From Italian to French

Back in the saddle again and open to whatever comes along.

With plans to go to VCU Cinematheque and see a film, Holmes calls and invites me out to join him half an hour before I plan to leave.

And while I could definitely use a film, how can I resist seeing my favorite art history nerd, his main squeeze?

I can't.

He is already on his way to Amour, so I agree to meet him there once I am finished drying off after a shower and an incredibly full day.

The hardest part of a holiday is coming back and righting my world.

Walking into Amour, I find Holmes and squeeze comfortably ensconced in their stools and awaiting my arrival.

As usual, I begin with Lucien Albreacht Cremant d'Alsace Rose, a personal favorite no matter the season or how long I've been away.

Before we could go any further, I felt compelled to share with Holmes' main squeeze my encounter with Donatello, Michelangelo and Vermeer, knowing she alone would be appreciative of endless arcane art history anecdotes.

Holmes tolerated our enthusiastic art back and forth only so long before jumping into the conversation on all manner of subjects, notably his own Italy adventures.

Namely, clam sauce flummoxing a 13-year old.

A nearby Hungarian joined our conversation off and on, providing wit and opinion when necessary.

With a nod to October being Virginia wine month, we sampled the Boxwood Topiary, a Bordeaux-style red that grabbed us from the first aromatic sniff.

As the Django Reinhart station played in the background, we caught up on what I'd missed- Folk Fest, Symphony Designer House - and what I'd been doing instead.

Never ask someone who'd just come from two weeks in Italy what her favorite meal was; it's impossible to pick just one.

Eventually, we moved on to the salad course, a combination of Manakintown greens, heirloom grape tomatoes and a practically perfect balsamic dressing.

Over a conversation about Coolfont (who knew we'd both been there?), Roseanne Cash (sorry I missed her) and viola de gambas (only Holmes), we decided on our next courses.

After two weeks eating myself silly in Italy, I opted for the comte-stuffed mushrooms with balsamic, a satisfying dish that gave me big flavors without feeling stuffed.

After sharing my stories of Italian waiters disapproving of my Sicilian wine choices and Napoleon's sarcophagus-shaped bathtub, we went with a Corsican wine to settle the score.

Le Chapeau Cuvee Napolean, a Pinot Noir, had a picture of Napoleon and a light fresh-tasting fruitiness that wold have done the little corporal proud.

Meanwhile, Holmes pontificated on hard work, sonatas and generous exes.

There is always much laughter when the three of us get together, never more so than when we drink bubbles.

Tonight our dessert course (dark chocolate creme brule with sea salt and a trio of sorbets: orange, lime and raspberry) was accompanied by Domaine de Margalleau sparkling Vouray, an exceptional dry sparkler that carried us into the late hours with no problem as we discussed coupe versus flute and the virtues of pasta cooked in sauce.

As one who only accepted the virtues of pasta in the past two weeks, I didn't pay a lot of attention to their cooking tips.

Next time I want good pasta, I hope to head to Italy.

In the meantime, I'm appreciative of friends presenting themselves the first night I'm back.

Sorry, Grace Street theater and "Punishment Park."

As interesting as you sounded, nothing beats a friend or two requesting my company for wine, food and chatter on my first night back.

Some would call me easy.

I prefer to think of myself as open.