Sunday, May 25, 2025

boon eat + drink

Boon.

Cool word, eh!

Regular readers to my blog know I am unashamedly a word nerd, and "boon" was a recent word-of-the-day discovery during my diurnal dive into Autobiography of a Yogi by Paramahansa Yogananda.

First some housekeeping: Our mates at Merriam-Webster define the noun “boon” as:
1. a timely benefit : blessing.
2. benefit, favor, especially one that is given in answer to a request.

Of course, as a lad growing up in New Zealand, I knew the word “Boone,” Daniel (RIP, Fess Parker) that is, from the telly. And for those old enough to remember the American action/adventure TV show, sing it with me:

Daniel Boone was a man,
Yes, a big man!
With an eye like an eagle
And as tall as a mountain was he!

On the sylvan playground of a West Auckland kiwifruit orchard, this boy often pretended to be this “man.” My Red Band gumboots were my “rawhide shoes” and yes, I did once throw a small axe at a tree hoping to split it in two. Ah, “what a dream-come-a-truer was ‘me!’”

Fast-forward to May, 2025 and the verdant playground of yesteryear was now sunny Sonoma County, California, on a getaway weekend with my wife, Teresa. The “coonskin cap on the top of ol’ Stevie" was my signature black Jacaru, and our trails concerned the majesty of Wine Country.

To my delight, my word-nerd eagle eye spotted “boon eat + drink” in the search results during an online query of places to eat. What a boon! A farm-to-table bistro by chef/owner Crista Luedtke in Guerneville offered a chance to eat + drink + reinforce a newly acquired word to my vocabulary.

I had to eat at this restaurant. I had to drink at this bistro. I had to know why the word “boon” was in the name. Menu, ratings, and reviews have their place—but for this patron diction was the overriding reason to visit. My wife and I headed off posthaste to 16248 Main Street, Guerneville, California snuggled in the Russian River Valley.

After we were seated, the cozy and hip ambiance of the place washed over us. Festive, too (three ladies at an adjacent table were wearing birthday party hats). If additional singers were needed to meet the socially acceptable “happy birthday” quorum, my wife and I were ready.

Marisa, our waitress, a cheerful lady of unfeigned mien, provided us with menus and an opportunity to voice a question yearning emancipation from the tip of my tongue.

“Marisa, I’m curious as to why the word 'boon' is in the name of the bistro. I know it means a timely benefit or blessing, but what’s the backstory on its use?"

Boon was the name of the owner’s black-and-white rescue dog. He’s since passed on, a few years ago.”

The naming itch had been scratched; it was time to eat + drink.

“Anything you recommend?” asked Teresa.

“Everything is good. The shishito peppers are very popular.”

Good, nay, great they were: forget diction, benediction, all-hail-to-the-kitchen good! We followed that with seared duck breast served over fennel puree and spring veggies (moi), and pan-seared salmon with black lentils, kale, brown butter, smoked yogurt and blistered tomatoes (Teresa).

As I savoured every mouthful, pairing with a Golden State Cider, I was reminded of my parents’ dining rule of “always eat everything on your plate.” I honoured them both—and then some!

Tip of the Jacaru to Boon the dog; dear reader, go visit this delightful bistro and eat + drink.

🥝🥝🥝🥝

© 2025



Saturday, May 3, 2025

Grazie, Sal Da Vinci & Arisa, Grazie, Grazie!

Grazie.

It's Italian for...never mind, enough said.

Scusa. There's more.

Grazie.

I heard that word a lot at the Sound Waves Theater at the Hard Rock Casino and Hotel in Atlantic City, New Jersey. My beloved wife had won a weekend stay in Boardwalk City, which also included dinner reservations and tickets to a show.

Grazie.

At 8 P.M. sharp on Saturday, March 29, 2025, we were in the Sound Waves lobby awaiting entry to the show. As I people watched, stayed out of the way of the CIAO USA TV crew, and eavesdropped on conversations, one salient, Lake Garda-like realization dawned on me: everyone was speaking Italian. Everyoneyoung and old. And tonight's concert would also be all in italiano.

Geographically this made sense. From the late 19th to the early 20th centuries, lots of Italian immigrants settled in New Jersey, contributing significantly to the social fabric. Why wouldn't there be enough Italian-speaking Americans to support a concert in italiano?

Howevermea culpabeside the word for "thank you," my Italian is limited: pizza, Lamborghini, Papa, pecorino, Sagrantino di Montefalco. Certainly not enough to explain the Pythagorean theorem (I prefer Greek for that), and not enough to understand every word of what was to be sung. But I know good music when I hear it (whatever the language) and I was ready to be entertained.

Furthermore, I currently live in Los Angeles, so am used to navigating a multilingual world. My beloved wife is the daughter of Mexican immigrants, so I hear (and speak) Spanish every day. And growing up in New Zealand, especially in Auckland, I would often hear Te Reo Māori, Tongan, Samoan, Niuean and others.

An air of anticipation filled the theater as we were guided to our seats (A 11-12). And then... Arisa came out on stage, nay, glided out on stage. With shoulder length hair, and a full-length black gown, she was a personification of grace, beauty, and class. Her high cheek bones accentuated a dignified countenance; I could not wait to hear this woman sing.

And sing she didpassionate, heartfelt songs (if I may borrow from another Romance language: joie de vivre!) that resonated with the audience. Between songs, Arisa would converse with the audience...one time I believe she was thanking and declaring her love for her mother. We all were.

At the end of her performance, Arisa taped a selfie of herself and her bandmates. In the background, the audience is waving and cheering with gratitude and enthusiasm, myself included.

Later research revealed that Arisa is actually the stage name for Rosalba Pippa, born in Genoa, Italy. "Arisa" is an acronym arranged from the first letters of her family members' names: A (dad Antonio), R (herself Rosalba), I (sister Isabella), S (sister Sabrina), and A (mum Assunta). My acronym would be: A Really Iconic Soulful Artist.

The next and final performer was Sal Da Vinci. The man exuded charm, charisma, and knew how to work an audience. And work it he didbelting out song after song to a widely appreciative audience (the folks who self-identified from Naples had their own banner).

The last time I had seen such stage presence and magnetism was when I saw Michael Damian as Joseph in Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat in Los Angeles at the Pantages Theatre on Thursday, April 15, 1993 (Dear Diary, grazie).

The other dynamic in Sal Da Vinci's performance was the crown interactionfrom a baby in a carrier to elderly patrons with walkersand everyone age group in between, all were so into this artist. Teenage girls, their mums, and grandparents too would regularly stand up and sing along with Mr. Da Vinci. By the end of the night my wife and I were standing up and "singing" along! We were fans; we were with la famiglia.

In September, 2025, my wife and I will be holidaying in Italy. But on this March evening, in the Sound Waves Theater, Italy came to America. 

Grazie, Sal Da Vinci & Arisa, grazie, grazie!

🥝🥝🥝🥝

© 2025


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