Look What the Cat Dragged In

Some people are trouble.

Like the friend you haven't been out with at night for a couple of years.

You know the kind.

When her husband dropped her off at my house for an evening of debauchery, I asked when I should have her home.

Without missing a beat, he said, "Sun-up."

Well, that certainly gave us some wiggle room.

After much back and forth about where to spend our evening, we started fairly early at C'est le Vin since she'd never been there.

Given the choice of a table on the dining room side or on the bar side, we opted for the latter, taking a high wooden table near the bar.

Our affable server set the tone for the evening by telling us to take our time and order at our own pace.

We didn't need to be told twice.

It had been ages since we'd had a girls' night out and we only had about a hundred things to discuss.

Like who's opening new restaurants where. And why beagles are the best dogs ever. And how satisfying it is to make a mix CD and have people hear a song they love on it.

The Verdejo we ordered was out of stock until Friday, so we settled on a Spanish blend to whet our whistles and began ordering.

Since it was small plates, we justified ordering an endless stream of them.

Stuffed poquillo peppers with herbed goat cheese and toasted pine nuts, a dish I've had several times, were an immediate hit with my friend.

Peppered crab with asparagus and roasted corn delivered summer flavors.

Shrimp with roasted garlic aioli was as good as I remembered from my last visit.

Mid-meal, a train lumbered by on the track right behind Havana, making a picture-perfect view from where we sat.

The seared polenta with poblano peppers was crispy on the outside and creamy inside.

Sirloin and Chorizo meatballs with shaved Parmesan were so good we ended up ordering a second plate of them.

Broiled endive with Gorgonzola, orange candied walnuts and blueberry vinaigrette managed to be both light and rich at the same time.

As we sat there blathering away about men, day trips and exes, a gallery-owning friend came in with an antiques dealer.

Not long after, the tango crowd arrived and lessons were being given while other couples tangoed up and down the room.

Watching them tango almost made me want to try to learn but I'm not sure I could have talked my friend into dancing cheek to cheek with me.

I did mention to our server that I thought he looked like Luther Vandross in his young, skinny phase (coincidentally, not long before our server was born) and he was so intrigued that he immediately asked the owner to Google pictures of the singer so he could see.

As we walked out, he thanked us for coming in and gave me the thumbs up for the comparison.

Since we'd missed the Purple Martin Festival by four days, we decided to do a little bird watching on our own.

Heading down 17th Street toward the Bradford pear trees where the martins roost, we reluctantly admitted to ourselves that we should have come out at dusk to see their swooping sky maneuvers.

But although they were no longer airborne, they were still wide awake and the chattering of hundreds of birds in the trees above us made clear that no one had settled down for the night yet.

So we weren't the only ones.

Every branch was alive with purple martins nearly as numerous as leaves on the pear trees against the midnight-blue sky.

It was our own mini-martin festival.

Leaving the the birds in the Bottom, we headed back to Jackson Ward for a nightcap.

At the Belvidere at Broad, we found a full nearly full bar with two seats available.

Sliding into them, bartender Matt introduced a new bartender, saying, "This is Karen. She's been here longer than I have."

What do you expect for a place two blocks from my house?

While music from the '80s blared, we chatted with the owner about sailing (which I haven't done), painting (I can't imagine going home after a night out and getting out my brushes) and his new digs (not far from my own).

By the time we finished our drinks and conversation, we were the sole occupants of the restaurant.

Reluctantly, we ended our evening.

And it wasn't even sun-up.

But now that I look outside, I'm seeing a different story.

Debauching takes time. I'm thinking we shouldn't wait so long next time.