Sunlight Makes Me Paranoid

So it was a friend's birthday but I got to choose the place to celebrate.

Bistro Bobette is one of my friend's favorite restaurants, so while I decided on it, he happily complied.

I was coming straight from doing an interview at Plant Zero, so he was already ensconced at a table when I breezed in late into lunchtime.

We did some quick catch-up.

He's just over the crud that's been going around, had a getaway to a snow-covered cabin in West Virginia recently and bragged about an overseas record find.

A Neil Young concert recorded in the Netherlands and unearthed in a Dublin record store.

Nice, very nice.

Since he'd already decided on the triple cut burger on bricohe (although, sadly, he wanted no cheese on it) and frites, I wasted no time in making up my mind.

With our cow base covered, I went for the sauteed rainbow trout in almond butter with shallot-sauteed haricot verts.

Since we were doing a day-late celebration of his birthday, he ordered a bottle of 2009 Chateau Valcombe, a supple and rich Cote du Rhone ideal for a gray day.

It matched the Pink Martini station playing in the background, lulling us into relaxed long lunch mode.

We shared off of each other's plates, including a bacon "orphan" off his burger that he generously handed me, while the conversation ran the gamut from the pleasures of pig at Publican in Chicago to U-shaped raw bars to the latest Dylan album.

When our server noticed we'd given up on eating, he asked tentatively about dessert.

Since part of the motivation in ordering the Cotes du Rhone had been for the pleasure of having it with chocolate, he got an enthusiastic "bien sur" in response.

The chocolate crousillant with its layers of cake, mousse and crushed hazelnut made both the birthday boy and his guest very happy.

As we finished it up, we heard a woman tell a man behind us, "Just don't tell your wife," a warning that inspired wonder about the circumstances of the conversation.

But ours was not to judge.

All at once a woman came around the divider, exclaiming when she saw me, "Look who's here in the daylight!"

I could say the same about her since it's almost always night time when we run into each other.

A conversation about the newest restaurants ensued as we compared notes about the places we've both been lately.

We got so caught up in it we even made plans to meet up for dinner soon to check out a place she hasn't been.

I have, but I'm willing to give the place a second try for her sake. Anything for a friend.

The birthday boy and I had stayed so long that eventually the chef came out and joined our discussion, telling us which new places he'd tried and what he thought of them.

He was curious about Godfrey's drag brunch, wanting the scoop there.

As far as I'm concerned, they're the original Grace Street pioneers.

Walking out, my friend observed that the roundtable with the chef had been the perfect ending to his delicious birthday lunch.

Some of us sure know how to pick 'em, if I do say so myself.

And I do.

Welcome Back, Old Friend

If you invite me, I will come.

So when the bartender at Bistro Bobette messaged me reminding me that it had been a while since I'd been at his bar, I took note.

And when a friend from Maryland said she'd be in town tonight and wanted to met up with me and a favorite couple, where better to go than Bobette?

They had a nice little crowd already in place when we arrived, pleasing the out-of-towner who wanted a lively scene.

Conveniently, there were two seats together open at the bar when we arrived, another stool next to a regular who said hello (and kindly asked if I'd lost weight!) and the two stools nearby were vacated within minutes.

Our party of five took over the little bar and the bartender was impressed that his message to me had worked.

Hey, I am nothing if not responsive, one way or the other.

While the other three stayed festive with Cremant d'Alsace, my date and I opted for Chateau de Vinigelais Courbieres 2010.

Deciding on food at Bobette is doubly enjoyable because they have two menus, one for the dining room and another for the bar.

The bar is the place for surprises and great deals, so I like to look there first.

But Holmes was sure we needed oysters, so we got the last ten in the house, scoring a couple each.

It must have been a busy night because they were already out of baguettes and that's saying something at Bobette.

So while the two of us have yet to have Bob's dog together (sure, I've had it more times than I can count), we weren't going to have it tonight sans baguette.

A travesty!

And yet one in our party braved it for the sake of that exquisite Sausagecraft dog.

My interest was piqued by the chicon, a special on tonight's bar menu.

Poached endive was covered in Parisian ham, Gruyere and Swiss cheese for an obscenely rich starter that had the regular curious and the other couple placing a late order of it.

The bartender had been correct in chiding me about not having been in in a while.

I found out that my favorite wine geek had taken a prestigious wine position befitting his encyclopedic knowledge of all things grape.

The owner teased me about my absence, but all I could focus on was her new hairstyle which looked fabulous on her.

I was as surprised to learn that she had curly hair as she was to learn mine is straight.

Naturally we each wished we had the other's hair. Isn't that always the way?

My visiting friend was doing her best to convince us all to come visit for a community weekend, although she mentioned one slight problem.

There are no doors on the bedrooms in her '30s-era bungalow on the Chesapeake Bay.

Seems a tad cozy, if you know what I mean.

While she moved on to the steak frites and mixed pickled veggies (with just the right amount of tang), we ordered the Bobette burger with frites and were rewarded with a well-seasoned burger smothered in Camembert and at barely medium rare, tasting more of steak tartare than a conventional burger.

In other words, yum.

After a mound of salty fries, all I could think about was something sweet, so we ordered the chocolate hazelnut crousillant.

The dense chocolate dessert with a layer of hazelnut crunch was swoon-worthy, causing the couple in our group to order the same.

Sadly, we had gotten the last one.

Or maybe appropriately since it felt like my treat for showing up on demand.

I can be easy when I want to.

Use Me to Get to the UK

I'd like to think that it was a birthday lunch, but it was really all about British Airway points.

A long-time friend had suggested Bistro Bobbette for my birthday celebration today. That's one place that will get no argument from me ever.

After a miscommunication about where we were meeting, I finally arrived to find him halfway through a glass of Courbieres and a plate of country pate. So much for waiting for the birthday girl.

I quickly ordered some Muscadet and dove into his pate and cornichons, always a great way to start a meal at Bobette.

He felt guilty about misreading my message and making me late, but as far as I'm concerned, guilt is a great way to start a birthday lunch.

One of today's specials was a salmon terrine with spring veggies and  I wanted that for my starter. Creamy and pink, its delicate salmon flavor was a delightful spring-like beginning to my meal.

The way I see it, if someone else is willing to go to the trouble to make a terrine, I'll be the first in line to eat it. This one was no exception.

My friend was sharing with me that our lunch was the inaugural purchase on his new credit card, acquired solely for the British Airways mileage points he'd accrue through using it.

He knew a birthday lunch with me at Bobette would get him off to a great start mileage-wise. Before he knew it, he'd be in Ireland or Wales.

Our main course reflected a special and a standby, both strengths at this place. He ordered the lamb brochette over cous cous and I got the trout amandine over French green beans.

The lamb was barely medium rare, pink and perfect, and my trout crispy and buttery at the same time. We both agreed that the green beans were praise-worthy, crisp, fresh-tasting and buttery. Coincidentally, we'd both chosen the right wines for our entrees.

When it came time to refill, my friend had a surprise suggestion for me. Rather than another Muscadet, his perusal of the cocktail list had him suggesting a Bobette as the ideal libation for me now.

 And while I rarely venture beyond wine or good tequila (okay, or a good absinthe drip), this sounded tempting. "I think you'd like it," he said sweetly. What a guy!

Sparkling wine, Campari and an hibiscus flower made for a beautiful drink that tasted as good as it looked. Silly me, I assumed he'd suggested it for its festive quality but he laid it out for me.

"That gets me fifteen B.A. points," he laughed, losing him all his thoughtful friend points. It didn't matter because I like it and, to our server's great satisfaction, I also ate the flower at the end of the drink. According to her, most people leave it. Tragic.

Our final course was the croustillant with its multiple layers of crispy and creamy chocolate and just lovely with the Bobette and the end of his Courbieres.  By then, we were done. Stick a fork in us.

"Can I come to your place and take a nap?" he asked, not for the first time. Negative, I answered. "But I need to see your bookshelves," he countered, smiling.

It's true, every guy should see my bookshelves; it can only help a person understand who I am. But I can't let just everyone see my bookshelves, now can I?

Even birthday girls need to exercise a little restraint. I've got to; there's days left to go in this celebration.

Hate On Style Readers! I'm Having a Hot Dog

Well, the haters are back and all because I had the temerity to complete an assignment for Style Weekly.

When Style asked me to write an essay about dining out alone, I did, here. You see, I'm a freelance writer and I write for pay, so I write what I'm paid to write, unlike the blog where I get to choose my topics. And that's apparently what ignited the posters' ire.

The story had barely shown up online before the haters reared their ugly and anonymous heads. Issac summed it up well: "F**k 'em. Trolls hang out in the comments section every week. Tell them to ask for a refund if they aren't happy."

And why is it that negative commenters never have the nerve to use their real names? Tess had a theory: "The trolls do protest too much methinks. Sigh...Anonymity is such a cowardly thing to hide behind when you only have negative things to say. If they were TRULY uninterested in you, then they wouldn't even read your blog/articles. The fact that they're even commenting shows their interest. Bam."

Several people agreed with Enzo, who said, "Adhere to the philosophy of: if you're not pissing off somebody (especially as a writer), you're not doing your job properly."

If he's right, I'm doing a damn fine job at this, especially considering I was just completing an assignment.

It was with that brouhaha festering that I took flight tonight despite the snowfall and messy streets to find a welcoming place to eat and drink and forget about such nonsense.

Bistro Bobette welcomed me in from the cold and wet and provided a lovely respite from the online fracas. There were only two other tables occupied when I arrived, but other sanctuary-seekers continued to arrive throughout the evening (including a local restaurateur who came over to say hello).

Wine was the first order of the night and the well-balanced and spicy 2007 l'Appel des Sereinas Syrah was just the thing to take the sting out of the haters' comments.

I'd come with a purpose; I wanted to eat the hot dog I'd so enjoyed bites of at BB's recent party. Called Bob's Dog, it's only available at lunch or at the bar, so I was in the right place to finally partake of it as the chef intended.

That would mean his own recipe was used by the masters at Sausagecraft to produce a hot dog so unlike any other hot dog you've ever put in your mouth. Nestled in a baguette, it was dressed with harissa mustard with melted Gruyere on top. A mound of frites cozied up next to the dog.

When I asked the chef why he used Gruyere, he said simply, "Because I grew up with it." Hey, it's his creation, so he can make any executive decision he likes.

The hot dog was sheer heaven. It could have been naked and it would still have been outstanding, but surrounded by that baguette, slathered in spicy mustard and covered in melted cheese, it bordered on a religious experience. I used the frites to cool the heat from the mustard.

My server had come out from the kitchen and said, "Seeing him make yours makes me want one." I had responded with, "What do you think is going to happen when you see me eating it?"

Music was courtesy of Pandora with Thievery Corporation as a starting point, and I was enjoying the mix,but it soon became unacceptable to the staff.

It was switched to Buena Vista Social Club as the launch and one server said, "Nothing like Spanish music in a French restaurant," to which I responded, "And while I eat a hot dog." It was truly a multi-cultural experience.

For a change, I was all alone at the bar, but eventually the chef came out and joined me for wine and discussion of fish (red mullet, Dover sole and smoked bluefish), the power of DC critics (we both know one) and Restaurant Week (like me, he agreed that it should be moved to January or August, when local restaurants really need the business).

The syrah was calling for chocolate, so I asked for the croustillant, a flaky chocolate crust covered in a dark chocolate mousse. One of the servers walked by and noted, "I bet those two are good together." Yes, ma'am, they are.

Best of all, I hadn't given a second thought to my online enemies while I was enjoying so much good food and drink. That's the power of a great hot dog; it pushes everything else right out of your head.

But driving home, I began to wonder what new criticism would await me. Instead, Dave expressed bewilderment, "I can't for the life of me figure out why anyone would hate a blog about simply living life, eating great food, seeing great music, conversing with friends and strangers, and enjoying what our city has to offer..."

I'd have thrown my arms around him if he'd said that to my face at that point. You can hate me all you want, but all I'm trying to do is point out what a great place this is to enjoy life.

No doubt that statement will garner me even more haters. Oh, well.