Anything for You

Every window open. 'Nuff said.

These past two days have been glorious reminders that spring really is coming, that this dreadful winter is winding down and my favorite time of the year about to unfold. For the past two days, it's been warm enough to walk bare-legged (instead of in leggings) and leave the windows up night and day (necessitating more mindfulness about how loud I play my records).

Spring, how I've looked forward to your arrival.

After my walk, the real tragedy of yesterday's 81-degree sunshine was how much of it I had to spend inside doing interviews and at a board meeting when all I really wanted to do was goof off outside. Didn't Confucius say something about how it sucks to be a grown-up sometimes?

Happily, once all that played out I had dinner plans that involved a window seat, my favorite restaurant soundtrack and a Metzger virgin, a surefire recipe for a fabulous evening.

Because Fate seems to be keeping an eye on me of late, it was as I was busy explaining to my date that the vintage soul music we were listening to was courtesy of DJ Mr. Fine Wine that one of the owners came over to give me news he knew I'd want to hear: Mr. Fine Wine is coming back to Metzger for another late night dance party to grace us with his stellar DJ skills.

And he was right, this was indeed wonderful news - I would dance to Mr. Fine Wine anytime he's willing to come down from N.J. - at least I thought so right up until he told us the date. Uh oh, no go, some of us will be out of town for the big event.

Evidently the disappointment was written all over my face because the owner was quick tor reassure me. "I know how you enjoy these, that's why I wanted to tell you" he said. "Don't worry, we're gonna have him back in the fall, too."

Whew, except fall seems like a lifetime away to someone currently reveling in spring. On the other hand, who doesn't like having something - dance parties, vacations, music shows - to look forward to?

More good news arrived with the oyster selections, which included Morattico Creeks from the Northern Neck town where my parents live and Blackberry Points, my choice to accompany my Hugl Rose, because our server assured me they were the brinier of the two and briny is always my goal with bivalves.

Our server kept coming over to take our order before we'd made any decisions, so I finally quashed that with a fib, telling her it was a first date and we were trying to get acquainted before ordering. It wasn't true, but she got the hint.

After caving to decorum, we shared a mustard green salad gussied up with beets and blood oranges, beer-battered cauliflower with white anchovies and garlic crisps and whole roasted maitake with potato rosti in a garlic cream sauce, an obscene take on a vegetarian entree, though probably not as obscene as the dark chocolate torte I only managed to finish half of.

Although we lingered over wine and dinner for three-plus hours (twitterpation will do that to you), it was still as warm as afternoon when we walked out, a reality that felt nothing short of miraculous after so many months of winter's unpleasantness.

Today was even better because it was already warm when I woke up and headed to the river, which is still teasing me by keeping the pipeline inaccessible from Brown's Island. Seems like ages since I could get on it from the west side, what with all the rain coming down from the mountains the past month.

That's not a complaint. With life so good these days, I can take a little inconvenience.

Tonight's outing involved Lady G accompanying my hired mouth to dinner, our first chance to catch up since our superb road trip to Philly last month. Much conversation was involved because although I don't want to say there's been a seismic shift in my world since then, there's been a seismic shift in my world since then.

And no one wants to make her friend cry with good news, but it beats making her cry with bad news, right?

Her main request for the evening had been that we have a smart cocktail, so we celebrated afterward at the Jasper, where the front windows were open to the Friday night bustle of Carytown and the place was packed.

Snagging a small table under a window, Lady G ordered the Spaniard on the recommendation of our Spanish-blooded server (the Old Overholt rye didn't hurt, either) while I stayed true to form with a glass of Domaine Brazilier Brut from the Loire Valley. Despite having recently polished off a full dinner and dessert, we saw no reason not to dive into hen liver mousse with red onion gelee, slathering it on baguette slices with impunity, or maybe just giddiness.

Spring seems to be having all kinds of effects on people right now. I know all I can do is smile.