There's two ways to look at an unexpected change in plans.
A favorite friend and I thought we were going to a lecture, except that one of us had the date wrong (totally my fault, but totally understandable if you saw all the stuff I keep track of on my calendar).
Since we already had planned to eat together afterwords, we just changed our plans to replace the lecture with a walk and then eat lunch at Bonvenu, as we'd talked about.
Except that Bonvenue only does lunch on Saturdays and Sundays; instead we admired the lunch menu and hope to make it back some weekend to try it.
No problem, my friend said, let's go to Can Can and have moules and frites.
Given the beautiful day, the fact that she was off and out for a change and that we now had a bonus hour in which to goof off, it sounded like the most wonderful lunch we could have hoped for.
Plans? What plans?
Noonish at CanCan apparently means a crowd out the door to get in, so we made a beeline to our favorite table, known as the bar.
The front windows were wide open and the sunny air was pouring in.
Since we'd already determined what we'd be eating, the only decision remaining was the broth (white wine and garlic, natch) and the beverage.
She looked at me and asked, "Should we have a glass of wine?" and before I could answer she qualified it with, "But I can only have one!"
You know, as opposed to the four or five glasses we usually have at lunch.
We usually go dry at lunch, she and I; it's dinner where we're less circumspect (see: Sunday at Ipanema).
So it was that I enjoyed a glass of rose (complimentary because they didn't have a full pour left and it was the last bottle) and she the chenin blanc with our mussels and fries.
I was a little disappointed that at the end of my bowl, five of my mussels were still closed and thus inedible, but I made up for it by eating every last perfectly-cooked fry.
I'm not ashamed to say I even emptied the last little salty bits of the paper cone into my hand to make sure I didn't miss any.
The pace of our walk after lunch was decidedly slower than beforehand, but why rush on a day like this?
True, we hadn't improved our minds any without the lecture, but the drawn-out pleasures of a leisurely girls' lunch out (and with Style's State of the Plate issue to dish over) can't be overstated.
Or as my friend said midway through our sunny lunch, "It feels like I'm on vacation!"