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monshu's mean boss made him stay late. "Late" for him of course means "at a reasonable hour" for most people, which unfortunately means he'd be leaving in the middle of rush hour, which adds at least an hour to his commute. I told him that, rather than letting him subject himself to this, I'd come down and meet him for dinner.
He chose for a venue the French Market, which he'd never been to. I have, though it's been quite a while. It's lost a vendor or two--but fortunately not the Belgianic frites stand! We shared a nice big cone (the poor server didn't understand me when I said "groot" even though that's what was on the sign) with harissa mayo and curried ketchup.monshu's dinner was a comically huge wedge of lamb pie. I had a very messy but reasonably tasty almond butter-fig spread-chèvre sandwich from Pastoral.
It was my second choice. The banner at Fumaré proclaimed "Montreal-style pastrami" and my head was spinning with the thought of real viande fumée even before I found out that their supplier was Schwartz's. But when I tried to order it, the guy said, "Sorry, we just wrapped it up. We're closing a little early today." It was the single most French thing about the market except that they were, of course, totally nice and apologetic about it rather than unconcerned and snotty à la mode continentale. I consoled myself with the very last macaron from the patisserie on the way out.
It's a quiet night, which is good, because tomorrow is a social explosion. We're having a couple strays over for dinner, followed by the usual monthly cocktail madness and then Bear Night. And if I feel like I can handle it, I might even show up at the Bear Bash slated for Hollywood Beach tomorrow afternoon.
monshu's mean boss made him stay late. "Late" for him of course means "at a reasonable hour" for most people, which unfortunately means he'd be leaving in the middle of rush hour, which adds at least an hour to his commute. I told him that, rather than letting him subject himself to this, I'd come down and meet him for dinner.He chose for a venue the French Market, which he'd never been to. I have, though it's been quite a while. It's lost a vendor or two--but fortunately not the Belgianic frites stand! We shared a nice big cone (the poor server didn't understand me when I said "groot" even though that's what was on the sign) with harissa mayo and curried ketchup.
monshu's dinner was a comically huge wedge of lamb pie. I had a very messy but reasonably tasty almond butter-fig spread-chèvre sandwich from Pastoral.It was my second choice. The banner at Fumaré proclaimed "Montreal-style pastrami" and my head was spinning with the thought of real viande fumée even before I found out that their supplier was Schwartz's. But when I tried to order it, the guy said, "Sorry, we just wrapped it up. We're closing a little early today." It was the single most French thing about the market except that they were, of course, totally nice and apologetic about it rather than unconcerned and snotty à la mode continentale. I consoled myself with the very last macaron from the patisserie on the way out.
It's a quiet night, which is good, because tomorrow is a social explosion. We're having a couple strays over for dinner, followed by the usual monthly cocktail madness and then Bear Night. And if I feel like I can handle it, I might even show up at the Bear Bash slated for Hollywood Beach tomorrow afternoon.