Eat, Talk, Eat

What kind of friend calls at 10 fricking a.m.?

The kind who claims he's trying to "catch me between dates" but wakes me up nonetheless.

Some three hours later we convene at Pasture, a place he's never been and one I've never tried for lunch.

Given his eagerness to lunch, I arrive early.

He, having fallen back to sleep and had trouble finding a parking space among the Grace Street construction, is fifteen minutes late.

As I wait for him, I send empathetic vibes to the young man sitting two tables away with his parents.

Both are intent texting on their phones and he sits there looking lost.

Perhaps conversation is a lost art in their family.

I cam this close to inviting him over to chat while they thumbed and I waited.

Finally my friend arrives, wearing a handsome Candela gallery t-shirt and immediately takes charge.

Glancing at my untouched glass of water, he tells the server, "She needs a straw."

True that, but I'd been willing to wait so the guy didn't have to make a trip solely for a straw.

My friend had originally suggested we go to Rappahannock for lunch, but that's a meal they don't serve.

He was rewarded nonetheless when he saw an oyster sandwich on the menu and inquired about the source of the bi-valves.

Score. Rappahannock River Oyster Company.

AKA the same oysters we'd have eaten there.

I chose seafood too, in the form of a shrimp salad over mixed greens with grapefruit and avocado and a citrus dressing.

My friend, ever the comedian, jumped on the "locally sourced" bandwagon, playfully asking our server if the oysters were allowed to roam free and if they'd come from happy bi-valve families.

They had.

He must have been happy with them because the sandwich disappeared post haste and I was still savoring my grilled shrimp and ball o' avocado.

Since it had been a while, he filled me in on his dating life (a work in progress), his trip to see his family (and the endless waiting that involved) and a few tales from his restaurant job.

Before we knew it, our server brought us our check in a basket that read "eat, pray, eat" at the bottom.

The only problem was he was thinking of dessert. And I'm not much of a prayer.

He deemed the "candy bar" (dark chocolate over peanut butter) with a peanut sauce and crushed peanuts something he wanted to eat every single night before he goes to bed.

Inviting me to take a bite, I forked a piece of chocolate, a maneuver duly noted by him.

"You just want the chocolate," he accused with a grin.

Yes, I did.

Unlike the rest of the population, chocolate and peanut butter do not float my boat.

Separately, yes. Together, too much.

But he was all about it even if it couldn't be his permanent bedtime snack.

And speaking of bedtimes, maybe I should call him some morning at the ass crack of dawn after a night he's closed at the restaurant.

Paybacks are hell.

But isn't that what friends are for?