The Man Who Came to Dinner will visit all kinds of interesting people in the Bay Area -- as long as they cook him a meal.
Dining with Sarah and Vinnie, of Radio Alice morning show fame, is a bit like sitting at the Thanksgiving kiddie table. Yes, there are napkins and wine glasses and everyone is trying to be on their best behavior -- sort of -- but you can't quite shake the feeling that what they really want to do is ditch their scraps under the table for the dog and run outside to play.
We're in Tiburon, relaxing at a well-set table off Sarah's kitchen. In addition to the morning duo and me, the guest list includes Uzette Salazar (the Sarah and Vinnie show producer), Sarah's amazingly tolerant husband, John, and Vinnie's steady girl, whose name is Meadow. No, really.
Sarah looks like she could be anybody: the girl on the bus, a fifth-grade teacher, your sister. Her long dark hair is tied back over a loose plaid button-down shirt and jeans. Vinnie is a scrappy little guy with an Oasis sweat shirt and a buzz cut hidden under his 97.3 Alice cap. Decorated in traditional young couple style, Sarah and John's house lies halfway up a landscaped hill, providing them with sweeping views of the bay and city.
Sarah starts the meal by passing around a salad of simple greens and fresh tomato slices: "Raspberry vinaigrette or Newman's Own." John pours the wine. Vinnie is talking.
And talking.
And talking.
I have to wonder which came first: the mouth or the microphone. Either way, Vinnie wins. He's hilarious. And his perpetual grin never lets you forget it. He begins by asking me how our dinner conversation will transform itself into a column. "You have to be honest," he advises. "If someone's a jerk, they're a jerk. That's what the people want to hear." Apparently, Vinnie's verbal lack of social correctness is less about shock for shock-jock's sake and more about some warped sense of journalistic integrity.
Throughout the evening Vinnie quizzes me with mock theological questions. The entire table spends a fair amount of time debating the validity of the Noah's ark story. Vinnie asks, "You believe Noah actually built an ark? He went around and filled it with two of every kind of animal there is? By himself?"
I acknowledge the probable logistic difficulties of transporting large, non-indigenous creatures during biblical times.
Vinnie concurs: "No friggin' way."
The main course is a classic version of spaghetti and meatballs. Each plate of pasta is topped with two enormous orbs of meat. They look like cartoon meatballs and I can't imagine how Sarah made them so perfectly round. The sauce was created the day before by John, who tells us it's "triple-cooked." No one, even John, can figure out what that means, but everything tastes great.
I ask Vinnie whether he ever expected his life to turn out like this. He doesn't hesitate to answer enthusiastically, "Not in a million years." He goes on -- with some tag team help from Sarah -- to tell the elaborate story of how he went from SoCal surf rat to local DJ to moving cross-country to teaming up with Sarah in Philadelphia. A few months later, their station turned disco and they were both out of a job, a twist that would ultimately provide them with the opportunity to upgrade to San Francisco.
Finishing the story, Vinnie shifts into a rare moment of sentimental sincerity. "Although I think I was born to do this, I never could have done it without Sarah. She's the only reason I've gotten this far, this quick."
A little uncomfortable with this show of emotion, Sarah smiles and says, "Right back at ya, kid."
Both hope to see their morning radio show in syndication soon, but beyond that, Vinnie is pretty hesitant. He's truly worried about losing his privacy. "It's bad enough now," he claims. "On the phone today, I'm trying to get my truck fixed and the mechanic asks, 'Are you on the radio?' I hate that."
Sarah is persistent -- this seems to be a topic they've considered before. She argues, "We could totally do that. Sit on a couch and goof on people. Besides, think of the money." But Vinnie is surprisingly set against the idea. At least for now.
The conversation shifts to the topic of nerves, as Sarah and Vinnie describe their traumatic experiences signing on to the radio for the very first time. Meadow chimes in, recounting a recent anxiety dream in which Vinnie tells her that Gretchen (the post-Sarah and Vinnie show DJ) can't make it to work, so Meadow will have to cover the show. "It was a nightmare," she says. "All I could find were Billy Joel albums."
For the first time all evening, a momentary hush falls over the table. Sarah announces the lull in the conversation, which I decide to fill with a potentially dangerous word -- Stern.
I ask how the Howard Stern show (now running opposite Sarah and Vinnie in San Francisco) has affected them. To my surprise they are exceedingly gracious, conceding that "his experience has earned him the right to be on top." They seem to consider the challenge of competing with the self-proclaimed King of All Media an honor, or a radio rite of passage. Sarah is actually reverent, saying, "He's the reason I got into morning radio. If I wasn't doing it, I'd be listening to him."
