Red–eye morning flight to El Paso

Red–eye morning flight to El Paso. “Write something funny.” Only if something funny happens. Lunch yesterday was a big ordeal. Steve the Scotsman is a chef at Louie’s 106, a really swank place downtown — if you believe what the press says. And he invited us down to dine with him, so it was me, the Neighbor and another guy, all of us rather scruffy looking. As we were seated one of my clients sees me and stands up, “Kramer!” Can’t take me anywhere without being noticed. “Shoot, living in the trailer next to Kramer is like having a second job,” the Neighbor suggested over a garlic/basil [and lord knows what else] chicken thing. Seafood risotto looked like it was the best, but I opted for a relatively tame Mahi-Mahi dish. Steve, the Scottish chef, leaned over, “Hey dude, I spat in your food,” then he grinned. A couple with two small children came in, and not to be out done by the children, the three adult–sized males at our table proceed to play with the crayons, too. We were entirely unsuccessful at embarrassing Steve (Leo, Scotsman), but we did have ourselves a mighty fine meal. And the Créme Brulée at Louie’s is awfully good. “Shoot, even the ice tea here tastes good,” suggested our dining buddy. We didn’t get the meal for free, but it wasn’t such a bad deal for place that’s supposed to be so upscale.