The Maryland winter weather is in full force today as I sit at my desk to write what will be the first of many post additions to this, my oh so small but close to my heart blog of roam. Gazillions of snow flakes are coming down in a frenzy and it makes me especially happy since work was canceled because of it. This now leaves me with plenty of time to do the things I didn't do, but should have done this weekend (laundry) ... and with the recent discovery of "available networks" in my building I'm able to get online and tinker with this, my blog, that is ailing at the moment because I've been neglecting it, but not without acquiring some interesting adventures since arriving in Maryland.
Oh where to begin? There's the lovely French bakery I went to for breakfast and then Guapo's, quite possibly the fastest sit down restaurant EVER, but I'd like to tell you about my experience at Seasons 52 which included, to my dismay ... a lot of tongue. I'll explain later.
This particular adventure started out at Ruby Tuesday's. Now look, I know what you're thinking. Ruby Tuesday's? I only chose to eat there because even I, one who loves to roam about and find something different, occasionally just needs an immediate "fix", as was the case this time. I was famished and RT was the closest thing to me.
So, here I am sitting at the bar of RT where the service, food, ambiance and overall experience is mediocre at best. But, I'm hungry and thirsty and so it will do.
About half way through my dirty vodka martini in a dirty martini glass, my asiago peppercorn steak arrives and I begin carving away ... wait, no. That's impossible when I don't even have any utensils.
Excuse me Miss. Would you be so kind as to do your job and provide me, your only customer, with a fork and a knife, said my bold inner dialogue.
"Could you get me some silverware, please." That's what I actually say. "Thank you."
... I begin carving away.
Enter strange man with nice sweater and thick European accent
He asks if the seat next to me is taken and I reluctantly tell him no. I wish he would just go away. After all, there are 20 other open seats at the bar. Why does he have to choose this seat? While I could use some company he is not what I have in mind. Ah well, I'll just scarf down what's left of my meal and be on my merry way.
I'm trying hard not to invite any social interaction from nice sweater man, but after a few meager attempts on his part I decide to humor him, but only after I've spied his government badge hanging from his pants pocket and decide he might not be a serial killer after all ... and if he is, well then he has impeccable taste in sweaters. It looks so soft. Cashmere perhaps? A serial killer with good taste? OK!
"Hi. I'm Laura. Nice to meet you."
We chit chat over his meal since I've already inhaled mine. I should note that he orders EXACTLY what I ordered. I discover that he's actually quite enjoyable for a government employee/serial killer with impeccable taste in sweaters and as it turns out, drink and fare ... if I do say so myself.
He buys me another drink and then invites me to come with him to a place called Seasons 52, a very nice bar and restaurant,"where we can have some cocktails and enjoy live piano right at the bar," he says to me.
At this time, I would like to say that my only interest in this man is of a platonic one. We're having good conversation and that is all I'm interested in. I assume he's only interested in the same.
"It's my first Saturday night here and I'm feeling adventurous so why not? Lets go!"
We finish our drinks and we're off.
I'm pleased to have made a new friend in this strange city where I know no one. I follow him down the street to this mysterious new place I've never heard of before. My roaming nature is enthralled to experience something new under such spontaneous circumstances! As I pull into the parking space next to my new government employee/serial killer friend in the nice sweater I can't help but think how exhilarating this is!
Finally, after meandering through the parking garage, up the elevator, across the street ... we step inside what I now see is the quite swanky Seasons 52. Somehow I think my green utility jacket and combat boots add a certain charm to the place. This is what I tell myself as I try to ignore the fact that everyone in here is wearing black, semi-formal attire and I know that I'm either attending a funeral or it might be that there is a dress code.
gasp
I ask my new friend "Who died?"
He assures me that I'm dressed fine and we both proudly take our seats at the bar.
Seasons 52 is a very nice place. It's like taking a trip into another world ... an expensive make believe world where everyone has lots and lots of money. Oh wait. I'm in Bethesda. Everyone actually does have lots and lots of money ... except for me.
I scan the menu out of curiosity. Great scott! This is not a cheap place to grab a bite and not even for a drink unless however you're Donald Trump and then I imagine this is the rich person's equivalent of Denny's. Oh well. YOLO and I just got payed.
The bartender takes our drink order and promptly arrives with two glasses of 12 year old scotch per my new friend's insistence that I try it. I take mine on the rocks which normally would be socially acceptable for someone of my caste because we can only afford to drink the cheap stuff which needs some watering down, but I guess when scotch is old you're not supposed to put ice in it. I had no idea.
Looking around, it's a packed house and I can see why. This place has everything. Great food, by the smell of things, ambiance, good lighting, fancy people, live music, happy bartenders, a fireplace, and ... WHOA! Is that a tongue in my mouth? That is a tongue, but it's not mine. Oh my god you've got to be effing kidding me.
My new friend, has swiftly lodged his tongue in my throat. It all happened so fast. I didn't even see it coming. One minute I was admiring how clean and shiny the silverware is, not one single water spot that I can detect. Then the next I'm being french kissed my a government employee/serial killer in a nice sweater. How odd.
With his tongue still lodged in my throat I manage to mutter the first words that come to mind "I aaaa a oyrend!"
I pry myself from his grip ... and his lip lock. "I have a boyfriend!" I promptly get up from the bar. "Please excuse me. I have to use the ladies room." Then I make a beeline for the exit making sure that he isn't following me of course.
So, that was my short lived experience at Seasons 52.
It's was nice. Seasons 52, not the tongue. But, what a shame to have it end this way. I will return someday to enjoy this fine establishment and all that it offers ... with a side of caution, hold the tongue.
No comments:
Post a Comment