Feb. 27—Last Saturday, I was coming home from some brisk morning exercise and drove by what appeared to be a party — balloons, banners, tables, tablecloths, chairs and a bunch of people, some of whom were milling around a taco bar that had been set up on the front lawn.
What's not to like about a taco bar? Men resplendent in their white aprons standing behind a portable stove grilling mounds of chopped-up chicken, al pastor (pork), carne asada and shrimp. Flanking the grill was a small table with the sides — small bowls of diced radishes, onions and cilantro. I could smell and taste the smell of meat and fresh tortillas from the front seat of the car with the windows up.
After putting away my bike, cleats, helmet and gloves, I walked the two blocks to the party. I had $20 in my pocket. I wanted to support the cause, no matter what the cause was, 'cause I was Saturday-hungry.
Saturday might as well be a holiday and what better way to celebrate a holiday than lunch, especially after some brisk morning exercise. Saturday lunch can be haute cuisine, no matter how humble the menu.
A young man in his 30s, wearing a black mask who looked like the host greeted me as if we were the kind of old friends that new friends could become. I asked what the occasion was and he said it was a party celebrating his son's 10th birthday and since they could not have a regular party, they were having a drive-by taco party.
"What a great idea," I said. "May I buy a plate of tacos?"
"No, take this," he said, handing me a rectangular styrofoam container. "I've already paid for everything."
I thanked him, and as I walked away, it occurred to me that he may have thought I was homeless or perhaps slightly down on my luck. Saturday's exercise had been brisk, leaving as it does sometimes, salt deposits under my eyes. Even without the salt deposits, I have a history, as many people do, of looking homeless on Saturday. It's a work-outside day, a garden day, and replace-a-sprinkler day. These tasks require casual rather than formal attire.
More than 30 years ago, when Katie was a young girl, we were shopping at Fike's Finer Foods on 19th Street on a similar Saturday. Katie was sitting in the front seat of the cart and after buying some of this and some of that, we were standing in the checkout line.
An older woman behind us, who had just finished her shopping, looked at this cute little girl and her casually dressed father and concluded that help may be needed.
"I'll pay for their groceries," she said to the checker. "Are you sure the little girl doesn't want some Pepperidge Farm Cookies, some apples, something more?"
With that, she left her cart and made a graceful sweep through the aisles closest to the register and added half a dozen things to our shopping cart.
Before I could plead my case, whatever that case might have been, our groceries had been bagged, paid for by the kindly woman behind me and we were heading for the late-model Volvo station wagon that would eventually end up being consumed in a garage fire.
----"I live around the corner," I said to the father of the birthday boy, apropos of nothing but in order to establish my neighborhood curriculum vitae.
He looked at me as if to say, "Sure you do. There is no reason not to be aspirational. Keep that $20 and maybe it will become something."
I walked home, sat down and ate the delicious chicken and al pastor tacos, the cheesy quesadilla and the still-warm beans and rice.
Saturday lunch, Saturday magic, Saturday kindness. Good fortune. Food fit for a king or the casually dressed.
Contact The Californian's Herb Benham at 661-395-7279 or hbenham@bakersfield.com. His column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays; the views expressed are his own.
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February 28, 2021 at 09:13AM
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