Try Him, You'll Like Him

Reluctantly, I agreed to meet a stranger when I met a friend who doesn't like Acacia at Acacia.

The problem, much to our dismay (and surprise) was that it was half off wine night, so the place was crazed. There was a half-hour wait to be seated at the bar.

My friend was typically late so I waited for bar stools through yes, no and maybe so from the hostess before finally being seated.

My friend may not be a fan of Acacia, but she quickly succumbed to the wine deal with the Montecillo Albarino.

When she tried to order the prix fixe menu, our bartender politely informed her that it was table only (and I wasn't going that way).

After convincing him that I was  but a stranger to her, she got her prix fixe and I got my a la carte selections.

Since he knows me and he'd seen her sit down with me, I thought him extremely gracious for caving to her.

I began with the local Ambrosia melons, cashews, mixed lettuces and bleu cheese salad with celery seed vinaigrette.

She insisted I taste her gazpacho, which tasted like a long, cool drink of summer tomatoes.

I followed with country pate with assorted pickles while she enjoyed Mahi Mahi with cheese grits.

My pate had a good, coarse texture and the sweet pickle slices provided the tangy complement to the pate's richness.

Dessert was coconut sorbet with chocolate cremeux and cocoa nibs, which we both shared, along with a second bottle of that Albarino.

It worked out well because she wanted mostly the sorbet, leaving me to finish up the chocolate. What are friends for?

But her intent tonight soon became clear as she spent the evening trying to convince me to meet a guy she is sure I will like.

I need only go to another city to meet him. And, according to her, be my most charming self because we have loads in common.

All that stuff people tell you when they've promised the other person that they'll deliver you. Which she has.

Why do mated friends care so much that I'm still unattached? Sigh.

After that onslaught, I needed a relaxed conversation with friends who aren't trying to fix me up.

So I finished my evening with a leisurely wine tasting at The Roosevelt, where they'd just ended a weekend-like Tuesday night with enough Tweeting customers in the room for them to keep a check on the pulse of the diners and their very public opinions.

We began with an Afton Mountain Festa di Bacco, a Super-Tuscan that about knocked our socks off with its blend of Sangiovese, Cab Franc, Petit Verdot and Merlot.

It was fruity, acidic and had a great big mouth feel, certainly more than your average Virginia red. We approved, but agreed it needed meat.

And the conversation suited me because it wasn't about fixing me up.

Next up was the Blenheim Petit Verdot, which we'd last tasted on my birthday during our day trip to the winery.

Turns out we hadn't been blinded by the beauty of the mountainous countryside that day; it was every bit as beautiful as we remembered and made fans of the others in the room.

It's just once I got home and let my mind wander over the evening, it hit me.

What exactly have I let myself in for?