Not finding it on Google, or elsewhere. Over on the southeast corner of either Green Oaks and I-20 or Little Road and I-20. Brother Sushi and I went there for dinner last night. He had the crab cake appetizer in red pepper sauce and some sort of steak with froufrou onions on top. I had the salmon bisque [which appeared to be neither salmon nor bisque] and the fettucine delicata, which was rather like designer underwear: delicious, but skimpy.
I think there may have been a salmon in the same room as my soup. It was pretty, and it was peppery, and it was indeed soupy. But it was no lobster bisque at Lucile’s, which was the most fun my mouth has had in a very long time.
Our consensus? His steak was tasty and a little overdone but not enough to send it back, and he thought it was underpriced. My pasta was impeccably seasoned, and overpriced. A better-than-OK meal, and neither of us is interested in going back.
I don’t know what the tab was; we don’t drink alcohol, and it wasn’t my month to buy dinner.
In knitting news, the latest incarnation of Morningside is 65% complete. I cast on, on the ride into work yesterday, kept it on the DP’s for about an inch, until the pattern was well-established and the cowl was undeniably non-twisted. On the ride home, I transferred it back onto the circ, but this time with the beginning of the round squarely in the middle of one half, to make the transition less confusing. It seems to be working. Or else the seventh [give or take] time is truly a charm.
Brief explanation, of a sort. In theory, I was supposed to be feeding pizza to Middlest and LittleBit last night, but Middlest called me to work to say that LittleBit was out of pocket and would not be home until probably my bedtime; could we reschedule? And then I checked my messages on my cell phone. I don’t think I had turned it on since coming home from dinner on Saturday night. Brother Sushi had left a whimsically exasperated message for me: Monday or Wednesday would work for our monthly dinner, but Monday was probably better.
Which is how I ended up eating the Italian equivalent of nouvelle cuisine with him. And now I need to sluice off and foof up and hit the road [in ten minutes or so, of course; I’ve been listening to an audiobook this morning, and knitting] so I can go make myself useful at work and visit with a certain Trainman on the ride home and spend an hour or two with Middlest at Knit Night.
Ah the life of a middle-aged social butterfly.
Oh, and I need to quickly look up the phone number for a local radio station, because they are giving away fourth-row tickets to a concert I’d like to attend. Wish me luck!
- Four years into widowhood, after one year of incredible happiness and nearly 14 years of single blessedness. Have given up perfect manicures and pretty hands in order to resume playing the soprano recorder and to see if I can figure out how to play bluegrass banjo. Singing in the shower. Still really, *really* love to knit!