Last night I was excited to walk home from the bar after a few drinks (2 drinks…seriously) with friends. The evening was lovely and the weather perfect. I was in a bit of a tizzy having just tussled with the folks at CVS –my third battle in as many days–but I was in a pretty great mood yesterday. It was just me, my iPod and the warm air sharing the sidewalk.
The traffic signal flashed “WALK” and I started to cross Connecticut Avenue; about 6 steps in to my journey across the street I noticed a white Jetta had run the light. For about 2 seconds, I felt pure, unadulterated terror. Those lights were headed for me and my stomach started to scramble in a way I hope I never feel again. As I pivoted quickly on my right foot, I lurched forward two large steps before my boot got caught in a divet on the road. I careened forward landing first on my left elbow; my right elbow took the rest of my weight. My left knee fell shortly after and finally my right hit the pavement. I stood up, tights torn and blood pouring down both arms. I came home and spent five minutes picking the gravel out of my wounds. Several bruises had already begun to form; in other words, I look incredibly alluring at this juncture. I laid in bed last night, every cell in my body throbbing. Yet, god dammit, I refused to shed a tear. It was a good day. It has been a great week. Also, for once, such an accident had nothing to do with my clumsiness or lack of coordination–someone else did this to me! Some bitch in a white Jetta would not open a storm cloud on my parade.
I kind of felt the same way while eating my desert at BLT Steak a few weeks back. Bitchy McSnarkster had brought me for a late birthday celebration and he let me choose a dessert to finish our meal. Flipping the script, I passed on the carrot cake and went for the banana cream pie. The crust was way too thick and pathetically bland. The pudding in the pie lacked in any depth of flavor and was far too runny. Inexplicably, it came with a very watered down chocolate sauce…not knowing what to do, we poured it all over the pie. There was a whole lot going on that plate without much to show for it; we were disappointed.
Yet, try as it did, the pie could not erase the meal that preceded it. The gratis popovers were warm, airy and everything one could hope for from a bread basket. The pate, also free, was also salty perfection. Our salads were appropriately dressed and crisp. I ordered the short ribs (of course) and did not regret it for a second. They were tender and bursting with flavor. Our asparagus was pretty typical, but cooked well. And our onion rings? Oh, sweet Jesus. A healthy dusting of salt covered the thick, heavenly batter. Though the batter was ample, the rings managed not to be greasy which was a respectable feat. The atmosphere was chic and laid back for a steak house. While not stellar, our service was respectable.
It was a great night with a bit of a disappointing ending. Worse things have happened, yes? I’d go back in a heartbreat, but just skip the wreck at the end.