Hello, Old Friend

I know you probably thought I dropped off the face of the earth, but it looks like I may be in Richmond this Thursday. Would love to see you and get caught up. I certainly have missed you and your smile when I see your writings in Style and on blogs. Lunch would be perfect.

An out-of-town friend I haven't seen in months dropping by for a mid-day meal with me? Yes, please.

I chose my neighborhood joint, Bistro 27, hoping to show off their new patio to my friend, but, alas, the impending thunder event made it too hot for a civilized woman in a sundress to sit out there.

We took a table by the front door, the better to watch the comings and goings while we talked.

In his line of work, he deals with people who have ridiculous amounts of money, the kind of people who feed their dog lobster and lamb chops.

Seriously, lobster? That just isn't natural for a dog.

The kind who hire someone to stay with their dog every minute when they leave for a few weeks in Italy.

Since my friend hadn't been to Richmond for a while, we started with a dish off Chef Carlos' new summer menu, pear and Brie ravioli with honey and almonds, after hearing that it had been flying out of the kitchen since being added.

The delicately-nuanced savory/sweet flavor combination was a knockout, a light tease for the next course.

Friend couldn't resist the soup du jour, a white bean and Chorizo that sounded delicious but too heavy for me on this warm day.

While he enjoyed his Chorizo, I told him about my recent trips to the northern neck to wineries and, being the Virginia wine pro that he is, he wanted to know which wines had impressed me.

That's easy, The Hague 2009 Meritage Reserve and Vault Fields 2008 Meritage Reserve.

Like me, he knew little about the Middle Peninsula area and I admitted all I know is from multiple trips out that way to drink and eat.

We all learn in our own, special ways.

For lunch, he went with lamb on pita with fries (leading him to wax poetic about starting a place that sold nothing but interesting varieties of fries) while I chose lightly fried chickpea and black bean falafel, topped with a mixed green salad with a chickpea and red pepper salad on the side.

It was just the thing with the mercury in the mid-nineties outside.

Another wine-savvy friend came in, spotted us and joined us for a discussion of the power of honeysuckle, one of my all-time favorite smells.

He related a story about returning from a trip to Italy after an arduous 36-hour trip on, as he put it, "planes, trains and automobiles," saying it was only once he got on his bike in Carytown to ride to his house that he felt home.

It was a one-two punch: first, he said, he smelled the cookie factory and then he smelled honeysuckle.

"I'm home," he remembered thinking happily.

After a little wine talk, he left and we soon followed suit, strolling down sticky-hot Broad Street toward my house before he made a turn to go get his car and hit the road.

There was, after all, a dog expecting his company on the other end.

I wandered home, wishing for some alley honeysuckle, but settling for some fragrant alley roses instead.

My friend had been right. Lunch was perfect.