When Kirk asked me if I had a hot date tonight and if that was the reason I wasn't joining him and other folks at the Mint, I said, "Yes. I do have a hot date. With one very pretty lady." And, it was true. Eleanor is one very pretty lady, and she and I had a dinner date.
I hadn't seen her in what felt like forever (even though it must have only been a few weeks), I had tons of big news to fill her in on, and spending hours with her and catching up with our lives seemed worlds more appealing than listening to people belt out "Don't Stop Believin'" at a karaoke bar. Plus, it was part of my new goal of trying to be a better friend, which is not to say that I'm not a good friend already. I think I'm a great friend--incredibly loyal, thoughtful, caring--but, recently, I've come to the realization that I can make more of a concerted effort to spend time with the people I care about most and who have made living here home for me. So, it started with Eleanor.
She stopped by my house, where I was watching my boyfriend John Cusack in
Serendipity. I printed out our list of "Things to Eat Before Death," hoping that we would be able to cross one of those things off. But, upon closer inspection, we noticed that most of the places on our list weren't in San Francisco and most of the items listed weren't really dinner-time fare. So, off to Plan B: walk the block and a half to
Bar Jules and have dinner there.
I peeked in the tiny restaurant earlier on my walk home from work to see if Carlo was working but didn't see him. He might have been tucked behind a counter or something, but when Eleanor and I got there, our doubts of him working tonight were confirmed. Oh, well. We told the cute hostess that we would wait for our table and that, no, we didn't want wine just yet. We stood along the sidewalk and chatted. Bar Jules looked so charming at night, with its dim lighting and candles in short vases lining the wall, the single wall painted a cheery, bright blue, and all the diners looking so happy and engaged in the food and each other.
I was thinking of how things change in a year, and how, almost exactly one year ago, I had dinner with Eleanor, along with Colin and Scott, at Bar Jules. It had just opened so Scott and I had to go to the semi-sketchy liquor store up the street for a bottle of cheap wine since the restaurant didn't have its liquor license yet. I had just found out earlier that day that I wouldn't be going to Yale as I had hoped for. And, the four of us, were having a who-needs-them-anyhow celebration of me staying in San Francisco a little longer. Now, a year later, I was telling Eleanor of how, in not too many months, I might actually leave for another Ivy League school. As a fortune cookie once told Brynn: change--it's not a part of life, it IS life.
But, back to dinner. Eleanor and I got seated in a cozy corner spot next to the window. After straining to read the menu and some discussion on what looked best and assessing our level of hunger and how much our stomachs could take, we decided on sharing the carrot soup, the baked ricotta, the grilled quail, and the salmon. Eleanor ordered a glass of the Gruner Veltliner and I a glass of the Grenache.
Our food came out slowly, which was nice as it meant that we could space out all the food we were about to consume and we would have plenty of time to catch up. And, one of our servers was the guy with the sizable 'fro and large glasses who is always generous and patient with me at Bi-Rite Creamery, which, for whatever reason, made us both a little happier. The carrot soup was thick and sweet, with the fragrance of dill, and was a lovely, warm way to start the meal.
The baked ricotta came out next. I was assuming the ricotta to look like slices of baked polenta, but it wasn't. Instead, it was in a small dish on a plate with two slices of toasted, very buttery bread and some greens. The ricotta was rich and creamy, and we didn't have enough toasted bread slices for it, so I slathered the cheese liberally on to the bread we did have. I ate the salad with my fingers (with Eleanor's approval, of course) and could taste the individual grains of salt.
The quail followed, and it was two pieces of quail (we were both surprised at the generous portion) with artichoke hearts, portobello mushrooms, braised endive, and bone marrow sauce. The quail was delicious. It was tender and barely, perfectly, seasoned with just some salt. I told Eleanor I was going to eat that with my fingers too, and she whole-heartedly approved. I rubbed the pieces of quail on my fork all over the bone marrow sauce before popping it into my mouth. The Afro-ed server took our dish with the bone marrow sauce away before we could stop him, which was a little sad and disappointing.
Then, the female server asked if we were ready for dessert, and I said that we ordered the salmon too. Oh, she said. She didn't put that down but we'd get it right away. That was okay with us. It just meant we would have a little food break and that we would have more time to talk. When the salmon did arrive, I looked at it a little confused. Was this cheese on our fish? Nope, I remembered. It was a grated hard-boiled egg. The salmon was just barely cooked and still velvety. I couldn't really taste what the egg added to the dish. But, the beets and frisee were nice, though covered in a touch too much oil for my taste.
I was stuffed and a little warm after two glasses of wine. We decided against the chocolate nemesis, and agreed that she should call me when she has her random days off as I have plenty of sick and vacation hours to use up.
It was so lovely having sharing a leisurely meal with Eleanor. She was the best Friday night date I'd had in a little while, and I was so glad she took me home with her that one night several years ago. Over dinner we talked about my new goal of being a better friend, her goal of trying to be more open and how that is my goal too, and how I'm going to steal her motto for this year of "It's never too late."
