By Maia Grace

*The Long Wait is a letter series celebrating our favorite gathering places, in support of raising proceeds for the 86Fund.*

Created by Fyrn in San Francisco.

April 14, 2021

We spent as many days as possible last summer at the cabin, on the North Fork of the American River, a few miles past where the sign to Kyburz reads “Welcome to Kyburz...Now leaving Kyburz.” Turning off Highway 50, as we drive slowly onto the bridge, we roll the windows down, fill our lungs with evening air, and let the city roll off us.

We drag mattresses outside to fall asleep under starlight and looming firs. Sometimes I startle awake to the crck thwk of an animal moving around in the dark that stretches into the woods around us, especially deep up the hill away from the creek and our hammock of dogwoods. I am quiet, pretending not to be there, in the sleeping bag. I keep in mind what Andrew says. When it’s a bear, you know it’s a bear.

Morning arrives at the top of the pine trees and climbs gradually down to us. Slow green days of sparkling weather. I hang on to boulders in deep pools and lie out on hot rocks watching wavy caddisflies bump into one another in the current. Sometimes we hike along the hot pipeline for a cold swim at the dam. In the evening, I watch microscopic bugs pop in and out of existence in the candle flame.

When we return to the city our spirits sink. After the long hot drive, walking up three flights of stairs to drop the blue laundry bag full of towels on the floor, I feel like it has been a hundred years without the cool creek. And I’m hungry.

—What do you want for dinner? —Hmmm (pretending to consider) Loló?

We shower, dress up for the special—although often weekly—occasion of going to Loló, and walk outside. Down the block and around the corner we approach the lively Loló patio. A festivity of lights hang between playfully decorative black boots, plants, and kid-sized brooms pinned whisk-side up, on the ledge of the wooden structure surrounding the outdoor dining room. Tables spill up and down Valencia Street covered in waxed tablecloths—red with green peppers or yellow with red hibiscus—inevitably occupied and covered in food as pretty and vibrant as the parrots of Telegraph Hill.

—Hola Andriu, hola Maia! And our spirits soar. In the twilit cubby of warmth Lorena stands out like an armful of bright gladiolas. Her outfits, her welcoming charm, make her surroundings belong to a lovelier world. One, perhaps, where you might by chance on a clear summer night stumble on a restaurant, and because the meal is delicious and the wine superb, stay up past late talking with your kind and spirited hosts, who feel like old friends by the time you go home.

Our friendship with the owners—Jorge Martínez, Lorena Zertuche, and Juan Carlos Ruelas (Caldo)—began when Caldo recognized Andrew in line to board the same flight coming back from Barcelona. Once on the plane, Caldo told Andrew—I can’t believe I had never thought of it before, since we are in hospitality—and winningly gave the flight attendant a chocolate bar. Tonight, we came to announce Andrew asked me to marry him creekside at the cabin that morning.

—No manches, que bueno, congratulations! I’m so happy for you! Ándale, when is the wedding?

Jorge goes inside for a bottle of pink sparkling wine and pours it for the four of us. He is relaxing and comfortable to be around, seeming to know what you will say and agreeing with you before you say it. He surrounds Lorena with love. They clear a corner table and although the night is bustling, sit with us for dinner. Their teenage son Pascual looks after the tables near us. Jorge cooks and it is delicious: halibut (caught by him, Caldo, and Pascual on a friend’s boat) with green olives, tomato, and a pile of Jimmy Nardello peppers at the height of their summer sweetness. Fresh salsa lifts and brightens the delicately cooked fish. The olives pop and melt in our mouths. Sitting there, I feel happiness bloom in my stomach.

We ask them about their wedding. They’ve told us the story before but we want to hear it again:

—What were the flowers like? —What kind of mushrooms? —What did you wear? —Yes, yes! Of course you would…I can just see it.

I have a photo of them next to me as I’m writing, standing outside the Ex Convento Desierto de los Leones, on June 29th, 1996, sipping tequila through straws from clay cups, surrounded by laughing people. The convent is historic, old stone and elaborate green gardens, within a national park. As a rule they do not allow private ceremonies. Lorena charmed them. Their wedding meal strikes us as ingenious: mushroom soup and quesadillas. We consider the mushrooms Jorge makes for our favorite tacos at the restaurant and decide we’d like his mushrooms for our wedding, too. But then—we can’t have you cooking at our wedding! We want you to relax!

We close the restaurant down that night. It gets darker, people leave, Pascual pauses by our table for a long moment as he’s rolling in the heaters. One has broken, and Jorge and Lorena tell us what a genius Pascual is at fixing things—our dryer! He is handsome like them, warm and frank, standing with comfortable happiness beside the table like he never dreamed of being elsewhere.

As we walk home up Liberty Street I feel immortal. We are victorious, as though we just crossed the bridge over the American River and are driving slowly up the road through fireweed in the pine-dark. The generosity of our hosts! Their kindness! The fish! Those peppers! In this fuzzy light the city appears benevolent, designed to bring us together with friends like these, who are now talking at ease as they put tables away, down Liberty Street and around the corner.

Maia Grace

Maia Grace is a writer and florist. She holds an MFA in Poetry from San Francisco State University, and her work has appeared in Neck Press: Volumes 1 and 2, Sparkle and Blink, Yiddish Poetry, and In geveb (forthcoming in 2021).

She lives with her fiancé on a cattle ranch in West Marin.

If this letter stirred memories of an experience you've had at Loló, share it with us in the comments.

Loló is open for outdoor dining and delicious takeout. Give them a visit.

Or contribute to the 86Fund which is providing grants to bridge restaurants through this period.

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