Featured
Home Plate, San Francisco
Kim and I borrow a car and head to San Francisco. We find a spot around Home Plate, add our name to the list, and wait outside in the early California sun. I close my eyes to face the sun in a way you only do on vacation. Just last week I was shoveling snow at mom’s. I should call.
“Hey ma, what’s going on in New York?”
“It’s cold and it snowed again,” she says. “Where are you now?”
“I’m in San Fran, waiting to get into this breakfast place we like.”
“Ooh, have something good for me.”
“I will.”
“Did you see the cat on the computer?”
“Which cat?”
“The one on YouTube.”
“Oh, they’re seating us, Ma. I’ll call you later.”
Inside, it’s a modest space – more cafe than diner – and I get to face the kitchen – which is always my favorite view.
“How often do you get to watch a kitchen full of Asians make breakfast?” I ask Kim. “Is that racist?”
“Probably,” she says.
It’s a flurry of activity back there, with folks poaching eggs, frying up sausages, baking scones, making omelettes, coffees, juices, mimosas. The servers dashing about, topping off coffees, cleaning-up plates. Everything about this place is friendly and attentive and apparently it’s paying off.
I know I’m in San Francisco when I’m finally dragging one of Home Plate‘s perfect little scones through their homemade jams. Sweet and delicious. Drinking some ice-coffee, waiting on Eggs Benedict and hash-browns. Life is good.
They got soy milk, so Kim is happy and chomping away at a plate of over-easy eggs, homemade sausages and fried polenta. On a good day, that polenta will blow your socks off.
There’s plenty to choose from. Don’t ask me because once I find something I like I usually stick to it. One of these days I’ll branch out and try their potato carrot pancakes with sour cream.
Home Plate is definitely an institution at this point, and the perfect way to start a day of hilly San Francisco walking. If my pedometer is right, we walked ten miles all over San Francisco ending with dinner at secret restaurant Pink Zebra. But that’s another post.
Almost every year for the past 6 years and on the same day, I’ve posted the same pic of me in the hospital during my temporary and untimely demise in 2015. A few weeks after I was back to “normal”, I asked Eric “Why’d you take the pics?” And he said, “I knew you would want to write about it if you lived.” Eric was right. Eric was often right and Eric always had my best interest at heart. I am going to miss my friend.
You ever meet someone and become friends immediately?! Well this was not the case with Eric. Before he was my manager at Morgan Stanley, I would often see this 6’4″, giant white guy walk up to the only black woman at work, say something then walk away without any hint of human emotion. Naturally I thought he was a jerk until I asked her “Yo, is that dude bothering you?” She laughed and proceeded to tell me he was a great person, which I ultimately got to experience first hand. Little did I know this Italian from Staten Island was more Brooklyn than most Brooklynites.
Eric was not with the shits!! If there were ever someone who lived their life in direct, honest and no uncertain terms, that would be Eric. He would ask me questions at work like “Why are the other consultants making more money than you?” I knew the answer to that question and so did he. Eric then proceeded to increase my salary by 15K. After arguing with all our managers that “You need to hire Alfred!”, they eventually did 1 year prior to the 2015 incident. In the hospital, one of my friends asked me, “What if you didn’t have health insurance when this happened?” I would be in debt for the rest of my life is the obvious answer. I still am in debt for the rest of my life but at least, it is to those who made sure I had a more enjoyable life and for that, I will gladly repay.
My mom loved to tell me the story of how she met Eric. After they told her I was going to be in the ICU for some time, she told the doctor “Well I’m not going anywhere.” She then hears a voice from that back of the room that says “Well I’m not going anywhere either!” That was Eric and in true form, he was at that hospital every single day until I was discharged.
Eric passed away in December 2021 of stage 4 cancer. After feeling faint on his way to my bbq, he went to get checked out and was diagnosed. During the past 5 years, Eric lost his mom, twin brother and dad. I can’t even begin to imagine what that must have felt like but I’m glad that pain he was feeling is no more.
From being my manager to my business partner, writer, book editor, artistic director, and most importantly, my friend, I am going to miss you MC Krispy E a.k.a “Enrique Pollazo!” And although you told me Enrique means Henry in Spanish and not Eric, it was too late!
Sidebar. The day I was discharged, while everyone was deciding what was best for me, no one had remembered that I would need clothes in order to leave the hospital. Eric shows up (unasked) with all the clothes I had on the day I coded, laundered and ready to go. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve friends like this but i need to keep doing it! Sidebar complete.
Rest in Peace Eric. “Be Good.”
I had the distinct pleasure of participating in a panel discussion on writing your first book, presented by the Harlem chapter of Alpha Phi Alpha Fraternity Inc. Alongside Jim St. Germain, Author – A Stone of Hope: A Memoir and Dr. Keneshia Nicole Grant, Author – The Great Migration and the Democratic Party: Black Voters and the Realignment of American Politics in the 20th Century. We opined on pain points, benefits and strategies regarding our inaugural voyages into authorship. Feel free to watch for your self and I hope this provides some insight to all those looking to make the same voyage. Enjoy!
