We're getting down to the wire.
My oh-so pregnant friend and I thought it best to schedule a long lunch before she becomes unexpectedly unavailable for lunch or anything else.
It was a no-brainer to end up at La Parisienne, our favorite obscure getaway for its sunny ambiance and patio.
Since we'd been in last, there had been some changes.
Now that they do a regular salsa dancing night, the dessert case is gone and a settee has replaced a couple of the former high tables.
Since we arrived toward the end of the lawyers' lunch hour (the building is crawling with them), we had no difficulty finding a shady outside table.
She orders the exact same salad and fries lunch every time we go while I switch it up, this time choosing the La Parisienne crepe, a combination of city ham and Swiss cheese.
I just like the sound of "city ham."
When I went to pay, she wasn't having any of it.
"My treat because I'm proud of you for starting to date," she said, beaming.
Now that's a good friend.
We sat outside in the afternoon sun talking about the men in my life - a couple of new suitors and a recurring character, someone she remembers me seeing a couple of years back.
From her, I heard about work frustrations and the impending life change of adding a baby to her already-hectic world.
I wouldn't want her life right now and she certainly wouldn't want mine.
On the other hand, in many ways, we are two of a kind.
To that point, a familiar face passed by us, spotted her, looked over at me and we watched as he realized that while he knew us both separately, he hadn't realized we knew each other.
His restaurant and music worlds were colliding right before his eyes.
"Did you see him get that "of course they're friends" look?" my friend laughed. I had.
We lingered outside so long that our poor server kept coming out just to check on us when there was nothing to check.
Eventually we got the hint and moved on.
Since we don't know how much more girl time we have, we were reluctant to end our date.
Instead, we drove to Bev's in Carytown for ice cream, something I'd suggested weeks ago after seeing the Big Star documentary when she'd declined.
Today, looking at the Labor Day weekend and the symbolic end of summer, it seemed like an ideal way to wrap up our afternoon.
She got fudge swirl and I asked for mint chocolate chip, but was served chocolate chip.
Close enough.
Today it was the company and the occasion that mattered more than anything else.
It'll be interesting to see where the two of us are next time we can wile away an afternoon like we did today.
Here's to change and whatever it may bring.
Showing posts with label ladies who lunch. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ladies who lunch. Show all posts
Friday, August 30, 2013
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Lunching It Old School
If I'm going to Phil's for lunch, I may as well go with a UR guy.
Granted, his memories of being a UR student are a bit dim at this point, but devotion to Phil's is still in his blood.
When we arrived in the mid-day sunshine, the place was bursting at the seams with moms in tennis skirts holding toddlers' hands, businessmen types and older couples.
My friend and I grab the only available seats: the two stools at the end of the bar.
Unfortunately, that means we are facing the three big screens, but we turn to face each other and ignore them.
Glancing at the tried and true menu, I decide to go the '60s "ladies who lunch" route, ordering the chicken salad plate with cottage cheese.
My friend reminds me that, in spite of my lunch choice, I could never pass for such a woman.
He barely looks at the menu and decides to order something not on it. UR types do that sort of thing.
"I'll have the Junior Club," he says, knowing instinctively that they still have it.
They do.
He justifies it by saying that it has less bread. Even so, by the time he finishes, he observes, "I feel great right now, but I'm going to regret that later."
Looking around at the old photographs on the wall, he points to the one of "Dry Dock," the luncheonette he remembers from his days at UR.
Let's just say that it didn't look like a very diverse kind of place. In fact, it looked like the kind of place they should have had a sit-in during the civil rights era.
Then the food comes and it's pure Phil's.
My chicken salad is flavorful and not over mayonaised. His club has real turkey rather than deli turkey and we both adore the thick-sliced sweet pickles.
He sucks back his limeade, reminding me that it's bad for him. Every last drop apparently is bad for him.
By the time we finish eating, the crowd has thinned noticeably so we linger to chat.
And while he amused me on any number of subjects, I laughed the hardest when he said, "That's not being adventurous, that's being wise."
In fact, I laughed so hard that my face turned color, according to him.
A close second: "Okay, stop there. If I need more, I'll rent a movie."
University of Richmond guys: not usually my type, but they make hilarious friends.
No matter how hard a time they give you.
And while I'm not sure I could have fit in at Dry Dock, they're the best possible company at Phil's.
Granted, his memories of being a UR student are a bit dim at this point, but devotion to Phil's is still in his blood.
When we arrived in the mid-day sunshine, the place was bursting at the seams with moms in tennis skirts holding toddlers' hands, businessmen types and older couples.
My friend and I grab the only available seats: the two stools at the end of the bar.
Unfortunately, that means we are facing the three big screens, but we turn to face each other and ignore them.
Glancing at the tried and true menu, I decide to go the '60s "ladies who lunch" route, ordering the chicken salad plate with cottage cheese.
My friend reminds me that, in spite of my lunch choice, I could never pass for such a woman.
He barely looks at the menu and decides to order something not on it. UR types do that sort of thing.
"I'll have the Junior Club," he says, knowing instinctively that they still have it.
They do.
He justifies it by saying that it has less bread. Even so, by the time he finishes, he observes, "I feel great right now, but I'm going to regret that later."
Looking around at the old photographs on the wall, he points to the one of "Dry Dock," the luncheonette he remembers from his days at UR.
Let's just say that it didn't look like a very diverse kind of place. In fact, it looked like the kind of place they should have had a sit-in during the civil rights era.
Then the food comes and it's pure Phil's.
My chicken salad is flavorful and not over mayonaised. His club has real turkey rather than deli turkey and we both adore the thick-sliced sweet pickles.
He sucks back his limeade, reminding me that it's bad for him. Every last drop apparently is bad for him.
By the time we finish eating, the crowd has thinned noticeably so we linger to chat.
And while he amused me on any number of subjects, I laughed the hardest when he said, "That's not being adventurous, that's being wise."
In fact, I laughed so hard that my face turned color, according to him.
A close second: "Okay, stop there. If I need more, I'll rent a movie."
University of Richmond guys: not usually my type, but they make hilarious friends.
No matter how hard a time they give you.
And while I'm not sure I could have fit in at Dry Dock, they're the best possible company at Phil's.
Friday, March 5, 2010
Lunching with a Lawyer at Garnett's
What's a lawyer's favorite clothing? A LAW suit. Corny but not always true. I had lunch today with a good friend who's a lawyer and he was wearing jeans, a sweater and Chuck Taylors; there was nothing lawyerly about him except his tasteful office overlooking the Lee statue on Monument Avenue (which I have to say had a magnificent view from his third floor window).
He couldn't be more pleased since Garnett's opened, given its proximity, so it was his suggestion for lunch. Still on my quest to taste every sandwich there, I was happy to oblige. We strolled over during the heart of the lunch rush, but miraculously there were two tables open and we took the one closest to the kitchen so as to admire the outbound food.
Today's soup sounded so appealing that we both had to order it. It was ham, potatoes, pepperoni, onion and garbanzo beans in a clear broth, which only made it all the more enticing. I told Mac how great I thought his soup was and he teased me with, "What did you expect?" Mac's humor and humility are two of his best qualities. He said that that recipe was a creation of his father's, which didn't surprise me in the least. Or, as my lawyer friend put it, "If it's got pepperoni in it, a man came up with it." Now that I think about it, that's probably true; men are inordinately fond of pepperoni, although I never turn it down either and I'm anything but a guy.
After such a magnificent first course, we decided to split a sandwich (which still counts toward my goal of trying them all) and agreed upon the Black Forest Ham with Gorgonzola and apple slices on toasted wheat bread. Three thick roll-ups of ham sat atop an array of sliced apples and a seriously thick layer of Gorgonzola. The varying textures, the richness of the cheese and apples, the thickness of it all made for an out-of-the-ordinary sandwich we both were impressed with.
You don't eat a half sandwich without expecting desert afterwards, so we got the chocolate cake with chocolate icing and two forks. I've had it before and I'll undoubtedly have it again. Enough said.
Walking back to my friend's office, he was telling me that his car had been in the shop for three weeks because it only intermittently played music. Completely unacceptable, we agreed. One of the most important parts of a car's function is to provide a musical soundtrack to a person's driving and he was willing to leave the car as long as it took for the problem to be solved. It came down to a software patch and he now has the full use of his vehicle again.
If he sounds like a music fanatic, he is. His smarts and humor aside, that's probably my favorite thing about him. In fact, in deference to his musical enthusiasm, I'll even forgo any more bad lawyer jokes.
He couldn't be more pleased since Garnett's opened, given its proximity, so it was his suggestion for lunch. Still on my quest to taste every sandwich there, I was happy to oblige. We strolled over during the heart of the lunch rush, but miraculously there were two tables open and we took the one closest to the kitchen so as to admire the outbound food.
Today's soup sounded so appealing that we both had to order it. It was ham, potatoes, pepperoni, onion and garbanzo beans in a clear broth, which only made it all the more enticing. I told Mac how great I thought his soup was and he teased me with, "What did you expect?" Mac's humor and humility are two of his best qualities. He said that that recipe was a creation of his father's, which didn't surprise me in the least. Or, as my lawyer friend put it, "If it's got pepperoni in it, a man came up with it." Now that I think about it, that's probably true; men are inordinately fond of pepperoni, although I never turn it down either and I'm anything but a guy.
After such a magnificent first course, we decided to split a sandwich (which still counts toward my goal of trying them all) and agreed upon the Black Forest Ham with Gorgonzola and apple slices on toasted wheat bread. Three thick roll-ups of ham sat atop an array of sliced apples and a seriously thick layer of Gorgonzola. The varying textures, the richness of the cheese and apples, the thickness of it all made for an out-of-the-ordinary sandwich we both were impressed with.
You don't eat a half sandwich without expecting desert afterwards, so we got the chocolate cake with chocolate icing and two forks. I've had it before and I'll undoubtedly have it again. Enough said.
Walking back to my friend's office, he was telling me that his car had been in the shop for three weeks because it only intermittently played music. Completely unacceptable, we agreed. One of the most important parts of a car's function is to provide a musical soundtrack to a person's driving and he was willing to leave the car as long as it took for the problem to be solved. It came down to a software patch and he now has the full use of his vehicle again.
If he sounds like a music fanatic, he is. His smarts and humor aside, that's probably my favorite thing about him. In fact, in deference to his musical enthusiasm, I'll even forgo any more bad lawyer jokes.
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
Bountiful Lunch at Balliceaux
My plans to meet a friend last night at Balliceaux had to be postponed until lunch today, but given the gloomy skies, it was a great day for lunch out anyway. Since she'd never been but had heard about the very un-Richmond-like decor and interesting food, we did the full tour of the renovated space first and then covered as much of the menu as two lunchers could hope to.
The damp and cold outside made us suckers for soup; I had the split pea and Italian sausage and she savored the creamy seafood stew with rock fish, oysters, bacon and fennel. In fact, she was so inspired by the stew that I expect she'll be making some of her own very soon. Not me, I'll just enjoy the efforts of other soup makers.
Choosing a sandwich was more difficult, so we settled for our top two favorites and agreed to split them so we could each have half. I wanted the Morta Torta, consisting of shaved Mortadella with melted Raclette (like Swiss, the server told me, but with more of an assertive personality), and pickled peppers on crusty bread. Served warm, it was a salty, fatty, flavorful delight.
She got the shaved leg of lamb with arugula, red onion and pommery aioli, also on a roll. The arugula and red onion added the perfect punch to the lamb, although we both agreed that the lamb being so cold detracted a bit from the overall effect. Still, it was delicious, just not quite as good as it would have been at room temperature. Both sandwiches came with mountain o' fries, crisp and salty and unnecessary, but then we didn't have to eat so many of them, either. Perhaps it was the discussion of the secret sex signal that distracted us from noticing how many we ate.
But we did have to have dessert and with only one chocolate option, our choice was pre-determined. The mocha torte was cake and mousse covered in chocolate ganache and served with berries and hazelnut ice cream. The thick coating of ganache would have made whatever was inside irrelevant, but actually it was lovely and the ice cream's unusual flavor was worth experiencing with the torte.
My friend was amazed at the transformation of Bogart's Back Room into the sleek 60s light-filled destination that it now is. Despite my raves about the shows back there, she admitted that it's unlikely she'd be back for late night music, but I feel certain she'll want to add Balliceaux to our Ladies Who Lunch List of worthy destinations.
I'll just have to remember not to make dinner plans on days that we end up at Balliceaux for lunch.
The damp and cold outside made us suckers for soup; I had the split pea and Italian sausage and she savored the creamy seafood stew with rock fish, oysters, bacon and fennel. In fact, she was so inspired by the stew that I expect she'll be making some of her own very soon. Not me, I'll just enjoy the efforts of other soup makers.
Choosing a sandwich was more difficult, so we settled for our top two favorites and agreed to split them so we could each have half. I wanted the Morta Torta, consisting of shaved Mortadella with melted Raclette (like Swiss, the server told me, but with more of an assertive personality), and pickled peppers on crusty bread. Served warm, it was a salty, fatty, flavorful delight.
She got the shaved leg of lamb with arugula, red onion and pommery aioli, also on a roll. The arugula and red onion added the perfect punch to the lamb, although we both agreed that the lamb being so cold detracted a bit from the overall effect. Still, it was delicious, just not quite as good as it would have been at room temperature. Both sandwiches came with mountain o' fries, crisp and salty and unnecessary, but then we didn't have to eat so many of them, either. Perhaps it was the discussion of the secret sex signal that distracted us from noticing how many we ate.
But we did have to have dessert and with only one chocolate option, our choice was pre-determined. The mocha torte was cake and mousse covered in chocolate ganache and served with berries and hazelnut ice cream. The thick coating of ganache would have made whatever was inside irrelevant, but actually it was lovely and the ice cream's unusual flavor was worth experiencing with the torte.
My friend was amazed at the transformation of Bogart's Back Room into the sleek 60s light-filled destination that it now is. Despite my raves about the shows back there, she admitted that it's unlikely she'd be back for late night music, but I feel certain she'll want to add Balliceaux to our Ladies Who Lunch List of worthy destinations.
I'll just have to remember not to make dinner plans on days that we end up at Balliceaux for lunch.
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Ladies Who Lunch at Chez Foushee
Sometimes girls simply must put on their pearls and lunch like grown-ups.
Okay, so I don't wear jewelry (much less own pearls) and my friend had no idea where we were going, so hers were at home, but Chez Foushee definitely has the ambiance of a place where those types can be found mid-day.
And, just for the record, I saw three women in pearls there today.
All of my male friends who have eaten at Chez Foushee have essentially said the same thing about it: the chairs and portions are inadequate for their needs.
Having an X chromosome, however, neither of those things have ever been an issue for me.
And it's not like there aren't plenty of businessmen types there on an given day, so clearly some men are able to satisfy their appetites and posteriors there.
I may have fulfilled a stereotype by being one of those women who order a quiche or salad for lunch, but I couldn't resist the Asian Pot Sticker Salad (steamed pork and shrimp pot stickers over mixed greens with Asian dressing, peanuts, red peppers, carrots and crispy noodles).
My pearl-less friend got the grilled salmon with capellini, zucchini and squash matchsticks in a Putenesca sauce with unusually good iced tea.
Unlike the real ladies who lunch, we are not old money, nor do we plan charity events.
What we do after a delicious girls' lunch out is order dessert, in this case the bourbon chocolate pecan pie with Chantilly cream.
We also aren't Southerners, but a little bourbon on the palate after lunch sits awfully well with both of us.
Despite neither of us having actually been there, we imagine the Miller & Rhodes Tea Room must have been a lot like Chez Foushee feels today.
We'll call it nouveau southern fem.
Good iced tea, appealing girl food and bourbon-soaked dessert.
Pearls not required.
Okay, so I don't wear jewelry (much less own pearls) and my friend had no idea where we were going, so hers were at home, but Chez Foushee definitely has the ambiance of a place where those types can be found mid-day.
And, just for the record, I saw three women in pearls there today.
All of my male friends who have eaten at Chez Foushee have essentially said the same thing about it: the chairs and portions are inadequate for their needs.
Having an X chromosome, however, neither of those things have ever been an issue for me.
And it's not like there aren't plenty of businessmen types there on an given day, so clearly some men are able to satisfy their appetites and posteriors there.
I may have fulfilled a stereotype by being one of those women who order a quiche or salad for lunch, but I couldn't resist the Asian Pot Sticker Salad (steamed pork and shrimp pot stickers over mixed greens with Asian dressing, peanuts, red peppers, carrots and crispy noodles).
My pearl-less friend got the grilled salmon with capellini, zucchini and squash matchsticks in a Putenesca sauce with unusually good iced tea.
Unlike the real ladies who lunch, we are not old money, nor do we plan charity events.
What we do after a delicious girls' lunch out is order dessert, in this case the bourbon chocolate pecan pie with Chantilly cream.
We also aren't Southerners, but a little bourbon on the palate after lunch sits awfully well with both of us.
Despite neither of us having actually been there, we imagine the Miller & Rhodes Tea Room must have been a lot like Chez Foushee feels today.
We'll call it nouveau southern fem.
Good iced tea, appealing girl food and bourbon-soaked dessert.
Pearls not required.
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