Anti-Social Behavior

It's not often two people insist on taking my picture.

A day that began with breakfast at Joe's Inn ended at Camden's for an "oyster informal," an evening of bubbles and bivalves.

With a reservation for three, we entered to find lots of people already indulging, so we claimed three bar stools and a bottle of champagne.

Over the course of the next few hours, I enjoyed Anderson's Neck oysters on the half shell and roasted with spinach, cheese and bacon.

There's really no way I won't eat these things.

No surprise, I talked to everyone I could find - the guy who'd just been down to New Orleans for his anniversary, the new Mom who had to leave before she finished eating, the tunic-wearer who'd matched her outfit to her lipstick.

I met a Saints fan, talked to a guy who thought fried chicken and champagne were the perfect pairing (agreed) and a woman who hated oysters but came anyway.

Meanwhile the Anderson's Neck people shucked non-stop and we ate pretty much at the same rate.

A friend had wanted to join me this evening until a nest of wasps had attacked her yesterday, but I'd promised to eat oysters and drink bubbly in her honor since she couldn't.

"Thank you for falling on that sword for me. XXXOXX," she'd written from her swollen bedside.

The music had begun with the Replacements and stayed in that era for the most part (R.E.M., Echo and the Bunnymen, Joy Division, the Cure), keeping things lively if a tad old-school and eventually working its way around, appropriately, to solo Paul Westerburg.

Do you remember me long ago
I used to wear my heart on my sleeve
I guess it still shows

My little group switched to Albrecht Cremant d'Alsace brut not long before the focus of the evening changed from bivalves to football.

Since the Redskins were playing the Cowboys, the plan was for those so inclined to stick around after the oyster informal and eat wings and watch large men crash into each other.

As an extra incentive, anyone who wore a Redskins jersey got their first half dozen wings for free.

Well, you didn't think I was going to pass up an opportunity for free food, did you?

Negative. I'd made sure to borrow a Mark Rypien jersey (Redskins quarterback 1986-93), putting it on post-oysters and pre-game.

The friend on my right immediately exclaimed, "I need to take a picture!" followed by another woman at the end of the bar saying the same thing. Say cheese.

You'd think it was a big deal for me to wear a football jersey or something.

My wings arrived shortly thereafter with what my friend called the best blue cheese dressing she'd ever inhaled.

And she should know because she ate all of ours and most of what belonged to the guy next to me as well (he offered it up, having eaten two celery sticks, his quota he said).

The wings were every bit as good as the killer dressing and we polished them off in short order, only to watch the Skins fall to the Cowboys.

Not my fault, I did my part. I wore the jersey and unfortunately, now there's a picture of me to prove it.

That's the last time I'll wear my heart team on my sleeve jersey.

Eccentric's Birthday

We'll call it a good birthday because I'm just now getting around to blogging it.

Holmes and his honey invited me over for a bottle of Mumm Brut Prestige to kick off the night.

Mid-sips, the couple presented me with a well-chosen birthday postcard done by a German artist.

The scene of cave people having a cocktail party while guests admired the cave paintings on the walls was hysterical to the art historians in the room.

And we outnumbered the non-art historians two to one.

From there it was a hop, skip and a jump to the VMFA and Amuse.

When I insisted on going in my favorite entrance, the Boulevard doors, Holmes accommodated me, but later grumbled, "Why do I surround myself with eccentrics?"

Um, because we're more fun than non-eccentrics?

Upstairs at Amuse, we began in the mod green chairs in front of the windows so we could watch the dramatic clouds rolling in, but soon moved to the bar.

Holmes never misses an opportunity to commandeer his stool.

Since the staff knows my taste, almost immediately I was offered an absinthe drip, but even I knew enough not to begin with the green fairy.

Instead we went the Sauivignon Blanc route while watching the magnificent sunset in the mirror behind the bar.

As the navy blue clouds gave way to the last of the sunset behind the Pauley Center, we talked about birthday wisdom.

My favorite, a brilliant nugget from the manager, went like this, "You're only as old as people treat you."

I feel really good about that, knowing how people treat me.

We noshed on curry-fried oysters and a cheese plate, eventually getting to the absinthe that is the inevitable end of every visit there.

How better to feel like van Gogh while admiring the view in the bar mirror, so much like a Manet?

Already pleasantly loopy, we left the museum for nearby Amour.

Because it was my birthday, we began with something pink and pretty, a sumptuous cocktail of fresh-squeezed pink grapefruit juice and Rose.

As we discussed with the pourer, the grapefruits are over-ripe and at the end of their season, and the Roses are young and just arriving, making for the perfect blend of old and young.

I'm sure there's a birthday metaphor in there somewhere, but damned if I can find it, right now anyway.

There were only two other people at the bar, both men, one at each end.

Plopped in the middle of them and wrapped around the corner of the bar, we were an interruption to their evenings, any way you looked at it.

The pompous-looking one ignored us entirely while the other one eventually joined in, wishing me a happy birthday.

Heimberger Riesling, crisp and earthy, accompanied a first course of French onion soup while Django Reinhardt played softly in the background.

Holmes went with pork and duck rillettes, the curly-haired one had a tarte and I went straight for the veal sweetbreads in a sherried cream sauce in puff pastry.

"That's the best choice!" our server whispered to me, making his way to the kitchen.

Holmes' phone rang and I was handed the phone so a long-distance chum could wish me all the best.

My guilt was huge, since I have no use for cell phones in a restaurant setting.

That led to a discussion with the owner about another Carytown business owner who'd come in recently and talked non-stop on his phone throughout the meal.

First the owner asked him to go outside and when he continued talking, his server had gone over and reminded him what the owner had said.

When he got miffed and left, the remaining customers applauded.

That's the world I want to live in.

We sat there eating and talking until it was dessert time, requiring a festive changeover to Albrecht Cremant d'Alsace.

Since I was the birthday girl, I had both chocolate caramel sea salt creme brulee and raspberry lambic sorbet.

For that matter, the three of us finished with one perfect madeleine each, while "I Can't Give You Anything But Love" played.

I'd say I was being treated exactly like the age I am.

I'm going to go with ageless and call it a birthday.

You! Out of the Gene Pool!

'Tis the season for out-of-town friends to call.

So when one did today at nearly 5:00, all my plans went out the window.

The "where" was easy because there would be five of us and we wanted a cozy spot to catch up.

Voila Amour.

While there were several tables with happy-looking diners up front when we arrived, the bar was wide open and inviting so incrementally we began taking it over.

Our starting point was a given; we were celebrating old friends getting together and there's only one way I choose to begin drinking at Amour.

Lucien Albrecht Cremant d'Alsace works for me every time.

Once our quintet was fully assembled, the real fun began.

These friends are funny and anything but shy.

Before long we were discussing the kind of people who should not be parents when Holmes bragged, "That's why I took myself out of the gene pool."

I'm quite sure our laughter was heard in Cary  Court when we reacted to that statement about his efforts to save mankind.

Tonight's soup was a scallop and pumpkin bisque, an exquisitely rich combination with the brine of the scallops reminding us of the sea.

The visitor was telling us about her recent trip to Aspen and the $2,000 suite with butler in which she and her paramour had stayed.

She went on to describe her upcoming New Year's Eve dinner a deux, a meatfest consisting of prime rib and ham for two.

She revealed that she'd heard of a $1200 Spanish ham that she was curious about.

Holmes, ever the bean counter, lost it at that point.

Grabbing her cheeks, he warned her, "Don't make me bitch slap you on both cheeks! You are not buying a $1200 ham."

Since she'd just bought three pairs of $500 glasses she didn't need, his exhortations were probably in vain.

Our next course was veal sweetbreads in a sherried cream sauce in puff pastry.

One bite and I felt quite certain that this is what heaven tastes like.

A tiny glass of Madeira only elevated the dish to sublime territory.

You can be repulsed at eating thymus glands all day long, but the way I see it, that just leaves more for me.

Because sherried glands weren't rich enough, we moved on to meat cooked in its own fat, namely pork and duck rilletes.

The ramekins of shredded duck/pig were outstanding with the hot mustard to cut the richness.

Meanwhile, the conversation just got funnier and more over the top.

When Holmes mentioned a spring vacation, our visitor stepped in as his travel adviser, telling him what he did and didn't want to do and where he wanted to do it.

Holmes was not particularly interested in an action-packed trip, preferring sloth and gluttony to sports and rigorous activity, but the planner planned on.

It was a little like a comedy routine with each oblivious to what the other was saying.

In the meantime, I tasted my friend's poulet Bourguignon, with savory Polyface chicken cooked in a red wine sauce.

The thigh I had was the essence of a cool-weather French dish, all herbs and belly-filling warmth.

She's the pickiest eater on earth (a fact she'll readily admit) but even she seemed to be enjoying the lovely Virginia meets Burgundy combination.

Appropriately, the music was its usual French self, all accordions and breathy female vocalists and just what you'd want to hear while eating and drinking this way.

It was a marked contrast from my annual trip to Can Can last weekend, where the Rolling Stones blasted as I sipped my hot chocolate and I wondered if I was in a chain restaurant.

Throughout all of this, owner Paul maintained his best game face, refilling glasses, making suggestions and adding to the absurd conversation when it suited him.

At one point, a couple came in and because they are Amour regulars, Holmes and I recognized them.

They were just coming in to say hello to Paul, but soon were sucked into the verbal mayhem swirling around.

Luckily for us, they ordered wine and joined the conversation.

Before long the husband was telling us a Pope joke with accented Italian and we were all rolling in laughter at the corny punchline.

Honestly, it felt a lot like an intimate holiday party, just in a restaurant instead of someone's home.

When dessert time came, it was twofold: the irresistible chocolate caramel sea salt creme brulee and housemade clementine sorbet.

Despite how many times I've had that creme brulee, I'd be the first to admit I don't want to live without it, but after tasting the beautiful flavors of the sorbet, I wouldn't want to miss out on that, either.

A discussion of clementines ensued, and as one who eats two or three every day when they're in season (like now), I couldn't help but appreciate that unique flavor in a new form.

We were having so much fun that all at once the visitor realized that the last thing she wanted to do was drive three hours home, so Holmes invited her to stay over and plans were adjusted accordingly.

A couch three blocks away is infinitely more appealing than a nice bed in another state, especially when you're dreaming of a $1200 ham.

I only hope Holmes didn't have to bitch slap her before the night was over.

But even if he does, it'll make a great story for the next time we all get together.