The Weekend

Friday night: drinking
Saturday night: drinking
Tonight: drinking considerably less

Not at all sure that my liver will hold up under the final ten days in MSP. Not sure my heart will hold out either, leaving the loved ones behind. Last night I soothed myself with a fantastic triple creme that 'Kovsky brought to #2's place. Then we sat out under the lightning at Barbette and shared the fab Banana Nutella Crepe (without bananas, for my sake. 'Kovsky excused our order to the heartthrob waiter, saying that I didn't like potassium) and didn't get a drop of rain until our walk back. We had two conference calls with Maritime while there and it was v. close to the commraderie we've always enjoyed at our favorite little sidewalk cafe. But no costieres de nimes; it seems to go the way of white after labor day, perhaps the truest sign of autumn.

Tonight the tenor changes slightly for a viewing of The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas with Blissa, Gabby, and the Redhead. I'm making pizza. Maybe even making Blissa's favorite if the squash in the market looks good. In my great debate about whether to devote my final northern days to the things I've missed or the things I've loved, the old favorites are winning in a landslide.

Two years ago around this time I had a stunning bowl of moules mariniere at A Rebours with Preston and Dan. Each one was tender, covered by a sheen of the butter-rich sauce. I savored the last one more than the first and we all sopped up the last drops, fragrant with white wine and shallots, with crusts of baguette. I knew, obviously, that they'd bring the next course, and I told myself that it would be delicious, but I didn't even want them to take the empty bowl away.