This has been a busy week. Six dates so far, with four different people...where to begin.
Thursday night the Anarchist was back in town from a conference, so it was the first time we'd gotten together in a week. I think this was our fourth date, but I could be off- they tend to be long and multi-faceted, which makes it hard to keep them straight. What to say about the Anarchist. I like to describe him as the proto-hipster- the person all the hipsters would love to be. Don't think that makes him an actual hipster, though, he'd kill me if I gave that impression. It's just that he's a chain-smoking, glasses-wearing librarian who has crazy hair, a bushy beard, and a penchant for Baltic music. He's big into labor movement issues, lives in a building with a collective, and decorates with protest posters. Did I mention he plays the accordion? In a marching band! It's awesome.
This time it was a toss-up between an Afghan restaurant I'd mentioned I'd wanted to try and a French restaurant he'd just heard about. Since our last date was for Ethiopian food, we went with the European option. It was a very nice place; I felt a little underdressed in my jeans, but I'm (sadly) not used to going out to nice restaurants without advance warning. Even so, the reason I stood out wasn't because of my jeans, it was because of my date. Unless we're walking around the "artsy" neighborhoods, people tend to look at him. Not in a mean way, mind you, he's just a “stands out in a crowd” type of guy.
The food was good. I wanted to get escargot- I mean really, where else can you eat snails if not a fancy French restaurant?- but when the Anarchist heard that I'd never had oysters, he insisted we get some. They're definitely not my thing- slimy, briny, and flavorless. Yuck. The main courses were SUPERB, though. I got perfectly cooked salmon with a beurre rouge sauce, but the best part came on the side- bacon wrapped fennel. The Anarchist got the duck leg confit, which I had also been eying. I have this problem with food, though- I can't eat anything that comes on the bone. He knows about this, so without me even asking he cut the bone out so I could try some. We both agreed that mine was better, though. One of my favorite things about him is that he loves ordering dessert as much as I do. I'm not one of those women who is shy about eating in front of a date, but I still think it's rude to insist on desert when you're not the one paying. That's not a problem with him, and the carrot cake was fantastic.
After dinner, we went back to his place to watch Shortbus. If you've never seen it, it's not for the conservative-types. It's all about sex (the main story line is a woman in the search of an orgasm) and is known for showing actual sex instead of that fake Hollywood stuff. I thought the ending was sad, but he interpreted it as happy. I think most of that was because of the marching band, which automatically makes him happy! By the end of the movie I was drunk on bourbon and Dr. Pepper (hey, a girl can't be picky when it's not her house!) so I *had* to spend the night. Darn.
Friday morning we got up and went to this local diner down the street for breakfast. It's exactly what a corner diner should be- counter seating only, one grill, women behind the counter who know their regulars by name and order. On the way back we stopped by an Indian grocery. I'd been dating a girl for a while (more about her later) who got me hooked on these Indian snack foods. Imagine chex mix with cumin. So good. After I got those, I had to get home to get ready for my second date of the day.
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