about how annoying your boyfriend is once you're here and we've had a bottle of wine, but right now, all I really want to know is how much brisket to buy. Seriously, who raised you?

Don't say anything you wouldn't say to the person's face: Emails can get forwarded. Enough said. And I've personally had enough long, drawn out fights over email to be able to attest that there are certain conversations where you really ought to reach for the phone, or better yet, sit down and have a cup of coffee. Know email's limitations, and let's try to steer clear of embittered typing into the void, shall we?

Response times: My mom gets busted for this all the time. Between smart phones and the fact that most office jobs entail sitting in front of a computer for eight hours at a stretch, people expect you to be pretty instantly available. My personal policy is to try to respond to all emails the same day, or within 24 hours at the latest. The courteous emailer will also take into account time zones, which means that if I'm answering a food blogger in New York, or our IT guy in Colorado, I make sure I get back to them by early afternoon. But to be clear--I'm a big believer in having a life beyond the screen. If you're going to be away from email for an entire day or longer, post an auto response and let your correspondents know when you'll be back online. That way, when you abandon your email to go on a three-day spree of painting/book organizing/Christmas shopping/houseguest entertaining, you won't wind up with disgruntled colleagues/friends/family members on your hands. Not that anyone's mother I've ever known has ever done that.

The Oxford comma: This has nothing to do with email in particular. I just really love the Oxford comma, and you should, too. It makes life better. You also get a gold star in my book if you use proper dashes, learn the keyboard shortcuts for accents, use the active voice, and sport a stylish vocabulary. Such are the details that separate the boys from the men.

Finally, let me leave you with one of the great take-away points of nearly all etiquette guides I've ever enjoyed: just because someone else is behaving badly, it does not give you permission to do so yourself. There are a lot of poor communicators out there in this world. This does not give you license to write shoddy emails. Communicate well. Write well. Your emails are an extension of yourself, and your readers will be judging you by them. Most especially if you happen to know any English majors.

Did I miss any? Do I expect too much? Feel free to add or refute, in the comments section.

Tuesday, October 4, 2011

The Challenge: Tea & Tarts

I'm going to come clean: I'm a little bit scared of Chinatown. I know it's jam-packed with tourists and arguably one of the safest hoods to haunt on a Tuesday afternoon, but to be honest, I'd rather get hit on by ten sketchy guys in the Mission than wait on line with ten Chinatown ladies. It's the pushing. And the yelling. And did I mention the pushing? I'm putting it down as a cultural difference. As a WASP, I'm just not cut out for this kind of thing. (As a side note, I'd like to point out that one of my favorite aspects of British culture is the dedication to queueing. Just try to cut the line at an Oxford bus stop. I dare you.)

But venture into Chinatown I must, if I was to tackle the egg custard tart from Golden Gate Bakery on the Challenge. Now, I was ready to be fairly unimpressed with this one. I've met a few egg tarts in my time. They're eggy. They're tarty. They're good with tea, and I like things that are good with tea, but you pretty much get the picture. "What ho," I thought to myself, eyeing the old lady cutting me in line, "I'm sure this will be nice, but probably not worth dealing with Chinatown again anytime soon."

And then I took a bite of steep, unctuous custard. And muttered an obscenity. And ate my words; every last, buttery, flaked bite.

Go to Chinatown! Go! No seriously. Go! And shame on you, other egg tarts of this world. I will suffer your mediocrity no longer. I and the pushy old ladies at Golden Gate Bakery know what's up.