Last night we went out together for the first time in recent memory. We were a little rusty at it. The Sober Husband wanted us to walk to the restaurant; I wanted to wear my new Fluevog high heels, which are not meant for walking down steep hills. Our conversation faltered. We seemed rife with misinterpretations and misunderstandings. Over at Bar Agricole we failed to get cocktails at the bar from the slow moving bartenders while we waited for our reserved table, and when the table was produced, it was a wretched little table inside. I wanted to sit outside in the herb garden; it was one of the few warm evenings of the year in San Francisco, and this table was truly depressing, hot, stuffy.
I was disappointed, but given how long it had taken for us to get a table (despite having a reservation) and our failure at getting a drink, I didn't want to wait for an outside table. The Sober Husband, though, took command, whizzing off and imperiously directing that we be reseated outside. Once ensconced in my outdoors table, so airy and with a view of the herb garden, I was happy.
"Now we'll be eating in style," said the S.H. admiring our new, superior table.
"Gangnam style!" I agreed.
He furrowed his brow. "What is 'Gangnam style?'"
I was appalled. We really hadn't been spending much time together. How could he have missed my fascination for the K-pop sensation, not to mention Iris über Alles's much-vaunted superiority?Having been a fan of Korean pop music for over a year before PSY had a break-out hit with "Gangnam Style", Iris can be quite vocal and quite condescending on the topic. The K-pop scene is an oddly ubiquitous subject in our home, but evidently only when the Sober Husband is at work.
Could these misfits get along? By the time we'd shared a bowl of white onion soup with barhi dates, shallots, chives, and vadouvan oil, as well as a glass of vinho verde, the conversation began to flow. By the end of our roasted jimmy nardello peppers with corno di toro, nepitella, and tonnato sauce, we were cozying up to one another. We shared a Eureka lemon and ricotta tart with a lavender meringue, and we got a delightful Armagnac cocktail made with absinthe and hibiscus bitters as a gesture from the management to make up for the delays in getting our table and our drinks. Far from my prior feeling, while we were waiting for a table and giving up on getting a cocktail, that I was over Bar Agricole, the magnificence of the soup and the Armagnac cocktail left me wanting to eat there every day of my life. The Sober Husband was admiring the results of my fitness regime; my new Fluevogs were delighting me. We were on to the Cat Club, where we danced and drank far later than we normally ever stay out on a weeknight. It was an epic date night, positively Gangnam style.