When I was young, my parents and I often had Sunday brunch at “The Hotel Restaurant” a.k.a. the Stanford Court Hotel in San Francisco. We would drive up from Hillsborough, eat brunch, and then walk around some small art galleries.

When my Dad moved out and took some time off from work, he continued to eat at the Stanford Court as a part of his weekday routine. He was always so proud of those years:

“Remember those times, Dave? I’d wake up, take you school, go back to sleep, wake up again, go to the gym, go eat at the Stanford Court, read six newspapers, and then pick you up from school.”

Yes, six newspapers. Every day. He was the most well-informed adult I knew for many years.

Yesterday I tried to take Amy to His old “Hotel Restaurant.” Sadly, it no longer exists. The parking valet did not understand the shattered look on my face. I tried to explain but I assume it sounded thoroughly corny.

Sorry, Dad. Your restaurant is gone.