I legitimately have my own local bar around the corner, 440 feet east, 318 feet north. I haven't been because they turned a foodie friend (Tammy) away. Legitimate bars don't say no to Tammy, self-bottler of limoncello and canner of her own fig jams. So, I didn't patronize this bar just on principle.
However, in light of some upcoming travel, I've been acting, culinarily, like I am on death row. Macabre, yes. But this has often been an entertaining consideration of mine, as dreaming about my dream wedding has stopped being as entertaining. So, the mental inquiry becomes: what is the best meal possible or what would I want my last meal to be? I've been thinking those thoughts all week, and treating myself at places that have foods I could miss. Here's last night's decision, pictorially:
Don't judge; the billions and billions served are real people, you know.
I guess sometimes people pay with 100 pennies for dollar menu items.
Yes, those appear to be ice cream bubble geysers. And yes, I'm eating my sundae at home in front of my laptop with an accompanying bag of chopped nuts. But billions and billions aren't dumb enough to eat their food in sketchy McDonald's parking lots.Last night's go-out-seeking food item was clearly a $1.09 sundae (after I took care of the bubbles). Tonight, I had a lovely dinner with friends at the Boulevard Wood Grill in Clarendon. The food was great: black-pepper crusted yellowfin tuna ponzu (prepared rare) served with a Nishiki rice cake with Asian slaw, miso-sake sauce, and gingered ponzu. This blog entry's magic food term defined is ponzu, citrus-based sauce commonly used in Japanese cuisine, very tart in flavor, with a thin consistency and a light yellow color.
So, anyway, after dinner I wanted some indulgence, but at 9:30, what's open besides McDonald's? I didn't want to comprisethe billions and billions served all by myself. So, I went to PX, some superlatively sexy bar, according to Playboy magazine. And just around the corner.
Friends have recommended this, and I like the Restaurant Eve/Majestic/Eamonn's chain, of which PX is part. So, disappointingly and sort of embarassingly, my heart was pounding as I approached the speakeasy's door at the top of a handful of steps, knocked, and then rang the doorbell, which seemed weird, but I did. I didn't want to deliver a package; I just wanted a drink.
So I eked out to the woman who slid the small speakeasy window open that I wanted a drink. I ascended the stairs lined with votive candles, and was genuinely impressed with the pretentious, yet admirable detail. In the bathroom, because that's where I went first.
Later, I sat down at one of the tall white bar chairs, impressively arrayed all at the same 45 degree angle. My bartender, James, spoke impeccable waiterese, laying open my menu, graciously offering a glass of water, using phrases like "the only cocktail we're not featuring this evening..", and being the most appealing kind of smug I've ever seen.
It was a genuine throwback to another era: detail in all the cocktail accoutrements (long stirrers, crystal-looking cocktails mixers, bitters), a dignified mahogany bar, carefully-chosen antique lighting, and a rotary phone that rang a clear, natural ring. It was all overwhelmingly nostalgic, until the doorbell--the tinny, digital kind that old people with bad hearing use--sounded. But, details.
I ordered a $13 cocktail, Blueberry Eyes. I got a free little bowl of housemade potato chips, though, so I'm not complaining. My drink was: blackberry and blueberry infused absinthe, liquor 43 (actually spelled licor 43, a bright yellow Spanish liquer made with 43 different ingredients, including citrus and fruit juices, vanilla and other aromatic herbs and spices), mint, and vanilla.
It was beautiful and not too sweet, but with a solid fruit flavoring. James answered my questions about what everything was. He had about 10 types of simple syrup, and then basil, mint, lox (what?), bacon salt (that's what's right above my chips), prehistoric salt (I might be mistaking the adjective but it looked like a rock), and some type of vinegar. It was sort of like being in a Harry Potter movie, with the array of bar-looking vials and potion elements.
The clientele was pretentious: lots of talk about Restaurant Eve and no talk about how colleage football season is only days away. But, James let me read my book, sip my drink, eat my chips, look around every once in a while, and savor the ambiance without interrupting me with silly small-talk, over refilling my water, or hovering. There's nothing better than finding one's local bar on the first try.
So, anyway, after dinner I wanted some indulgence, but at 9:30, what's open besides McDonald's? I didn't want to comprisethe billions and billions served all by myself. So, I went to PX, some superlatively sexy bar, according to Playboy magazine. And just around the corner.
Friends have recommended this, and I like the Restaurant Eve/Majestic/Eamonn's chain, of which PX is part. So, disappointingly and sort of embarassingly, my heart was pounding as I approached the speakeasy's door at the top of a handful of steps, knocked, and then rang the doorbell, which seemed weird, but I did. I didn't want to deliver a package; I just wanted a drink.
So I eked out to the woman who slid the small speakeasy window open that I wanted a drink. I ascended the stairs lined with votive candles, and was genuinely impressed with the pretentious, yet admirable detail. In the bathroom, because that's where I went first.Later, I sat down at one of the tall white bar chairs, impressively arrayed all at the same 45 degree angle. My bartender, James, spoke impeccable waiterese, laying open my menu, graciously offering a glass of water, using phrases like "the only cocktail we're not featuring this evening..", and being the most appealing kind of smug I've ever seen.
It was a genuine throwback to another era: detail in all the cocktail accoutrements (long stirrers, crystal-looking cocktails mixers, bitters), a dignified mahogany bar, carefully-chosen antique lighting, and a rotary phone that rang a clear, natural ring. It was all overwhelmingly nostalgic, until the doorbell--the tinny, digital kind that old people with bad hearing use--sounded. But, details.
I ordered a $13 cocktail, Blueberry Eyes. I got a free little bowl of housemade potato chips, though, so I'm not complaining. My drink was: blackberry and blueberry infused absinthe, liquor 43 (actually spelled licor 43, a bright yellow Spanish liquer made with 43 different ingredients, including citrus and fruit juices, vanilla and other aromatic herbs and spices), mint, and vanilla.
It was beautiful and not too sweet, but with a solid fruit flavoring. James answered my questions about what everything was. He had about 10 types of simple syrup, and then basil, mint, lox (what?), bacon salt (that's what's right above my chips), prehistoric salt (I might be mistaking the adjective but it looked like a rock), and some type of vinegar. It was sort of like being in a Harry Potter movie, with the array of bar-looking vials and potion elements.The clientele was pretentious: lots of talk about Restaurant Eve and no talk about how colleage football season is only days away. But, James let me read my book, sip my drink, eat my chips, look around every once in a while, and savor the ambiance without interrupting me with silly small-talk, over refilling my water, or hovering. There's nothing better than finding one's local bar on the first try.