Friday Muddle

Pru's back in town after a sojourn at the river so we hit the town.

Stop #1 was Magpie for happy hour.

I got my South African on with Mulderbosch Chenin blanc and an amuse bouche of  feta, cherry and a pickled green tomato in basil oil.

The music was pure bad '80s.

We walked into (shudder) "Heat of the Moment" and eventually heard everything from Hall & Oates to Robert Palmer.

I don't know the last time I heard "Bad Case of Loving You," nor do I care to.

That's what a Pandora station set to Huey Lewis gets you.

Prudence had been at the river most of the week, so we had lots to talk about. And eat.

We began with smoked pork loin and fresh Mozzarella with yellow ball melon delivered today from the farmer, a colorfully pretty dish with the sweetest yellow watermelon.

Next came arugula soup with bleu cheese, a distant cousin to split pea soup, but far more compelling.

The it was time to change wines, going Spanish with the Finca Venta Domaine Quixote Rose.

I can only resist pink for so long.

For my main, I ordered tempura soft shell crab with cherry/leek puree and black mission figs.

It's that time of year when I can indulge my love of figs at every turn and I do.

If I knew someone with a fig tree, I'd be asking to pluck a few from it right about now.

Th crab had been cut in half and set on its center, appearing to be dancing across the plate in a very playful presentation.

Points for creativity.

We watched countless Magpie Muddles being made, marveling that anyone would choose vodka over gin or bourbon.

For us, the pleasure was in the aromatics of the ingredients, the herbs and fresh fruit.

We finished up our conversation about parties, screws loose and "Same Time, Next Year" with a seasonal dessert.

Peach sorbet over rosemary shortbread went over the top with pistachio brittle and bleu cheese.

Our work here over, Pru wanted to return to the scene of her workplace, meaning we crossed the river for a drink.

Stop #2 was Camden's Dogtown Market.

People were still eating dinner at tables, but we staked our claim at the bar for wine.

Rumor had it they were pouring Klein Constantia, a wine with sentimental value for me since I'd visited the South African winery almost a decade ago.

The crisp Sauvignon Blanc we drank was lovely with a long finish, comparable to the memory of a drawn-out meal at the winery on a night just about as cool and perfect as the one outside tonight.

As a bonus, "Mildred Pierce" was playing over the bar, a film I've only seen once, but one with plenty of restaurant jargon.

We heard about a new restaurant coming to my beloved Jackson Ward and talked trash about people with a sense of entitlement.

Don't get me started.

But unfortunately for Pru and me, Manchester closes down earlier than we were ready to, so we moved on.

Stop #3, our final, was Bistro 27.

Over Vinho Verde and a samba soundtrack, we got the details on an upcoming party, talked about Pru's uptick in her personal life and divided the world into us and them.

Live without it? No, I don't think so.

Not while there are wineries playing music outside at night I won't.