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muckefuckWhen it comes to DST, I am a total hipster: I was on it half a day before the rest of you. Fifteen minutes before our dinner guests were scheduled to arrive, I was still dicking around on the computer while ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu was busily trying to get his art collection into a presentable state. Then a little LED went on above my head and I asked him, "Wait, did you tell them five o'clock for drinks and six o'clock for dinner?"
Fortunately I don't take long to clean up. I was too late to meet our former lodger at the door, but I was there for his new boss,monshu's old friend. I must've made quite the impression, since he thought he was meeting me for the first time despite the fact that I remember meeting him for drinks at Buddies on one occasion and dinner at Cornelia's on another. (He expressed recognition when I recounted both of these encountres to him in detail, but it's anyone's guess whether he was only being polite.)
It was a simple, satisfying fall dinner: roast butternut squash soup with fried sage, pork tenderloin braised in apple juice, sweet potato-chestnut mash with honey (because I stupidly forgot to tell the GWO I used up the last of the brown sugar for the parkin), green beans, homemade apple sauce, and French apple cake. We're now just about at the end of the apples I brought back from northern Door. (I think the Old Man said we have two or three Empires left in the fridge.) The last of the smoked fish died tonight in a whitefish-spread sandwich accompanying the reheated soup we had for dinner.
The older of the two guests entertained us with his natterings about his own unique blend of Christianity--call it "Roman Congregationalic"--and did his best to wind upmonshu by pressing him for details of his dissatisfaction with work. The planned visit by justmatt sadly never materialised, so this went on right up through the arrival of the first pre-Touché cocktail guests a bit before nine.
The surprise arrival of Diego, Uncle Betty, Mr Cleveland, and his big-boned partner helped compensate for the lack of Matt and the disco-nappingclintswan. Plus we were rolling in sweets: in addition to the apple cake and the parkin (which a couple people gamely tried but only Mr Cleveland praised), Scruffy M brought a big jar of toffee and Diego his famous Mormon brownie cake. Scruffy M also indulged my mixmastery by letting me make him a Czarina, which went over better than the Manhattan I made for a first-timer from San Antonio. (Who ever heard of a bourbon Manhattan being described as not sweet enough? Maybe I should've gone with the Martinez after all.)
Touché was hopping--apparently there were a couple events going on this weekend in addition to International Mr Rubber--and I saw a stream of friendly faces, including one or two I only really placed afterwards. At one point, I was completely surrounded by Texas:clintswan was there with his Dallas-based buddy sacredjade, plus the San Antonian, and some ceiling-scraping buck I was never properly introduced to. It would've been nice to stay longer, but I've been feeling the effects of too many nights of zinc-induced reflux.
Rather than make the two-hour journey back home (he lives neer my stepsister and didn't have money for a cab), our San Antonian crashed out in the guest room. He was a sweetheart of a guest, leaving everything as close to how he found it as possible (even to the point of carefully folding his wet towel and washcloth and putting them back on the bed). But still I was happy to push him out the door after brunch so I could take a nap and then do some more reading in peace. Hopefully he'll get his housing situation sorted out so we'll be able to see a bit more of him in future.
Now that we've entred the days of darkness before dinner, it's dawning on me just how little time there is left before the holidays. We accepted an invitation from Mr Cleveland and Big Bones for Thanksgiving dinner, which unfortunately makes putting in an appearance atwelcomerain's and spookyfruit's a non-starter. I guess it means we just have to set something up with them ourselves.
monshu was busily trying to get his art collection into a presentable state. Then a little LED went on above my head and I asked him, "Wait, did you tell them five o'clock for drinks and six o'clock for dinner?"Fortunately I don't take long to clean up. I was too late to meet our former lodger at the door, but I was there for his new boss,
monshu's old friend. I must've made quite the impression, since he thought he was meeting me for the first time despite the fact that I remember meeting him for drinks at Buddies on one occasion and dinner at Cornelia's on another. (He expressed recognition when I recounted both of these encountres to him in detail, but it's anyone's guess whether he was only being polite.)It was a simple, satisfying fall dinner: roast butternut squash soup with fried sage, pork tenderloin braised in apple juice, sweet potato-chestnut mash with honey (because I stupidly forgot to tell the GWO I used up the last of the brown sugar for the parkin), green beans, homemade apple sauce, and French apple cake. We're now just about at the end of the apples I brought back from northern Door. (I think the Old Man said we have two or three Empires left in the fridge.) The last of the smoked fish died tonight in a whitefish-spread sandwich accompanying the reheated soup we had for dinner.
The older of the two guests entertained us with his natterings about his own unique blend of Christianity--call it "Roman Congregationalic"--and did his best to wind up
monshu by pressing him for details of his dissatisfaction with work. The planned visit by justmatt sadly never materialised, so this went on right up through the arrival of the first pre-Touché cocktail guests a bit before nine.The surprise arrival of Diego, Uncle Betty, Mr Cleveland, and his big-boned partner helped compensate for the lack of Matt and the disco-napping
clintswan. Plus we were rolling in sweets: in addition to the apple cake and the parkin (which a couple people gamely tried but only Mr Cleveland praised), Scruffy M brought a big jar of toffee and Diego his famous Mormon brownie cake. Scruffy M also indulged my mixmastery by letting me make him a Czarina, which went over better than the Manhattan I made for a first-timer from San Antonio. (Who ever heard of a bourbon Manhattan being described as not sweet enough? Maybe I should've gone with the Martinez after all.)Touché was hopping--apparently there were a couple events going on this weekend in addition to International Mr Rubber--and I saw a stream of friendly faces, including one or two I only really placed afterwards. At one point, I was completely surrounded by Texas:
clintswan was there with his Dallas-based buddy sacredjade, plus the San Antonian, and some ceiling-scraping buck I was never properly introduced to. It would've been nice to stay longer, but I've been feeling the effects of too many nights of zinc-induced reflux.Rather than make the two-hour journey back home (he lives neer my stepsister and didn't have money for a cab), our San Antonian crashed out in the guest room. He was a sweetheart of a guest, leaving everything as close to how he found it as possible (even to the point of carefully folding his wet towel and washcloth and putting them back on the bed). But still I was happy to push him out the door after brunch so I could take a nap and then do some more reading in peace. Hopefully he'll get his housing situation sorted out so we'll be able to see a bit more of him in future.
Now that we've entred the days of darkness before dinner, it's dawning on me just how little time there is left before the holidays. We accepted an invitation from Mr Cleveland and Big Bones for Thanksgiving dinner, which unfortunately makes putting in an appearance at
welcomerain's and spookyfruit's a non-starter. I guess it means we just have to set something up with them ourselves.![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
John and I stayed at that sad excuse for a bar night as long as we could stand it - until just after 11 pm.
It just wasn't the same. I knew practically no one at the bar; and from what we could tell the crowd was hugely diminished from years past.
Has prime time for the bar night shifted even later in the evening?
no subject
One of the reason I started these cocktail nights, by the way, is so that no one would have to show up there not knowing anyone. It's also a more enjoyable way to pass the time then waiting for an empty bar to fill up. Some nights we've had so much fun we never ended up making it to Touché.