Perhaps I didn't celebrate 4/20 appropriately.
What was I thinking working in the garden all day when I should have been one toke over the line? On the plus side, I did get to see my favorite beagle for a while.
Given that today was Easter (he's back!), I was grateful that Secco was even open, walking in to find a soft-spoken painter chatting with a cheese whiz/wine expert. He's one of my favorite people with whom I can discuss food and art.
After considering the same Commanderie de Peyrassol Rose that I'd had last night, I went with something new, a Nebbiolo-based Rose.
Music was spot on - Band of Horses, Fleet Foxes and a live version of Talking Heads' "This Must Be the Place (Naive Melody)," as perfect a piece of poetry as David Byrne has ever written.
I'd brought the Sunday Washington Post for entertainment, finding in it a piece about taking gondola lessons in Venice, a less expensive way to traverse the canals, not to mention the thrill of doing it yourself.
First up was a chicken liver mousse with rosemary mustard and pickled currants, a delicately earthy chicken liver mousse so light and airy it could have floated away.
To up the decadence factor, we followed with a buckwheat crepe stuffed with duck confit, slivers of asparagus, honey and grapefruit, challenging only because it was tough to get all the components in one bite, but well worth it when I did.
It was strange how dead Carytown was, with few people walking by and an overall sense that everyone was somewhere else. I guess that meant that Secco was full of heathens, among which I count myself.
A trio came in looking like they'd escaped from Easter on Parade with colorful shorts and bow ties, ordered a bottle of red wine and almost immediately had to have it bagged to go when they told their server, "Oooh, our ride will be here sooner than we thought!" There was almost a little squeal at the end.
With no ride forthcoming, cheese seemed the way to go for our last course and so I chose Goot Essa mountain valley sharp cheddar, Appalachian Alpine-style cow cheese from Galax (not just for fiddlers!) and Olli's wild boar salami, always one of my soft spots, with a golden raisin chutney and the house apple butter.
That and the Op-Ed section and I was in heaven.
But a newspaper only gets you so far entertainment-wise, so the next stop was Commercial Taphouse for the B-Snap-tet Easter throw down.
The quartet - bass, drums, guitar and sax- were deep into it when we arrived and I scored a Hornitos while the woman in front of me (wearing a spangly headband across her forehead a la Olivia Newton John in the "Physical" days) turned around and gave me the hairy eyeball for no reason.
Too bad we'd taken so long eating that we only caught a few songs, including the devastating "The Strange Charmer," one of the songs off their upcoming record recently recorded at Minimum Wage Studios with Lance Koehler.
I was especially taken with bassist Brian hitting the bass strings with a stick to achieve an eastern-sounding effect.
It was a shame when they ended their set, maybe not for them, but for those of us who'd arrived later and missed much of it.
When I asked to make sure of the name of the song "The Strange Charmer," one of the musicians said, "She can call it whatever she wants to."
That's the reward of being a heathen who goes to hear music on Easter when decent folks are home with family.
Or doing the 4/20 thing, if you know what I mean.
I love the passing of time
never for money,
always for love
Cover up and say goodnight