Eden at Eve

As a result of my lacking a full-time, masculine companion, when certain events like promotions come along, their proper commemoration necessitates a solo dining experience, as was the case for me today and tonight. To celebrate my joining the ranks of other barely-qualified government employees, I decided to spend my extra funds (before they arrive in my paycheck) at Restaurant Eve, a four-star restaurant in Alexandria, blocks from my apartment.

I waited 25 minutes for a table. This is rare for me to have the patience to wait. But the thought of turning around after waiting 10 minutes, then 20, and retreating to my apartment for pre-made ravioli and Bud Light was unacceptable to a person now in the upper echelons of government service. So, I was finally seated.

Restaurant Eve is a couples restaurant: people celebrate birthdays, anniversaries, and corporate events together there... I suspect, judging from the age-mismatched pair next to me, people also celebrate their mistresses' very existence. So, this is not the most appropriate place for a mid-level civil servant to celebrate alone. However, I forged ahead and was quite busy observing the woman in the leopard-print raincoat-ish slicker/shirt in front of me, listening to my waitress talk about her "photogenic memory," and eavesdropping on the waiter-in-training busyboy discuss his flashcard practices for memorizing menu items.

The Bistro at Restaurant Eve

Without the assistance of the attractive and precocious young sommelier, I chose a Chenin. I'm not sure what this is because the only interaction I had with him was him was trying to steal my bread before I was completely renconciled to parting with it. This correctly suggests that the bread (warm ciabatta) was delicious.

I ordered my appetizer because I saw the Barefoot Contessa make in on TV months ago. It's called Gravlax, a Norwegian-style cured smoked salmon. It was quite huge for a fancy place: a long rectangular plate that tapered a bit at the end, with enthusiastically pink salmon garnished with dill and a sauce of cream/egg/mustard seeds. On top was a wisp of a cracker shaped sort of like the end of a leek (the flat green end, not the rooty white end). Some random waiter filling up my water asked how I liked it and I nodded like a little kid who just took a bit bite of a 'smore.

Dinner ($38--I won't even think of how many fish farms I could have bought for this price) was Red Snapper with flirtatiously fall flavoring (it tasted like the weather: warm with just a suggestion of the impending autumn). The fish was crispy on top and moist on the bottom, cushioned by caramelized onions, mustard greens, butternut squash, apples, and garam masala spices. It was extremely delicate but still quite hearty.

Dessert was probably the most amusing, because the flavors alternated between citrusy and mature fruit: I had mini-football scoops of plum sorbet, nectarine sorbet, and peace ice cream. Each was topped with a little flowered lemon cookie. Each scoop rested in a recessed circle in a rectangular glass plate.

I realized two interesting things tonight, though. I prefer having a male waiter, first of all. I find there is less pity and surprise in their face when I arrive alone. Also, they typically better appreciate the complicated process that comprises my decision making. And they're just more delighted I'm having a good time, albeit alone; I guess it's probably because they know that single girls with male waiters leave good tips. But I'm equal opportunity.

Secondly, I realized that dining alone removes some of the gloss of dining out at a fancy restaurant. You hear the little squabbles between employees, you know their pecking order and who is in training and who is doing the instructing, and you witness the quiet reprimands they give to each other. It's probably like being at Disney World: if you move fast enough, the trash doesn't exist and Mickey's head is screwed on straight. If you sit and observe for a while, I guess you would probably see the bored janitor sweeping up the crumpled Mickey ears and Grumpy the dwarf checking his watch to see if his shift is over. That's not meant to be entirely cynical, but to illustrate that not all processes of a successful operation can be hidden. However, the most important process--the preparation of my delicious dinner--was entirely veiled and gave me a really heavenly gastronomical experience.

P.S.: I didn't celebrate my promotion entirely alone: my pop artist dad helped me celebrate it graphically.