You Better Watch Out

Perhaps I could be called an Easter Grinch.

I don't have a religious bone in my body.

I have no use for people walking up and down Monument Avenue for the sake of looking at each other and displaying their overdressed dogs and children (not that there's anything wrong with that).

I don't want to drive for hours to eat a meal with my family.

So we'll just say I'm bad at Easter and leave it at that.

Even so, I had a most Easter-like Easter in spite of myself.

I began at Movieland for a showing of "Easter Parade," a Judy Garland/Fred Astaire movie I'd never seen before.

As I slid into my seat, I heard the guy nearest me say to his wife, "This is so much better than going to your sister's house today. I bet your mother wishes she were here, too."

Bet she does.

The movie was a 1948 (gaudy and unnatural-looking Technicolor) take on what 1912 (a lunch of roast beef, pie and milk costs Garland fifteen cents) was like, which meant it had elements of both eras.

Most of the best dialog came courtesy of Mike, the bartender, who ministered to the singers and dancers in the neighborhood with wisdom gleaned from years of service.

When Fred Astaire goes in after being dumped by his partner and girlfriend, the bartender hands him a whiskey.

"Can you drown a brunette in this?" he asks him.
"How tall is she?" he asks.
"Five feet six," Astaire says.
"Try this," says the bartender filling  his glass up a little more.

I'm guessing it takes more whiskey to drown a brunette than a blond because later another guy comes in needing whiskey and the bartender asks, "Blond or brunette?"

Turns out his was also a brunette.

"They're the ones you have to watch," the barkeep sagely tells him, filling up his glass to the brim.

During the opening credits, I'd noticed one for "Special Effects" and wondered what constituted a special effect in 1948.

I found out in a scene with Astaire and a bunch of dancing girls; after dancing with several of them individually, they move to the back of the stage and Astaire to the front.

There he proceeds to dance in slow motion while all the dancers behind him dance in real time.

Definitely credit-worthy in 1948.

It had romance, too, like when Astaire asks Garland, "Why didn't you tell me I was in love with you?" and "Make every man in the audience wish he were in my shoes."

Yes, it was corny, and the Easter hats were ridiculous, but how better to celebrate a high religious holiday?

The next stop in my unfolding Easter odyssey was Bistro 27 for Easter brunch.

The soundtrack was pitch-perfect for a heathen: classic rhythm and blues.

Marvin Gaye, Barry White, Al Green, Diana Ross -all the traditional Easter hymns I could have hoped for.

It was better than a solid chocolate Easter bunny.

As was the brunch; I began loading my plate only to look down and realize it was covered in nothing but pig.

Bacon, sausage and thick-sliced ham made me realize I needed to diversify, so I added on some green-flecked eggs and lamb.

I did eventually go back for sauteed julienne veggies and a salad, but my heart was in the protein.

The crowd was incredibly diverse, from multi-generational families in church clothes to a less traditional groupings.

My favorite was the one from New Jersey who were staying at the Jefferson (where they claimed they'd been treated poorly).

He had on a hot pink muscle shirt and matching hot pink underwear (visible at the top of his shorts), lots of bling and the most incredible haircut (shaved back and the top stood up jelled within an inch of its life easily three inches).

When it came time to pay, he pulled out a wad of hundreds thicker than my fist.

She was a vision in a strapless pale blue top with rhinestones,skintight jeans, silver shoes with four inch heels and white blond hair over black hair underneath.

The little boys wore white button up shirts, slacks and looks that said, "Somebody's got to the the adults around here."

But I wasn't there to gawk but to eat, so I soon moved on to the two new desserts on 27's list.

The mango panna cotta was a thing of beauty and that's saying a lot coming from a chocoholic.

Refreshing and light with an addictive flavor, I thought it was guaranteed to be a people-pleaser.

The profiterole, drizzled in Nutella, had a filling of ricotta, Nutella and three zest that gave just the right citrus note to the chocolate.

Not that anyone needs two desserts, even on Easter.

For company, I had various staff members who entertained me with pictures of babies in Easter baskets, a video of one when he was nineteen, and a discussion of Santorum's thoughts on where women should work.

All good stuff, but no one to rival Mike, the bartender, who was told in the movie, "I bet you know a lot about women."

"I should," he said polishing the bar."I've been single all my life."

Just the kind of guy I could have used for company on my anti-Easter.

As long as he was willing to risk taking on a brunette.