It is Indian Summer here, warm and glowing and filled with denial of the coming change in the weather. I wanted to be in the pad-locked pool yesterday. The last weekend looms at the Big Pink pool- and I am praying that the weather holds.
It is supposed to cool off here- down to the sixties- and I may be fully swaddled in sweatshirt and pants before the last plunge. Tracy and the merry band at Willow have embarked on an entirely new adventure, as I told you the other day, and it started last night.
I was ready for something different. I had been dragged out to Manassas in the morning to review a proposal that for reasons best known to the government could only be reviewed in a copper-lined room.
I thought I had left plenty of time to navigate out there in the Hubrismobile against the grain of mass attempting to penetrate the Beltway and get to their desks.
My mistake. The traffic sucked. I mean, I have no expectation that it would be any other way in suburban Washington, but the infrastructure is completely screwed up. I think this must have been something they deemed “shovel ready” at the time, which clearly much was not.
The fly-overs and new track bed for the Metro extension out to Tysons and eventually Dulles International Airport are now in place, but the construction crews are still swarming. There appears to be another lane being placed on the same east-west highway inside the Beltway, but the expansion in progress has led to the inevitable contraction of available transit lanes.
I sat at the left hand turn across my office for four cycles of the long light, waiting to try to get on the expressway and it did not get better from there. Creeping west, looking at the tremendous backup of traffic attempting to come east into the city.
Listening to the radio, the economic news continues to be depressing. Germany may deign to save Greece at least temporarily, though the din of bad news is quite remarkable. Foreclosures on mortgages up 30%; poverty increased over the last decade. Not uplifting news, and that is going to mean more hot air out of the White House and an early start to full campaign mode.
Speaking of that, Mr. Gore was conducting a Climate-thon to get the word out on Climate Change, sort of an environmental Jerry Lewis event, but I didn’t actually hear a word of it. I saw a strange notice from Facebook the other day that it was going to inactivate a feature that allowed me to share my electronic “friends” list, and was generally gratified by it. I did not connect the dots that that feature was exactly what Mr. gore was intending to utilize on his internet to go viral.
Like I said, I heard nothing about it all day.
What I did hear was something much better. There was a big win for the division down at our Charlottesville office, so there was cause to raise a glass of cheer against the rest of the doom and gloom of the larger economy here and in Europe. It was bright and beautiful in Arlington, the dog-end of Summer, and a last time to take stock of what has been, and what is to come.
It was cool and dark in the bar. Elisabeth-with-an-S was there, and visibly excited. Patrons were filing in to take places in the casual bistro area inside the front door. Dazzling white tablecloths and polished silver lent a note of elegance. Old Jim anchored the Amen Corner, and there were new faces and a new logo emblazoned on the back wall of the bar.
As part of the impromptu win party, four or five of us from the office were strung down the bar. The lovely Bea, with no Jon-no-H was there, flanking Jim, and two of her co-workers were at the bar for an informal lady’s night out.
“Check the new menu,” said Elisabeth-with-and-S. “It is for Nosh, the casual part of Willow.”
“Wait a minute,” I said suspiciously. “No Neighborhood bar menu? I am not sure I can endorse that sort of radical change!”
She shook her head, her chestnut ponytail swaying across the back of her slim neck. “Check it out,” she said. “The favorites are all still there, but see what has been added.”
I opened the Willow folder with the four-page inset and scanned down the lost. The Pollyface Farms deviled eggs were still there, and the cheese puff pastry with the black truffle butter sauce, still at $5 bucks. Ditto the spring rolls and the miniature fish and chips, though the price had gone up to $7.50, and they have lost their loss-leader position on the menu.
“Look,” said Elisabeth. “Now you can order the fish tacos or the tuna sliders individually, so if you want one or three you can do it the way you want.”
“I would like to do it like White Castle,” I said. “A sack of halibut sliders, to go.” I stabbed my index finger at the list of appetizers, “So far, so good. What about these stuffed mushroom caps? They are new.”
“To die for,” she said, rolling her eyes. “See, what Tracy has done is open up the other parts of the dinner menu and made it more accessible.” I ordered some, and we talked about the other appetizers, freed from the stricture of having to get an entrée.
Tracy came out, wearing a glow from the extra labors in the kitchen and carrying a long narrow ceramic tray with five stuffed mushroom caps aligned in a row. “What do you think?” she asked. “The new Bistro Nosh menu is supposed to provide you with a creative food outlet right here in the neighborhood at lower cost.”
I speared one of the mushroom caps and munched happily. “Delicious!”
“The menu is going to change regularly, and there will be some creative dishes for fish and more for vegetarians. Of course, we will keep some meat and poultry as well. We are going to have all kinds of new ingredients, especially grains, legumes and beans as well as lots of local winter greens.”
“Local is good. Don’t you do farmer’s markets on the Weekends?
Tracy smiled. “Yep. We got some fabulous kale and chards last weekend. Did you see we also put Kate’s hand-crafted bread baskets with local Amish butter on the Nosh menu?”
“Carbs are my enemy,” I said wistfully. “But it is a great idea. I can do the cheese plates, though.”
“It is hard to find high-quality food, particularly vegetarian dishes outside of vegetarian restaurants, and these dishes tend to be very Asian influenced. Nosh is going to be a place to come where you can get seasonal food at affordable prices.”
“You got me,” I said, spearing another mushroom. “It is an enhanced dining experience!” I said. “Could I get some more wine?”
Copyright 2011 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com