Why haven’t I been around?

I was in San Francisco for ten days for work and pleasure. I thought I’d find time to write about my adventures while I was there, but alas, did not and my time there flew by. The weather was glorious. My meetings were a great success.

And no sooner did I step into my apartment and drop my luggage off, was I off again. This time for jury duty.

Now I’m desperately trying to meet deadlines and salvage what remains of March, as I attempt to recapture all I did and the peace I felt while in California.

Restaurant Week is in full bloom here in DC.

Last night I had 7:00 p.m. dinner reservations for three at Filomena’s in Georgetown. Apparently so did the other 30 people crowded around the host station. After I checked in, I fought my way through the swarm waiting for tables to find my two friends huddled at one end of the small bar.

We spent the better part of 30 minutes talking about the decor. Mirrored walls reflected images of the other diners and their heaping plates of food. Doilies marked individual place settings and I was reminded of my Portuguese grandmother’s formal dining room. It looked like the type of restaurant the Corleone family would use to launder their mafioso money… an attempt by a traditional Italian family to create an upscale dining environment so the family dons could do business in a backroom behind the kitchen.

Once we settled into our corner table, the decor faded into the background as we focused on the aromas and presentation of the dishes around us.

Everything the waiter delivered was divine — from the bread basket to the dessert. First he brought small ramekins of various spices for the olive oil. Then he poured the chianti and left us to dip the various warm breads in the spicy oil concoctions we created. Next he dropped off the appetisers… sausage stuffed mushrooms in a cheese sauce for Karen, a garden salad topped with cheeses and strawberries for Lisa, and a heavenly brushetta for me.

I think I moaned out loud when I tried my grilled tuna steak in lemon sauce. Lisa ordered the same thing and the expression on her face captured exactly how I felt. I could die happy. And Karen’s platter of gnocchi could have easily fed a family of four.

As our dinner plates were cleared away, another waiter dropped off two lead crystal decanters filled with Amaretto and Sambuca, followed by three enormous slices of various chocolate mouselike cakes. The three of us could have easily split one of the slices and been more than satisfied.

We lingered over our aperitifs (I drank the Amaretto because I hate licorice) and our cakes and finally wobbled homeward at 11:00 p.m.

The cuisine and service turned out to be well worth that long wait for a table. I definitely plan to dine at Filomena’s again in the future.

* * * If you plan to try Filomena’s, I recommend calling ahead to make a reservation. The portions are large so it’s best to go on an empty stomach to better appreciate all the fine food you’ll be shoveling into your mouth.

I overslept. On purpose. I glanced at the alarm clock as it went off off at 7:00 a.m. on a Sunday and thought to myself — how badly DO I really want to see this exhibit?

Then I rolled over and slept for a couple more hours.

That’ll teach me to wait til the last minute.

Though I feel encouraged by the great success of the exhibit. I didn’t think it would be as popular as it was. A collection of old books written in obscure languages. Actually, most of the books aren’t even books in the true sense — they’re scrolls of parchment or scraps of papyrus or illuminated codices.

Argh — now I am feeling regret at not seeing those magnificent artifacts firsthand.

I love books and languages. In fact I own many books written in Portuguese, Spanish, French and Italian, as well as many Portuguese translations of English novels. It’s interesting to see how the meaning or precise thought will change when you read it in a different language. I prefered reading the Portuguese translation of Umberto Ecco’s “O Nome da Rosa.” And when it comes to Les Miserables nothing compares with Victor Hugo’s original French. Or to read different English translations of the same work like Gilgamesh.

I’ve been volunteering with the Smithsonian for almost four months now. I’ve grown accustomed to answering stupid questions from visitors at the various museums I work at. Some of my favorites include “Where are the dinosaurs?” when they’re facing the entrance to the hall and the huge “DINOSAUR” sign; “I didn’t know there were two White Houses” when they’re actually referring to the US Captiol Building and the executive mansion; “Where’s all the stuff?” when they’re in the Smithsonian Castle and obviously unaware that the Smithsonian is comprised of 19 different museums.

I guess that’s why I was shocked that the Bible exhibit garnered so much attention.

In July the Dead Sea Scrolls will go on exhibit in the Natural History Museum of San Diego. Maybe now I’ll be forced to put San Diego on my “Places to Visit” list for 2007 — even though I was just there for the Fourth of July last year.

Though the one show I absolutely positively can’t miss is King Tut in Philadelphia. I toyed with the idea of flying to Chicago for a behind-the-scenes tour at one of my all-time favorite museums on the planet. To this day one of the best exhibits I’ve ever been to is Cleopatra of Egypt. But my work schedule didn’t allow for it.

DC might boast some of the better traveling art shows, but when it comes to the truly spectacular exhibits, I always have to travel to New York or Chicago. But I digress…

I’m going to visit the Franklin Institute sometime in April to see King Tut because my big trip — planned for the end of the year — will be a couple weeks in Egypt.

With that thought, I’m off to *work* to earn the big bucks to take my trip.

I was on a mission. I wanted to see the Bibles Before the Year 1000 exhibit at the Sackler Gallery. It closes tomorrow so I thought it would be better to go through it today.

The weather was glorious. I dug out my summer clothes from the back of my closet and threw on a short sleeved t-shirt. I decided to walk to the museum and ran into this character outside of the White House. There were groups of protesters with megaphones and wearing signs to impeach Bush.

I watched in awe as people in tank tops and shorts strolled around the city. I imagine this is what it must feel like to live in Miami in January. It’s discombobulating. I’m beginning to miss the cold weather.

Anyway, I got to the museum at 2:30 p.m. and was told the exhibit was closed for the day. The exhibit is so popular, they needed to close it early to insure that the people already in line would have time to go through it before the museum closed at 5:30 p.m.

So tomorrow I’m going to wake up early and get to the museum around 8:30 a.m. to get in line. I figure I’ll bring along a paperback to kill time until the museum opens at 10:00 a.m. I am going to see this exhibit. Here are the Washington Post reviews.