The eating and cocktailing continues.
The walk and detox were indeed canned in favour of a Bloody Mary and a classic American breakfast of eggs, bacon, hash browns and toast. I really did have the best intentions, but when I walked upstairs after finishing my post, KB suggested we step out for a bite to eat and, always the gracious guest, I complied. We went to the kind of bar that has a few hipsters, a few guys who've told they're wives they're going for a walk and headed straight for the biscuits and gravy, a few locals like us who just wanted a bit of grease to lubricate the arteries for the day, and quite a few diehards drinking whiskey and water for breakfast. It's a good thing there's a smoking ban, or this place would be unbearable.
The Bloody Marys were $1.98, with an option to upgrade (yes, I said UPGRADE) to Smirnoff for a bit more. (Seriously. That's like upgrading to MD 20/20 from Boone's Farm.) They were, however, quite spicy and delicious, and I was quite content.
Spent the morning hanging with my friend KB, the afternoon with my friend KC. (KD, if you're out there, I think you're next in line.)
Spent the evening with my friend TC (who believes I have the Hershey squirts), Kelli (his wife, who, may I add, he is lucky to have as she is whip smart and sassy and can hold her own with the St. Paul Junior League), KC (former housemate and sister I don't have), Kent (her husband, a friend from college who defies the stereotypes of Lutheran ministers with gourmet cooking, beer/cocktail drinking and a wicked sense of humour), Sonja (former housemate, dear friend and soul mate eccentric), and Brad (aka Bramley Apple Pies! or The Visitor during my March blog posts). We went to a place called Lindey's in Arden Hills, a classic Midwestern supper club with five things on the menu and a full bar.
Had a delightful few Manhattans at the bar, then moved to the table where we were presented with the menu board. We all opted for the special...I mean, the waitress had the perfect selling point. It's only a dollar more and it's the prime cut...no connective tissue. It all comes with an iceberg salad with some creamy french dressing and one cherry tomato, a side of hash browny potatoes that taste like they had ranch dressing mixed in before they were fried, and a basket of garlic bread. It was all delicious. There was much excellent conversation, I had many hearty laughs, and said some unintentionally brash things that got me ridiculed for the rest of the evening.
When dinner was over, TC/Kelli/Brad and I went to the St. Paul Grill for a few cocktails. I rode with Brad in his truck and had to do some fancy maneuvering to get into it, as it is practically a monster truck and I was wearing a cute little skirt with limited ability to take the giant stride necessary for the climb. Ever graceful, I managed. Brad successfully parallel parked without too much incident, and I enjoyed a Manhattan and a martini whilst Kelli assertively attempted to sort out Brad's love life. Better him than me, I say. Kelli is one tough-love matchmaker, bless her. Having been on the receiving end in the past, I will tell you she's got a keen eye, and often brings up exactly what you DON'T want to discuss.
Soni picked me up at 9, we had an excellent chat in the car on the drive down, and now I am in Rochester, sitting at Panera and listening to the Beat Farmers...I asked for Johnny Cash, and Brad offered that plus the BFs, some Josh Rouse, some Rilo Kiley, a bit of Drive By Truckers and some Jazz Butcher. Bo. nan. ZA. My mother will be here shortly, and I will be off to the land of pigs and corn for breakfasts at McDonalds, lunches at the teahouse and a few lemon ices from Culvers.
Vacation rocks. ROCKS, I tell you.