Planning a quickie is all about knowing where you're going to do it. A friend wanted to have lunch with me today but said that it had to be short and sweet. Based on that, I suggested Comfort, puzzling him. "But it's always mobbed at dinner," he said as we walked through the door.
Ah, but it's not always mobbed at lunch and, in fact, within the first ten minutes we were there, the four occupied tables paid their bills and left the restaurant to just the two of us. With the kitchen cooking for only two people, this lunch was bound to be brief, even if we ordered entrees instead of sandwiches.
So I did, enjoying the fried catfish with squash casserole and fries. How's that for a nice light lunch? His cheddar and bacon grilled cheese and house made chips weren't a whole lot lighter, but just as tasty. It seemed like they arrived from the kitchen mere moments after we ordered them.
The cornmeal-crusted catfish was crispy and steaming; the squash and zucchini bound thickly with cheese sauce was decadent, especially for lunch. It led to a discussion of making a meal of sides when you had such a rich starting point as this dish.
Josh, one of my favorite bartenders, came in for lunch wearing a Benedictine Football t-shirt and telling me he'd heard I'd been in to 6B on a night he didn't work. Which was true, but I'd been taken care of by the guy he'd trained, who'd done a fine job subbing for the master.
My only complaint was that his trainee couldn't talk music with me like Josh can, but that's not really something you can train someone to do either, nor is it fair to expect it from someone hired to sling drinks. I'm smart enough to know that I can hope for it, but I can't expect it.
What I can expect when I eat with this particular friend is dessert, so we listened politely to our server's elaborate description of their house specialty, the banana pudding, only to have my friend respond, "Sounds nice, but I don't like bananas." Ergo we got the chocolate mousse and devoured that instead.
Walking out, my friend mentioned the sudden appeal of a nap. I could see his point; sometimes even a quickie can wear you out.