"The Banquette is on Fire"

When you have a picky eater for a friend, sadly it severely limits your restaurant choices. Knowing this, it's just easier to choose a place I know she likes and avoid the dozens of others she doesn't. That's how we ended up at Bouchon yet again.

Which isn't a bad thing because I always get hugged and kissed by the bartender and chef there so my evening always starts right. For that matter, it always ends right, although I never know quite what that ending will be. Witness tonight.

My friend had suggested dinner so that we could update each other. Seriously, those were the words she used (I know, it sounds like a corporate memo). She arrived first because of my online music chatting and was already sipping her wine when I slid into the stool next to her (that would be after the hugging and kissing).

As usual, the bargain-priced bar menu proved irresistible and we ordered from it. I had the soup (cream of asparagus), salad (chef's house salad) and onion tart with olives (my sweet and salty fix).

After far too much discussion (I told you she was picky) she got the coq au vin with potato gratin and a side of fries. She would be my starch-loving friend who thinks there can never be too many potatoes at a meal.

The soup was a cream lover's dream, the salad assuaged my guilt about the soup and the tart is a perennial favorite of mine. Her coq au vin was falling-off-the-bone wonderful (I got all the pearl onions since she doesn't care for them) and the fries never disappoint. Unlike her, I can stop at one potato dish at any given meal, so I can't speak to the gratin.

My friend shared the latest developments in her love life and I shared my momentous news. She at least had a novel reaction; she high-fived me and said she couldn't be more surprised. I think my friends are more pumped about the news than I am.

The serious fun began after dinner when a neighborhood regular and native Virginian dropped by the bar after a church social (there was so much I could have done with that...but I refrained).

I'd met him before at the very same bar several months ago since he lives mere blocks away ("Which building?" "The shorter one." "Do you have a short building complex?" "No, because I'm tall." What?!)

The conversation was moving along swimmingly when my friend decided we should switch to a Q and A format to all get to know each other better. It was no problem for me because I love interrogating people. Friend may have been a bit overly enthusiastic about pointing out compatibilities (clearly she as still reeling from my news).

At one point, the chef came up and told us about an amorous couple up front in the restaurant. Not long after, someone else came back and said to him, "Really? Right there on the banquette?"

A glance or two in the mirror reflected a couple very much into each other and not their food, if you get my drift. Right there on the banquette. The chef summed it up best (see above).

The irony of our ogling was that the couple decided to end their affectionate dinner by moving to the bar, so we ended up with the charming company of both a Russian and Belarus immigrant, madly in love with each other. They'd met on a trans-Atlantic flight and she'd flown in to RVA to visit him while he's on business here.

Their presence led to some provocative discussion of the merits of this country, the duty of immigrants (besides the two of them, Francis and Olivier are both French immigrants), whether or not a monarchy should be returned in Russia (the Russian voted no, the native Virginian yes) and what the U.S. offers an outsider, both good and bad (money and success/conservatism and Puritanical ways).

I loved hearing the opinions of immigrants about their motivations for coming here and the resulting impressions compared to expectations once they were here. After a good bit of political, cultural and historical debate, the girl from Belarus ("Really, you've heard of my country?") took it down to brass tacks.

"So what does an American man look for in a woman?" she asked the native Virginian, seriously putting him on the spot. I have to admit that my friend and I were more than a little curious ourselves (I won't divulge his response but my friend gave him credit for a fine answer).

We broke camp shortly thereafter, the other customers having left over an hour earlier. I high-tailed it to Balliceaux to catch the second half of No BS Brass band's second set. Walking in the door towards the back room, three different friends warned me of what a zoo it was back there.

I'd known it would be and would have been surprised if it hadn't been. Those guys are capable of amazing energy and that's a big draw for music fans. As the bartender said to me, "But it's always like this for them." True that.

In the warm and packed back room, I saw several friends ("You again?" He and I are living the same life, I swear)) and ran into a guy I'd met previously ("Didn't we talk at 27 when Mirimar played?" Yes, but how in the world did you remember me?).

Best of all, I did not miss their cover of "Take on Me," always a crowd pleaser that gets the audience seriously dancing.

Were it not for my smug and high-fiving friends, I might be considering it for my new theme song.