3 Bar and Grill

There's something about bacon and the contagiousness of belly laughs that makes girls really enjoy the pleasures of girl talk. My friend Sue and I went to the 100th best restaurant on the list, 3 Bar and Grill, tonight and it was a series of ridiculously soulful and pork and duck laden products, all lined with some really stellar girl time.

I felt dignified after a good work day, legitimacy-lending Blackberry in hand and pretentious Francophilic semi-beret in sight while waiting the few minutes for Sue to park. I thought a glass of red sounded good (to match my sense of heightened dignity) until I saw the reason why 3 Bar and Grill was on the list in the first place (according to me): a bacon bloody mary. It contained bacon-infused vodka with their house bloody mary mix. After about seven sips in (at five of which Sue wasn't even present), the conversation was already good.

Mini cornbread muffins, rye (?) bread, and honey butter were all put out on the table before the drinks (that's Oklahoma style).

Restaurant Three, on Clarendon Boulevard in Arlington, celebrates the "joy of soulful southern cooking." As such, it seemed only appropriate I celebrate the joy of fried things with cheese and bacon, by which I mean "bleu cheese chips" with Point Reyes bleu and house-cured bacon.

For dinner, I had a twist on barbecue with a pulled duck sandwich, comprised of slow roasted duck and bourbon molasses barbecue on a sweet potato bun. Because they knew what was good for them, they put the conservative amount of coleslaw on the side and gave me a copiously laden bowl of collard greens (with, of course, bacon). I'm a bit tough on barbecue outside the Kansas City-Oklahoma City corridor, but this was tender, flavorful and not too heavily sauced.

Sue got the duck breast, with sweet potato and duck hash, shallots, and a pomegranate glaze. We were chatting so avidly I forgot to ask for a bite.

It was a dinner fit for two girls who wear pearls and watch football (but Sue actually knows the rules). Her brilliant idea was to order dessert: a bacon studded waffle with maple bacon ice cream. The waffle held its own against its densely moist interior and the deliciously rich ice cream and caramel sauce atop it.

After two nights in a row of exquisitely revelatory desserts, the 70 restaurants left seem awfully foreboding (I miscounted before I think). Who am I kidding: je suis préparé, Michel Richard.