Staying in town for the long weekend makes it so easy to be lazy.
I could have gone to a benefit show. I could have gone to hear an Afropop DJ.
And yet, after talking to some friends who were drinking tequila and bubbles while spending the weekend in Lovettsville in a cabin, my evening took a decidedly low-key turn.
Honestly, all I bothered doing was a simple meal at Secco with a bunch of other people who'd stayed in town.
One of them was the cheese whiz Sarah, who'll soon be moving to Charlottesville, their gain but our loss.
Sadly, all Sarah Sunday at Secco will be no more soon.
Another was a couple on what surely must have been a first date.
I overheard him tell her, "My music and my church are very important to me. I can't be with a woman who doesn't get that," while his date nodded in that early stages way.
Explaining to the bartender that my birthday week had left me a tad full, I chose the new salad of arugula, walnuts, dried cherries, Stilton and roasted shallot vinaigrette he recomemnded.
Debating about the addition of chicken confit, I went for it.
"Good, good," he said reassuringly. "You don't want to shock your system too much."
Right. You can't quit full fat cold turkey.
Besides, the richness of the confit made the peppery arugula all the more piquant.
Well, that and the Stilton and cherries, which kicked up the flavor in the best possible ways.
No surprise, my wine choice was listed under Rose, although with a note that it was not technically a true rose, but rather a light red.
Fine by me.
The 2011 Bisson Ciliegiolo Portofino Rosato, made with an indigenous grape from Liguria, Italy, was bone dry with a hint of cherries.
Sign me up. I'll drink this all summer.
Meanwhile the table behind me was having wine issues since the male of the table decided that the wine they'd ordered was unacceptable.
He may have even accused it of being Madeira, not likely since the ladies had asked for something "Chardonnay-like."
I often wonder how servers have the patience to deal with certain kinds of people.
Me, I just went back to finishing my northern Italian knowing that if I wanted to, I could just go home and read a book on my balcony overlooking a quieter-than-usual Jackson Ward.
But it would have to be with some birthday wine.
I don't want to shock my system too much.