Eating again

Yesterday, I went for lunch to the restaurant formerly known as the Fiddlehead, with the original owner of the Fiddlehead. So odd. I don't usually like to go there, I break out in post-traumatic stress symptoms almost immediately, plus last spring I totally peeved the main waiter "Steve-o" by stepping in to coordinate dinner service for a fund-raiser we did there when it became evident the wait staff was inexperienced at that sort of banquet dinner service and the kitchen needed some clear communications from the floor,and so he dislikes me, but I have to say the lunch was just fine. Good iced tea, nice French Dip (not as good as the old Mike's Place with real left-over prime rib, but still nice), good bread, decent salad. I am getting to the age where I need to wear a pill box hat with flowers on it and John's grandmother's mink stole when I go to lunch because darn it waiters with chains and piercings are cute and all but a little unsettling as food handlers. The young piercee was in fact quite proficient and friendly, so I guess I just need to get with the times.

Once again, John made a stellar dinner, London broil, beautiful (greens, oranges, translucents) steamed veggies, oven-fried potatos (did you see the article in the NY Times about going organic? It recommends getting organic potatoes for sure. These were "from the box") a tossed salad, and organic Golden Delicious apples. We enjoyed a Blackstone Zinfandel, on the grape-y fruity side of red wine, and once again managed to finish an entire bottle with dinner. John says it is because we talk a lot. Perhaps so. Every day we are so fortunate: Today again, we heard of friends whose health is not good. We have our health and we eat well. What more is there?
Well, we could have our friends and family at the table too, that would complete the picture.