23 Abbey

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Whenever I come to SF, my friend Justin is always kind enough to offer me a spot on the couch at his house, which, coincidentally enough, used to be my house: he moved in when I went back to NY.  I sold him my TV and stereo (he refused to take my big purple couch which he said was "too gay.  Even for me."), but other than that he's taken what had been a perfectly fine apartment and made it much much nicer.  Bully for him.

Anyway, I lived at 23 Abbey for my last year in SF, and while I was living there there was a nice young couple who lived in the apartment below.  They had a newborn baby, Easton, and I interacted with them the way I imagine most neighbors do: infrequent but civil chats when we happened to run into each other and the occasional request to turn music down or perhaps get your goddamned child to stop screaming at 6:00am.  Anywho: both were nice enough, and I particularly enjoyed chatting with Chris, the father, whenever we bumped into one another.

Flash forward to Saturday, and I'm sitting around with Justin and he's asked me if there are any other restaurants I'm interested in checking out while I'm in town.  I name the usual (Tartine, Emmy's, etc), but I also mention that there's this other restaurant run by a chef who I happen to really like a lot, and I'd sort of like to get to his place as well.  The chef is a total badass who, besides running his uber-acclaimed restaurant, Incanto, also maintains the excellent offalgood.com.  So I mention all this to Justin, who looks at me for a long moment and says, "Um... isn't that Chris, who used to live downstairs?"  I promptly stand up and begin repeatedly hitting my head against the nearest wall.  How was this possible?  I certainly knew who Chris Constantino was when I lived on Abbey St, but how on earth did I not connect that personality to the person who lived 10 feet away from me for a year?  I mean, he's sort of blown up over the last few years; how, in God's name, did I not recognize him?

I suppose there is one answer, and that is the usual one: I am, as always, a dummy.