The Bar as Community Table

There are advantages to being bar sitters.

It was after 7:30 when a couple of friends and I decided to walk over to Kuba, Kuba for dinner.

We're no fools, so we were fully aware that going to Kuba, Kuba on a Saturday night was foolhardy (add in Chelsea Handler and you could call it downright stupid).

But, risk-takers that we are, we put foot to path.

Kuba, Kuba was mobbed; people were waiting outside and in. As we stood there assessing, we noticed a couple of bar stools being vacated.

We paused long enough to see if any of the waiting crowd wanted the seats, but everyone was holding out for a table.

With that barrier out of the way, two of us happily planted ourselves.

The guy sitting next to me, seeing my farmer friend standing between us (this time it was a man sandwich), offered us his seat since he was only waiting for take-out.

We accepted his offer, resulting in our little group being seated within five minutes of walking in the door. Fate!

All three of us had had long and busy days, so we were starving.

I got the mussels in Tasso ham broth, she got the paella and he got the salmon.

I thoroughly enjoyed my mussels and ham and soaked up as much of that cilantro-laced broth as I had room for, then passed the rest of it to the farmer for his dipping pleasure.

My friend ate the seafood out of her paella and as much of the flavorful rice as she could hold and then passed the rest of her bowl to the farmer.

The farmer finished his salmon with its accompanying salad and fruit medley (praising the watermelon for its sweetness), slathered butter over his own Cuban toast and then used my friend's leftover bread to sop up my broth and finally finished off the rest of her rice.

His Clean Plate Star was awarded, although he probably deserved three.

Clearly men and women define starving differently, although the man had worked the land for 13 hours today, so his activity level trumped ours in spades.

We teased him because we could see him rejuvenate as he ate.

We also teased him because the two of us know what topics to bring up to make him blush red in the face, right down into his shirt collar.

There may have been some intentional baiting just for the pleasure of watching his reaction.

As we were finishing our food, we noticed some of the people who had been waiting when we arrived finally being seated.

On the one hand, we felt bad for them because they must have been famished by then.

On the other hand, we'd offered the bar seats to them first and they'd declined.

We settled for admiring their ability to delay gratification, something we hadn't been as keen on doing.

Our willingness to barsit had not only fed us fast, but we now had time to leisurely sip our wine and chat up the late coming arrivals, several of whom had also been at Veggie Fest today.

Being at the bar felt like a community table where everyone was welcome, the staff participated and all conversation became communal.

I totally respect those who choose to wait for a table, but I'll never understand it.

Barsitting: all the fun and none of the wait.

Besides, where else can you get a compliment about the view from behind?

Tennis Balls Add Up to Bistro 27

Sometimes a person doesn't even need to decide what's next because Fate offers up a little reminder for them.

As an example, I was out walking the dog this afternoon when I was greeted by two guys playing tennis on the courts near my apartment.

Sure enough, it was two of the staff from Bistro 27 going at it on the courts on a beautiful sunny day.

We chatted for it a bit and they went back to their match (for the record, Kevin won).

An hour or so later, as B.S.F. and I were trying to decide on a dinner destination for the evening, it occurred to me that I was overdue at 27.

B.S.F. made it to my place by 7ish, spent some time wooing the beagle and chatting me up and eventually we walked over to the restaurant, enjoying the warmer than usual stroll through the November air.

It was a decent-sized crowd for a Monday night, but then a 21-top always makes a big difference on an off night.

I ran into a couple of girlfriends I hadn't seen for a bit and, as it turned out (because this is Richmond-small-town-VA), B.S.F. had at least a half dozen connections to them as well.

Forget seven degrees of separation; in Richmond, it's more like four or five, which is actually pretty cool.

They shared in our conversations of wine, food get-togethers, UR and the joys of 2 Amys.

We eventually got to the point where they suggested we swap wine (for tasting purposes only, of course) and that's always a good sign.

For the record, B.S.G. had the paella and rated it extremely highly compared to others he's had around town.

I had the bacon-wrapped scallops, mainly because I hadn't had them in months and it was what the staff expected of me and I hate to let them down.

The catch phrase of the evening was, "May I speak freely here?" which led to some unexpected revelations...on both our parts.

Rhetorical questions were left unanswered (why state the obvious, after all?) and viola jokes were abundant.

My girlfriends may even have begun to figure out B.S.G. by the end of it all and that's saying something.

And, yes, we were the last four out, for what it's worth.

And all because two guys were batting a ball around on a sunny day.

Funny, that.