Nobody Else Wants Them

Note to self: unbridled cheese consumption paired with an abundance of South African wine may result in ten-hour evenings.

Not that that's a bad thing.

My favorite illustrator picked me up and took me to Six Burner where we wiled away the early evening drinking the tannic and mouth-filling Left Bank and inhaling cheese.

The Brie was light, the Mimolette cheddar bright orange and from a cave (like I like my music), the Point Reyes Bleu  a creamy stinker and our personal favorite, the Crottin, a gloriously barnyard-tasting goat cheese I must seek out again.

We finished with a chocolate terrine with marscapone, dried cherries, pistachio crumble and clementine syrup. Unbilled, but one of the best parts of this enormous dessert, was the pistachio brittle pieces arranged atop it.

From there, she left to go home and make her husband salmon and deposited me and my bottle of Obvio Malbec on the doorstep of my partner in crime.

It's beginning to seem like the longer you know somebody, the better the talk, the company and the laughter are.

A decade plus is a long time. And that's not the Obvio talking.