We went to Dasaprakash (all-vegetarian "Cuisine of South India") in Santa Clara for dinner, and I suspect I demonstrated my unworthiness to the waiter by asking several questions about items on the menu and then ordering a North Indian thali dinner. (I was unfamiliar with most of the menu and I'd gotten there late so everyone else had already decided what they wanted, so I had to rush.)
The food was fine; some of it tasted a little odd to me (maybe just greasy? not sure), but everyone else loved it, and my curries were tasty.
The conversation was the usual sort of thing: an explanation of the Riemann Hypothesis; discussions of house-buying and contractors and insurance (everyone there either lived in a house they owned or were in the process of making that transition; I'm suddenly surrounded by grownups!); chat about various restaurants in the area; discussion of which would be more likely to solve the state's budget problems, legalizing and taxing prostitution or legalizing and taxing marijuana; a brief overview of slash, fanfic, and a Japanese fiction form that had some similarities to what I've heard about the early days of slash; commentary on the wacky lives of forensic scientists (and a mention of the surprising-to-me fact that a certain well-known sf writer's adult child works with someone I met at a party a few weeks back); and a tutorial on how to make a bird dizzy for use in hunting-dog trials.
And then I came home and found a Telephone Oracle game about to start on IRC. How's a guy supposed to get any editing done?