Sans Pink and White Checks

I got an unexpected invitation to take a road trip to Colonial Beach.

Not to get too sentimental, but my very first road trip in life was to Colonial Beach when I was two weeks old.

I've got the pictures to prove it - my impossibly young-looking (and proud) parents in bathing suits holding me, naked except for a pink and white checked diaper.

Since then, I've returned several times, always for my annual sister trip with four or five of my sisters (depending on who was unhappy with whom), so I knew it was a pleasant enough drive up 301.

So when I got asked today, I thought, hell yea why not?

I'd interviewed the curator I needed to, I figured I'd be back in time for my meet-up with friends, and the lure of a quick road trip was irresistible.

We made a stop at a farm to admire young chickens, a spoiled horse looking for treats and the most magnificent hedge I'd ever seen.

It resembled a scrunched-up caterpillar with a wild, woolly head of hair.

From there it was on to downtown Colonial Beach, a place where off-track betting ships sit out in the river, the better to serve the gaming needs of the golfcart-riding locals.

But our destination was the highly-recommended Lighthouse, an unlikely name for a Thai/French restaurant.

And by Thai/French, I don't mean a pastiche of the two, but a menu that is half Thai and half French.

And that's besides the extensive chalkboard menu of specials you have to read on your way in.

But I read it, knowing full-well I wouldn't remember it all, before being seated at a window-side table in the dining room, where we had a great view of the outdoor deck (with one couple on it) and the marina.

It took us all of a minute to notify our waiter we wanted to sit outside.

Perched at a red table and chairs, we inquired of the deck's only other inhabitants if bugs were a problem.

They insisted that an occasional raindrop was as unpleasant as it got.

Honestly, I wouldn't have wanted the weather to be any different than what it was - cloudy, warm and smelling like the river.

After ordering splits of bubbles, my companion informed me that the rockfish on the special board had his name on it.

I felt the need to recheck the board, since I couldn't recall if anything had my name on it, so I walked back inside.

To my disappointment, the softshell crab already had an "86" next to it, so I turned to our server who was hovering near me and asked what his favorite was.

"The scallops with bacon are my favroite," he quickly replied. "Those two ladies just had them, too. Ask them."

You know, I think I will interrupt a stranger's meal.

The two had nothing but praise for the scallops, but one warned me that there was lots of bacon, so I should be prepared for that.

Honey, I was born prepared for bacon.

The other told me that she'd had the scallop dish here last night, too.

Two nights in a row? Now there was an irrefutable recommendation.

Outside, we sipped our bubbles admiring the nearby osprey nest, the school of jumping minnows and the boathouse with a steeple just across the water.

Bad jokes about the lord's boats ensued.

Our salads arrived with the reddest tomatoes I've had this year and an array of lettuces, a fine start.

When our entrees came, they definitely qualified as tall food with a stack of grilled vegetables next to our fruits de mer.

My scallops were large and beautifully seared and, yes, there was an abundance of bacon to complement them, so the ladies were right on.

I can't speak to my companion's rockfish but it disappeared completely, always a good sign.

Over two more splits, we watched boat masts bobble in the wake of passing vessels and discussed art collecting, Walmart versus Washington, DC and mutual friends.

Walking back through the dining room to leave, the two women summoned me over for a report.

Not one to mince words, I assured them that their praise of the scallops had not been unwarranted and asked if they were locals.

I was surprised and delighted to hear that they were sisters, in from out of town for some shared time together.

In other words, a sister trip. Perfect.

Riding back down 301 enjoying conversation with my companion as dusk descended, bats swooping overhead, I thought how easy and comfortable the trip to Colonial Beach had been.

It's almost like I've been doing it my whole life.

Oh, wait, I have.

Mist Me Quick

There's something to be said for a birthday lunch looking at nearly naked men.

I went for a scenic drive up Route 301 to Fredricksburg to celebrate with my two favorite sisters (when you have five to choose from, some just rise to the top).

Standing on the street corner waiting for them, I knew they'd arrived when I heard, "Hey, honey, have much  you charge?" yelled from the window of a passing car. My baby sister, the card.

They arrived bearing presents and we decided to begin at Bistro Bethem at a sunny table with a view of the street.

Rose and beer were poured and we got down to eating while talking a mile a minute since it had been six months since we'd gotten together.

After so much rich food lately, I couldn't resist the whole avocado stuffed with Dragon Creek lump crab meat and micro-greens and pine nuts scattered over it then drizzled with EVOO.

I can never get enough crab and avocado is one of the few worthy vehicles for it, in my humble opinion.

We also shared a dish of grilled asparagus spears, Serrano ham,a sunny side up local organic egg and roasted red peppers; it was a hearty side salad to my crab.

All of a sudden our eyes were caught by a trio of girls outside the restaurant. Their faces and legs were panted deep blue and they were dancing on the sidewalk.

With no identifying clues, we couldn't imagine why, but we watched as traffic slowed and people pointed. Dancing girls, whatever. Back to present unwrapping.

From there we walked a half block to Kybecca WIne Bar for another course. The outside tables were being kept temperate by a fine mist released from the edges of the awnings. It was the first time I'd seen such a thing at a restaurant.

The chef, we were surprised to see, had cut his hair and shaved his beard, making for a striking change in his appearance, but he was just as friendly as ever.

I love the way their seating is arranged against the banquette with two additional chairs, making for three-tops, something I've never seen in Richmond either.

The beer drinker was excited about something hoppy and the other two of us got the Bebe Prosecco Rose, a beautiful deep pink bubbly that suited the festive and female occasion (celebrating me and talking about the other sisters).

Despite there being no appetizers on the brunch menu, we convinced the chef to do a cheese plate for us with little effort. The Epoisses de Bourgogne, a rich and strong-smelling washed rind cheese, was my favorite, oozy and pungent.

The Fromager d'Affinois, a cousin to Brie, but a triple creme was downright decadent (at 60% fat, I guess so). With the fig compote, it was heavenly.

The Beehive Barely Buzzed cheddar, our only hard cheese, was nutty, full-bodied and unique with its lavender, oil and coffee rubbed rind. I'm not a coffee drinker, but this totally worked for me.

As we sat there sipping and nibbling on our bread and cheeses, we looked out the window to see a trio of girls leading a duo of guys on pink leashes. The guys were dressed only in black Speedos.

And before you recoil, the guys had the bodies for Speedos, so it was okay. Actually, it is awesome eye candy and about as unexpected on the streets of downtown historic Fredericksburg as I could have imagined.

Again, there was nothing to indicate who they were or why they were doing this, so we just watched and enjoyed. I was prepared to step out under the mist if overheating became an issue.

And it's only my birthday eve. No telling what I might happen on tomorrow.