Watch out for the next step, it’s a doozy! Or, in other words, this is one long post.
At times with Kate and Bart, I feel as though the three of us are a real life Turk, Carla and J.D. from the sitcom Scrubs. Not because we are terribly funny (sure, we crack ourselves and the random waiter or cab driver up, but no one else thinks we’re amusing) but because we would probably have a lot of fun living under the same roof, and adopting a dead stuffed dog and naming it Rowdy definitely sounds like something Kate and I would do for shits and giggles. In other sitcom worlds, Pablo, Kate and I used to say that we were George Costanza, Kramer, and Elaine from Seinfeld (cue argument between Kate and Megan over which one of us is Elaine… it is so clearly me…. no one else could be Kramer except Kate), and Bart has really turned into a nice Seinfeld over the years.
Anyway, I digress.
On Saturday night, we headed out for the Melting Pot near Dupont Circle. As we were seated, Kate declared, “I’m gonna get my drink on!” as our African American waiter handed us menus, nearly burst out laughing and quickly walked away. “Our waiter is going to the kitchen to laugh at the whitest girl ever saying she’s going to get her drink on,” I said. “I am not the whitest girl!” Kate snapped, “I’m Sicilian.”
Melting Pot was cheeserific – the Swiss fondue and the dark chocolate fondue with chambord were both great. Kate and I had the Surf and Turf for our main course and B had the seafood trifecta of salmon, shrimp and scallops. I greatly enjoyed it – especially the cheese course – they gave us plenty of bread and I detected a hint of nutmeg. Yummy. Kate pointed out that it’s rather expensive and wouldn’t it be better to spend that sort of money on a meal at 1789? I agree, although Melting Pot meal money wouldn’t get you a full meal at 1789, so I think the point is moot. It would get you a meal at Montmartre, though, and it might be better to spend a lot on a meal there…. although they don’t have fondue.
Afterwards, we had drinks at Cloud, which apparently also has tapas, but we were too full for a snack at that point. Kate had a terrible and bizarre martini with rosemary and pear juice. The experience was pleasant though, as we were able to sit outside – the inside area was horrendously crowded, loud, and filled with skanks and striped-shirt wearing types.
On Sunday, Kate and I headed to Annapolis to see her possible wedding dress. The woman who owns the shop and designs the dresses was not in, which according to, oh, everyone, is a good thing. I got to see Kate’s most likely dress and it was very beautiful and flattering. I won’t go into more detail, because she’s superstitious about such things.
Aiding us in the quest was the wonderful Frances. Frances has all sorts of stories about the crazy people who come in looking for wedding and prom dresses. For instance, about the high school girls looking for prom dresses who weren’t wearing underwear under their jeans? “You know those jeans were going to be smelling nasty around 5 o’clock.” Or the bride who wanted her dress to have a plunging neckline down to her navel? “That will only work if you’re going to have a hooker wedding. Are you having a hooker wedding?”
I tried on a bunch of bridesmaid dresses, and I’ll be the first to admit that I find it a little sad that the first person to see me naked in quite a while is the middle-aged former truck driver turned caterer and dress shop seamstress Frances, but hey, she made the experience as painless as possible and Kate now has a better idea of what the bridesmaids, or BMs and we call them and then snicker, should be wearing.
Next stop? Home for some martinis and then to the movies. And yes, Kate and I were horribly annoying at the movie theater, especially during the trailers. As a trailer for Cinderella Man showed – Kate: I wish someone would put Russell Crowe out of his misery. Megan: I wish people would stop encouraging Ron Howard by going to his biopic films. In unison: Ugh, Renee Zellweger. I know, we suck. But it was fun anyway.
Dinner that night was at Sushi Ko, on the outskirts of Georgetown. Kate and B’s friends accompanied us. The friends are a new couple, and frankly, are a little tough to take. I’m starting to think that perhaps there should be a 4 month moratorium on new couples, in which they are not allowed to go out with friends as a couple until they have been together for 4 months and can keep from making out in public.
Sushi Ko is ranked as the second best sushi joint in the DC area. Last time I was in town, Kate took me to the “third best” which was quite good. I found Sushi Ko rather disappointing. Kate and I split the age tofu, which was almost as good as Tawara’s. Then I had three rolls – salmon/avocado, yellowtail, and crunchy eel. The place was totally cheap on the fish – in some of the rolls there was only a tiny sliver of fish accompanied by a ton of rice. The rolls were all traditionally wrapped, when some of them ought to have been inside out. The crunchy eel roll was simply strange and was not served warm or with sweet sauce. Kate had the chef’s selection of sushi, which, for $18 ought to have included a roll with the 9 pieces of sushi they gave her. The music was a strange mix of mid-90s top 40 and the décor was… cheap, as Kate put it. I think next time, we’ll stick with “third best” sushi in town.
Monday’s breakfast was at Bread and Chocolate, because I was in the mood for eggs benedict. This was my second time there, and I think I’m ready to write it off. My smoked salmon eggs benedict was decent, although the chef is a little cheap on the hollandaise sauce. Kate’s California salad was completely terrible, and the service was more than lackluster. I think we need to find a new breakfast nook in the District.
Highlights in the gustation department? Kate’s gorgonzola spread and her metropolitan martinis (3 parts Absolut citron, 3 parts cranberry juice, 1 part chambord, and a wedge of lime). And since she is a wonderful host, she always had coffee ready for me in the morning, and half & half in the fridge. On the whole, a beautiful weekend in South East.