Once upon a time, I had a boyfriend named Curt and his birthday was September 13th. I dated him for three years and broke up with him six months before we were to be married (I returned the wedding gown). In an odd coincidence, I spent tonight celebrating another Curt's September 13th birthday at Ipanema, although we have no wedding plans. Tonight's birthday boy was still hungover from his birthday eve celebration, but managed to join in for extended merrymaking and more Patron than any of us probably needed. Not to worry, though, because I'd had the sense to start my evening by laying down a base with the Sunday Supper at 6B; I was ready.
What are restaurant owners to do on nights that their restaurants are closed, but show up on the Ipanema patio for some R & R? In this case, they even brought along a couple of employees to spice things up. As you might imagine, there was much restaurant discussion, eccentric customer talk and pro-level imbibing. I was the unexpected recipient of some note passing (not that I'm sharing what the notes said, much as the writer would probably want me to) even as I discussed film project ideas and restaurant renovations with one of the owners. By then yet another restaurant owner had joined the patio party.
Did I succeed in convincing Birthday Boy that older women trump younger ones every time? Maybe not, but I at least made inroads. Did I finally get some extended conversation with the less people-oriented half of the restaurant-owning couple? I did and discovered that he excels at bringing projects to fruition. Did I once again enjoy the serendipitous arrival of unexpected but most enjoyable guests? Duh. Happy birthday, Curts of the world.
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