Sunny with Empty Bottles

It's the best possible thing to come home to after my walk: a lunch invitation.

Could I be at Rappahannock at noon? Yes, I could.

The only problem was that I was punctual and he was not.

At almost 12:20, the hostess walks over and tells me my friend has called and will be late. No shit, Sherlock.

She assures me he will arrive by 12:30 and says he insists I go ahead and start with a glass of wine.

Don't worry, I intend to, I tell her.

"He said you'd say that," she says, grinning.

Waiter! Bring me a glass of 2012 Commanderie de Peyrassol Rose and be quick about it. I'm tired of eavesdropping with no alcohol accompaniment.

Actually, it's quite pleasant sitting at a window table, enjoying the early afternoon sun but after a certain point, a girl wants something to drink.

And, just for the record, I would never wait for a date so long. For a friend, yes; for a date, sorry, no.

The music is not to my taste with such overplayed gems as "Under My Thumb," "Help," "White Room" and "Who'll Stop the Rain?"

Who'll stop the cliched classic rock, I wonder, although I never tire of hearing Dylan's "Like a Rolling Stone."

A half an hour later, my friend is still nowhere to be seen and the server approaches me with humor. "So before your friend comes, can I put an empty bottle of wine on the table?"

Sure, but he's not going to be surprised, I tell him.

When I inquire about the time, my server says it's getting on 1:00. "If I were you, I'd be ordering a bottle of Dom Perignon," he advises.

Instead, I order a dozen Old Salte oysters with shallot vinaigrette, finishing about the time the hostess returns to tell me my friend is on his way.

Yea, right.

Meanwhile, I overhear a couple pronounce Tredegar as "tread-are-gar" and know I need to intervene.

They turn out to be tourists from Wisconsin, on a month-long drive through the southeast to celebrate his recent retirement.

I inquire as to their plans after an oyster-based lunch.

They run possibilities past me - the Museum of the Confederacy, the State Capital, Tredegar Iron Works- and I give them tips on visiting them all.

But the 64 thousand dollar questions remains, where are they planning to eat dinner?

Unsure, they say. Where are you staying, I ask? The Jefferson.

It's a no-brainer. You guys need to go to Bistro 27, I tell them and why.

My tardy friend arrives just as I am singing Chef Carlos' praises and they thank me for my help.

Friend and I immediately jump into celebration mode (he has recently bought a business) and order Domaine Rolet Cremant de Jura Rose, fine-bubbled with a nice, long finish, and ideal for toasting his future.

Post-toast I am forced to go outside to move my car which is about to exceed its two-hour parking limit.

Friend wants me to choose the wine for lunch and I opt for Jean Paul Brun Chardonnay which results in him raving about my choice, no small feat given his fussiness about wine.

"This is an amazing wine," he gushes and I agree, pleased with the creamy, rich taste and satisfying mineral finish.

Finally, it's time to order lunch and I choose the country ham and Carr valley smoked cheddar sandwich with thousand island dressing and bread and butter pickles and a side salad with apples and cheddar.

I am busy chowing down on it when the Wisconsin couple approaches to thank me profusely for my travel and restaurant advice.

They have looked up 27's website and are already looking forward to sampling the menu.

Of course I appreciate their gratitude, but honestly I am more than happy representing Richmond and tell them that.

After they leave, we order the buckwheat crepe and chocolate dessert, requesting vanilla ice cream on the side to accompany our last glass of wine.

By now, the sun is behind the Times Dispatch building across the street and I have been in this restaurant for almost four hours.

I have been regaled with details of my friend's new business and enjoyed a satisfying meal and some stellar wines.

Much longer, and I'd have needed another dozen oysters. And way better music.