Yesterday we had dinner with Andi Marquette and Joan Opyr after Andi's signing, which was fabulous. She's a star! Well, okay, they both are, and we had fun all the way around.
If you haven't read their books, do. Just sayin'.
So we went to this Fairly Nice restaurant. Not one of the Incredibly Spendy ones, but better than, say, Dennys. Linen napkins and water with lemon. You know.
It was cold for Seattle yesterday, has been all weekend, come to that, and I was teasing Joan (who's from Idaho and has had to deal with snowplows already) and Andi (who's from just south of Denver and has had to deal with over 18" of snow last month alone) with being wusses because they were freezing here. Sure it was about 35 degrees, but it wasn't even raining!
Still, they maintained it was a "wet" cold and they were used to "dry" cold and I could just shut up. I laughed.
So at the restaurant, they specifically asked for a table away from the wind chill from the opening door. And the hostess smiled brightly with those teeth you see in commercials and seated us at a table that wasn't directly in front of the opening doors, but just kind of obliquely to the side. So the wind eddied around a bit before it climbed up everyone's neck.
I was the only one not freezing.
Now this particular restaurant is an "a la carte" restaurant, which means you pay for each individual dish. You want an appetizer? That's $6. A salad? $7. Your entree? $21. Side dish? $8. These prices may vary with item chosen. It can add up if you're not careful, which is kind of the point.
So we all perused and discussed. Andi and I had more adult-type beverages than Joan and Lillian, and we chatted and laughed and finally ordered. I had a salad and an entree, Andi and Lillian had an entree and a side each, and Joan had an appetizer and soup to be served simultaneously. All well and good.
More laughter, more chatting, more and more glares at the door while Joan hugged her hot tea and Lillian snagged my polar tech sweater.
Then they brought out my salad. Okay, so I ordered a wedge of lettuce with Roquefort dressing. Simple, right? It would be smallish and would complement my rainbow trout beautifully.
So the server comes up with this huge bowl, one of the ones Joan's soup would later be served in, with a deepish, wide bowl and a three-inch lip around it so it's as big as a platter. In this was a quarter head of lettuce and three tomato slices artfully placed to the side. Covering it was the required Roquefort.
Which would be perfect, if enormous, but there stands the server with one of those little trio-containers, a little stand with three cups sprouting out, and I have the choice of more crumbled Roquefort cheese (yes, please), crumbled bacon (everything's better with bacon, right?) and diced celery (sure, why not?). Then she added a few twists with the black pepper grinder and my salad was ready.
Who knew a hunk of lettuce with dressing was such a big deal? We half expected a chorus to announce each step!
Let me tell you, it was worth the $6 or whatever. That was some kind of yumminess, although I began to wonder if I'd have room for trout. We're talking a HUGE hunk of lettuce!
So we chatted and laughed and observed that the folks seated near the windows were keeping their coats on, so it wasn't just us being cold. You'd think a fancy-schmancy place could afford heat, but apparently not.
Then they brought our meals, and the next production number was Joan's. Her shrimp cocktail was a single piece of lonely shrimp on a bed of ice with a lettuce leaf that had escaped my salad, a sprig of parsley, and a square ramiken with cocktail sauce. Definitely NOT worth the $7 or whatever it was.
But her soup!
She had the same kind of bowl that my salad was in, and when it was placed before her, it looked. . .odd. There was this little forlorn looking mound of what looked like crab cake but was shrimp cake of some sort sitting in the bottom of this big ol' bowl. We all stared.
Then the server poured the cream bisque around the little cake thing. She poured this incredible amount of beautiful soup out of a pitcher with a deft hand so that it surrounded the little mound like a moat around a baby castle. And the bisque was so thick it almost stayed in place as she moved in a circle around the little cake.
Joan later said that she could've just poured the soup down her throat without bothering the bowl, it was so yummy.
Andi's garlic mashed potatoes came in a fairly large square bowl, and Lillian's broccoli had shaved parmesan draped artfully across it. As it turns out, my trout came with a small helping of broccoli and green beans, so I did get a small side anyway.
And we laughed and we ate and we chatted and we stayed and stayed and stayed.
And I began to think it was getting a little too warm in there. No one else seemed to think so, but I did.
Then my stomach began to feel a little iffy, so I went to the ladies room (you have to have an escort like we do at the shop because it's way hard to find), and I felt better in afterward, so life is good, right?
I went back and we were still chatting, but from the time I sat down, it was obvious to me that things were still Not Right in my world, so when the server told us that they needed our table for a big group coming in but she'd move our stuff to the bar if we liked, we thanked her and declined.
I was ready to go outside, hoping the cold night air would stop the wobbly sickish feeling that was growing in me.
So we left and were standing about in the cold air, and it occurred to me that I should probably find someplace fairly secluded, away from the main view of the restaurant's windows, because I was definitely going to hurl. Andi and Joan beat a safe retreat, bless them. Wise decision.
Because I did.
Right in front of the restaurant on the tree.
I just bent over and puked up everything I'd just eaten.
Lillian went to warn Andi, who'd had a bite of my trout, just in case she had a similar upset, and I stood there and shook. The manager/concierge/maitre'd came hustling out, offering me a chair, a glass of water, very concerned since it was obvious I'd just spewed up their fine cuisine.
I took the glass of water, wasn't about to go back inside, and just panted for a bit.
Lillian came back, we got me home and into bed where I slept for the next 10 hours.
My tummy's still a little shaky at times, but all in all, whatever it was didn't get a good solid hold on me. I expelled the yuckiness in a timely manner, apparently. Much, I'm sure, to the chagrin of the manager.
So what started out as a fabulous, if chilly time, ended with cold sweats and a definite need for ginger ale.
I kind of think the next time the ladies, either or both, are back in town, we'll perhaps go to Ivars instead.
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