weekend roundup

Happy Monday!  I hope you all had a great weekend.  Mine was filled with far too much revelry, some running, and a few rounds of good cooking and eating in between.

On Saturday, one of my best friends, Brent, came in from Richmond.  Read about one of her previous visits to the District here.  Friday was her birthday, so she and her boyfriend, Richard, came up on Saturday to have dinner with us here in DC. 

Dining out has been difficult thus far.  While I prepare my own meals all week long, an integral part of my social life is dining out with friends on the weekends.  Unfortunately for them, I've become one of those annoying dinners who asks waitstaff a zillion questions about how food is prepared, so to minimize the eyerolls, I have learned a few shortcuts along the way.  Pretty much everything "glazed" is code for "laden in [some form of] sugar."  "Encrusted" is just foodie-speak for "coated with flour or breadcrumbs" and maybe some interesting texture or flavor like almonds, parmesan, or herbs.  Condiments and sauces are usually a dealbreaker, as they contain sugar for flavor enhancement or flour for thickening.  Salad dressings are also out, but oil and vinegar are safe bets.  Italian restaurants are a lost cause.  Mexican restaurants are a lifesaver, believe it or not.    

However, despite my limitations, we had a wonderful dinner at Ardeo, one of my favorite stand-bys for delicious fare in a fun atmosphere.  I even called an Uber to take us there, and Brent rode to her birthday in style - in the back of a black Benz.  Knocked her socks off, and it was only a couple dollars more expensive than a regular cab would have been.  Nothing less than the best for my Boo. 

To begin, we noshed on mussels with chili and blood orange (not pictured), disco fries, and roasted brussels sprouts with pistachio, apricot, and yogurt.  We all agreed that the brussels stole the appetizer show (again).   I had to double-check that the fries were "safe" - sometimes the potatoes are dredged in flour before frying.  The fries were good, but the gravy on the side contained flour, so I had to pass.

For our mains, Brittany and Richard chose pastas, so I couldn't taste theirs.  Brent ordered a tasty grilled salmon, and I chose an olive-oil poached shrimp with beluga lentils and chorizo.  Spain on a plate!  So good, right? #shitgirlssay.

Brent also ordered a banana cream pie and a chocolate pistachio torte for dessert, but obviously I couldn't taste those either.  Just looking at the cakes made me drool.  

And I am going to toot my own horn here and take credit where credit is due.  I played Cupid for Brent and Richard over five years ago.  Richard and I grew up together, and Brent was one of my best friends in college.  They met at a party at my apartment in college, and the rest is history.  Aren't they cute together?   

After dinner, we stopped by a couple different bars, one classy and one trashy.  I absolutely adored Jack Rose, the sophisticated big brother of my favorite neighborhood bar, Bourbon.  It stole my heart because it is literally a library of single-batch bourbons and scotches.  Floor-to-ceiling shelves house thousands of bottles, and the bar is complete with a rolling ladder that the librarians/bartenders scale to pluck the most obscure bottles from the top shelves.  Of course I had to stick with vodka-soda (which is becoming much easier to drink, by the way), but I can't wait to come try out some of their cool bourbons and fancy cocktails after Lent is over.  After Jack Rose, we went up the street for obligatory birthday karaoke in AdMo.  And guess what, I got bulldozed on the sidewalk by some belligerent asshole, again.  No surprise there.  I loathe 18th Street.

Sunday was spent running (eight miles), reading (Thinking, Fast and Slow), and cooking (grits and fried eggs for a post-run brunch, and an amazing pork tenderloin for supper with friends).  I also went to church and spent the entire hour making faces at the beautiful blonde baby sitting in front of me instead of listening.  Oops.

Thanks for visiting, Brent!  Miss you already.