It Only Looked Like a Date

I sold out Bicycle Dreams for Bouchon.

I was planning to see the documentary at the Byrd tonight, but when a friend left a message on my machine suggesting we eat at Bouchon instead, all thoughts of bicycling 3,000 miles in ten days were forgotten.

It's not that I'm shallow, but I do so love to eat and drink and this friend is not only a wine geek but a superior conversationalist.

Even documentary dorks can be persuaded by the right person.

Clement and I had met at an Acacia wine dinner last month, here, and based on a wine promise he'd made to me, he was ready to pay up, not that he really owed me anything.

I was going for the conversation more than anything because he is the kind of guy I can spend hours conversing with and still want more.

If he were single, he'd be a great catch.

We started with a plan to kick off the evening by drinking a bottle of Rose with gusto and that wasn't difficult given how appropriate a day it was for pink.

He had the sauteed veal sweetbreads (shallot, ginger, thyme, vejus demi) and I chose the veal and pork country pate (cornichons, pickled onion, mustard) for the perfect start to a French meal.

He complimented me on my hearty appetite (observed because I didn't eschew butter on my bread) and bemoaned women who reject fattening foods for the sake of their "diets."

Luckily, I'm not very woman-like.

The server must have come back three or four times to take our order, but we were having way too much fun chatting to decide on food.

He had great stories from his childhood in France and even more questions of me based on things he'd read in my blog.

It's flattering when someone reads my blog closely enough to wonder about things I write, but I'm still caught off guard when pressed on certain topics.

But I always answer questions when asked; I just don't presume that people want to know.

Finally we gave in to our server and he ordered a magnificent bottle of Domaine Arnelle et Bernard Rion Chambolle Musigny 1er Cru Les Gruenchers, which he described as "little baby Jesus in velvet pants" (and was that ever the perfect description), along with the veal tenderloin (mustard rosemary sauce, potato gratin) for me and the bacon-wrapped pork tenderloin (duck leg confit, chickpea mousse, cassis sauce) for him.

Everything about this course was spot-on.

Being in a long-time successful relationship, I figured Clement to be the ideal person to discuss my personal life with.

He shared his thoughts on online dating, men hitting on me and the foolish mistakes men make ("We're simple creatures," he explained).

It turned out that he knew some of the people from my past which presented a whole new conversational front.

I enjoyed his romantic and optimistic viewpoints, or perhaps just appreciated hearing my own validated.

Eventually we got to the cheese course, presented beautifully and a lovely way to finish the last of the wine.

By now he was hatching plans and talking consultations and we were pretty much laughing non-stop.

In fact, we were having such a great time that, on my way to the bathroom, owner Wendy stopped me in the hall and asked if I was on a date.

"You look like you're having so much fun," she said. "I was thinking you'd finally met someone interesting."

Oh, but I have.

He knows wine, eats everything and can discuss anything. I just need to clone an unmarried version of him and I'll be set for life.

On the other hand, I'm positively thrilled to have a new friend with so much to offer me.

Fingers crossed, I have just as much to offer him.

That's the stuff that the best friendships are made of.