A Southern Bedtime

Friend: So where are you off to after this?
Me: Not sure. A bartender friend invited me to come by and visit. And there's music at Balliceaux tonight. But I'm thinking of going home and just reading a book and going to bed.
Friend: Who are you and what have you done with Karen?

I met up with a Secco virgin tonight to introduce her to the wine bar's combination of extremely reasonable prices and offbeat small plates (not to mention killer music when the "Karen mix" is being played...so that you know). We met early at 5:00 and it was a a bit of a shock to walk in and find only one table occupied. There was an air of calm about the place, but I knew it wouldn't last and it didn't.

Another Secco virgin arrived and acknowledged to my companion that it was her first time, too. "We'll go through this together," she reassured my friend. Neither of them had anything to worry about; it's a simple enough process to absorb. We began by tasting a few wines until we found a Spaniard for her and an Italian for me.

A nearby bar sitter solved the perennial question of what to order by starting with a glass of white and a glass of red. He was obviously a smart guy (if a bit conventional looking for my taste) because he'd already been by 8 1/2 and picked up an Italian sub for afterwards; he'd wanted the pork, but it was sold out, which we all know happens.

He mentioned that he'd gotten a bit tired of finding Billy Bread in so many restaurants around town, but that it still made the best sub rolls and I tend to agree on both counts. I also started wishing that I had an Italian sub waiting for me.

Since it was my friend's first time, it was imperative that she experience curd nerd Sarah's skill at cheese selection. With only "Make it stinky" to guide her, Sarah handed us a plate with Montenebro, Valdeon and a barnyard-stinky soft Meunster for our eating pleasure. In typical cheese whiz fashion, she had delivered the stinkiest possible cow, goat and cow/goat cheese she had. Thoughts of Italian cold cuts began to recede.

Life had been particularly colorful for both of us since our last meet up, in both positive and negative ways, so we each told tales as we whittled down the stinkiness and ordered more wine. It was as the wine was winding us down that we had a version of the conversation above about my post-Secco plans.

The interesting part of her reaction is that I have not always been a late night person. Before the trifecta of major life events I experienced in a six-week period last year, I was devoted to an early and regular bedtime, usually in the 10:00 range during the week.

It's nothing like that anymore. My bedtime reliably comes in after midnight now and frequently much later. And the fact is, the last four nights have all been post 2 a.m, which is not as uncommon as it should be. Which is why I was thinking of ending on a low-key note tonight.

So I came home and took my book to the back porch to read until it got too dark. The big vase of gardenias on the table next to my rocking chair was so incredibly fragrant, though, that they set my mind to wandering. Certain flower scents have always had the ability to summon up feelings in me (just a whiff of lilacs and I'm convinced that big love is possible) and the vintage smell of gardenias was working its magic.

So I moved them to my bedside. If I'm going to have a semi-reasonable bedtime tonight, I think it might be lovely to fall asleep to such a heady scent and see what kind of dreams it evokes.

If I weren't such a Northerner, I might think that that was a positively Southern thing to do. I'll see what I dream about and then make that call.