The best possible invitation to come home to after my daily walk.
After a conference, we decided on Arcadia in the Bottom.
Walking in, the hostess's first question was, "Do you want the Lincoln table?"
Hell, yes, we want to sit exactly where Daniel Day Lewis sat back in November 2011 while filming "Lincoln."
I took the window seat with a plump black and white pillow and my charming friend took the very same chair that once housed DDL.
I deferred our wine choice to my host who opted for Napa Valley, namely a bottle of Starmont Sauvignon Blanc, a solar-powered winery with the greenest of aspirations and layers of citrus and melon.
The music was surprisingly enjoyable, with Fan Farlo, the Arcade Fire and Devotchka working their way into my ear while we dove into intimate conversation.
We began with crab and avocado salad (corn, jicama, Boston bibb, orange vinaigrette), causing my friend to proclaim it "the perfect summer salad" while I pointed out that today was the first day of spring and the salad was so well suited to that.
I admit, I was tempted by the tomato pie, especially when our server said her aunt makes them and that they are the best ever, but my lunch companion had more meaty interests in mind.
So it was that two lunching companions ordered the 22-ounce bone-in cowboy cut rib eye, a hunk o' red meat that no two people need to share at lunch, but did.
The garlic/parsley butter only added an obscene richness to the thick-cut steak which we soon devoured.
Over wine and cow, we dissected the State of the Plate, house renovations and how service could be improved in Richmond, a la Washington, D.C., a city with which we are both overly familiar.
Don't challenge either of us on the halcyon days of disco or D.C. in the '80s, for we will destroy you.
Our server attentively kept up with our needs, eventually asking about dessert and encouraging us to linger.
With the sun beaming in the front window and a glass of Moet & Chandon Brut Reserve, I acquiesced to a flour-less chocolate torte served with Gelati Celesti's chocolate decadence, my personal favorite among their flavors.
Nearby, a couple of businesswomen talked account reps and inferior service ("they're costing me money," one lamented), boring us to tears and sending us back to talk of the tenets of successful relationships, themes for summer parties and the hazards of poor upbringings.
I'd have happily walked away then, but with the late afternoon sun coming through the window, we opted to linger and I was enticed to enjoy one last split of Chandon Brut Rose, despite my companion's disdain for anything pink (fortunately, I don't share his distaste for rose).
Fact: Arcadia would not have been my choice, although the cachet of eating at DDL's table overcame any reservations I may have had.
Our steak was damn near perfect, medium rare and pink in the best sense and with a garlic/parsley butter that sent it over the top.
Next time my friend suggests a steak place for lunch, I will not fight him.
And, truth be told, our multiple hours at Arcadia did feel like someplace completely different, especially with the New York Post's page six article about DDL eating at Arcadia hanging over our table.
Every now and then, a girl's got to eat like a cowboy to enjoy a friend who needs something completely different.
Even if I am only his second best love.
After a conference, we decided on Arcadia in the Bottom.
Walking in, the hostess's first question was, "Do you want the Lincoln table?"
Hell, yes, we want to sit exactly where Daniel Day Lewis sat back in November 2011 while filming "Lincoln."
I took the window seat with a plump black and white pillow and my charming friend took the very same chair that once housed DDL.
I deferred our wine choice to my host who opted for Napa Valley, namely a bottle of Starmont Sauvignon Blanc, a solar-powered winery with the greenest of aspirations and layers of citrus and melon.
The music was surprisingly enjoyable, with Fan Farlo, the Arcade Fire and Devotchka working their way into my ear while we dove into intimate conversation.
We began with crab and avocado salad (corn, jicama, Boston bibb, orange vinaigrette), causing my friend to proclaim it "the perfect summer salad" while I pointed out that today was the first day of spring and the salad was so well suited to that.
I admit, I was tempted by the tomato pie, especially when our server said her aunt makes them and that they are the best ever, but my lunch companion had more meaty interests in mind.
So it was that two lunching companions ordered the 22-ounce bone-in cowboy cut rib eye, a hunk o' red meat that no two people need to share at lunch, but did.
The garlic/parsley butter only added an obscene richness to the thick-cut steak which we soon devoured.
Over wine and cow, we dissected the State of the Plate, house renovations and how service could be improved in Richmond, a la Washington, D.C., a city with which we are both overly familiar.
Don't challenge either of us on the halcyon days of disco or D.C. in the '80s, for we will destroy you.
Our server attentively kept up with our needs, eventually asking about dessert and encouraging us to linger.
With the sun beaming in the front window and a glass of Moet & Chandon Brut Reserve, I acquiesced to a flour-less chocolate torte served with Gelati Celesti's chocolate decadence, my personal favorite among their flavors.
Nearby, a couple of businesswomen talked account reps and inferior service ("they're costing me money," one lamented), boring us to tears and sending us back to talk of the tenets of successful relationships, themes for summer parties and the hazards of poor upbringings.
I'd have happily walked away then, but with the late afternoon sun coming through the window, we opted to linger and I was enticed to enjoy one last split of Chandon Brut Rose, despite my companion's disdain for anything pink (fortunately, I don't share his distaste for rose).
Fact: Arcadia would not have been my choice, although the cachet of eating at DDL's table overcame any reservations I may have had.
Our steak was damn near perfect, medium rare and pink in the best sense and with a garlic/parsley butter that sent it over the top.
Next time my friend suggests a steak place for lunch, I will not fight him.
And, truth be told, our multiple hours at Arcadia did feel like someplace completely different, especially with the New York Post's page six article about DDL eating at Arcadia hanging over our table.
Every now and then, a girl's got to eat like a cowboy to enjoy a friend who needs something completely different.
Even if I am only his second best love.
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