So passes another year

As 2006 drew to a close, the confluence of a number of events conspired to prevent me from blogging. First there was the return of the prodigal son from the Orient, the seat of the chrysanthemum throne, if only for the celebration of the winter solstice. His brief visit was the cause of much anticipation and of the preparation of a sizeable feast.

Then, no sooner had the wrapping paper been ripped away from the various and sundry gifts given by each of us to the other, and the celebratory meal gorged, than we found ourselves winging our way to San Diego, California as the rendezvous point for the family reunion and vacation.

The complicated logistics of coordinating the arrival of 13 members of the extended family on four different flights and the subsequent rendezvous in the parking lot of the Vons grocery store just north of the Mexican border, would have been impossible were it not for the magic of GPS systems and cellphones.

Rendezvous accomplished, and loaded with over $350 worth of beer, liquor and other staples like Tropicana orange juice, Quaker Oatmeal, Diet Coke and bottled water, the caravan of 2 cars and a mini-van journeyed south into Mexico to the Baja peninsula. Having rented 3 villas in a gated resort community, the plan was to see just how much 13 people could eat, drink and carouse without being ejected from the country.

Eat, drink and carouse we did.

When the girls went shopping, the guys hit the hot tub, or the pool or the beach club. The braver and younger males attempted boogie-boarding in the cold ocean waters, and recovered their breath in the hot tub thereafter.

With 6 of the 13 people below the age of 30, there was no danger that we would go to bed early each day. Though some of the older members (or at least, those that were older at heart) did keep rather more sedate hours, with yoga at sunrise and moderate amounts of alcohol. This was dubbed 'The 23 Lifestyle' by a young nephew, for the number of the villa they occupied.

For New Year's Eve we booked a table (a large one) at La Fonda, a spectacular open air restaurant overlooking the Pacific. When I called to make the reservation the very accommodating young woman said they were setting up for the New Year's Eve party, but if we could come in and have drinks and order dinner by 6:30, they would take care of us.

When finally the caravan wound its way to the restaurant past cliffs tinted orange by the setting sun, and wheeling pelicans swooping down into a bay below to scoop up the catch of the day, we were told that we were welcome to have drinks but we couldn't order dinner as the kitchen was closed.

Now, telling 13 individuals who have been burned by the sun and battered by the ocean under the broad rubric of having fun at the beach, that there is no food at journey's end is a risky proposition at the best of times. Try that on New Year's Eve and there's likely to be gun play in the streets.

Claiming indignantly that we had been promised seating and dinner was to no avail. We could either have a few drinks and leave, or leave right away.

A quick consultation with the group and an executive decision was made. We would have a couple of quick margaritas , watch the setting sun and then go elsewhere for dinner. But where? A carefully orchestrated plan to ring in the New Year, to the sound of surf crashing on the rocks below the restaurant terrace was coming unglued.

Someone suggested that we should buy some dessert which we could take back to the villas. So enquiries were made. Yes, they had flan. La Fonda's very special flan, known far and wide. But just enough for the New Year's party that we couldn't attend. So we did the only thing you can do in such situations. The maitre d's palm was crossed with silver and the entire supply of flan found its way to our car outside.

So while the diners caroused their way to the dessert course, they would do so blissfully unaware that their much anticipated flan had been spirited away under their very noses. Not for them the warm sticky golden goodness of flan sliding down their throats chased down by sips of Almond Tequila. No. They would have to content themselves with a mixed fruit salad.

As the caravan of cars left La Fonda in search of dinner, the rooster plumes of dust kicked up by the tyres, hung in the air as mute testimony to the vanished dessert.

If revenge is a dish best served cold, there could be no sweeter revenge than this.

You could say La Fonda and its diners got their just desserts.