My New Favorite Way to Eat

As reported yesterday I had to take Carter to Raleigh yesterday to go to her favorite English singer, Jake Bugg’s concert. From Carter’s point of view it was a huge success. She and her friend Campbell got great spots about five people back from the stage, they loved the opening act – which means they have discovered yet another band they want to follow, Jake Bugg played beautifully and the crowd of devoted followers were a perfect audience, they met new friends in the Bugg Fandom, bought cute merch (that’s teenage girl lingo for merchandise) and the big bonus was the mother’s (me, Hannah and bonus mother Jan) allowed them to wait 30 minutes after the show ended to meet Jake and get photos with him. Big wins, lots of happiness, followed by PCD in the car on the way home -“Mom, PCD (Post Concert Depression) is a real thing,” I was told through the tears.

Not only was the daughter’s concert experience a megahit, but the mother’s night turned out to be an unexpected triumph too. One reason is that my level of expectation was incredibly low to begin with. I find that the less I am looking forward to something the better I end up feeling about it if it is fun.

My reason for not looking forward to this night is I first thought I was going to just be a driver, a lone adult in the world of teen music mania looking for a way to kill six hours in the heat and the dark. Then Hannah volunteered to go with me and our plan was to eat dinner and walk. Then Jan called to ask if she could spend the night in her Durham Home, our guest room. Suddenly I had my own girl gang and we had a plan.

After barley slowing down the car outside the Lincoln Theatre so the crumb snatchers could jump out to wait in the fandom line the big girls made a beeline for Poole’s dinner. After putting our name on the list for a table Jan and Hannah each got a yummy adult beverage and they joined me on the sidewalk where I was standup needle pointing in the warmth of the evening air. Around eight we were seated in the booth by the kitchen door. The night’s menu was written on the chalkboard above our heads so I stood and read it allowed to my friends and with each description our mouths watered a little more.

Our waitress came by to see if we needed more drinks and we let her know that we were going to be occupying that table for a very long time. She gave us a thumbs-up since it appeared that we were the last turn of the table-night and it was the worst table in the place.

Like analysts decoding a secret we hatched a plan to enjoy as many different items as we could and not be gluttonous or gain an ounce. Agreeing on two appetizers, two salads and one side dish and dessert we started our ordering campaign. We began with one beet salad shared amongst the three of us. We each took a slice of red and then a slice of yellow beet, a fork full of avocado and a tiny pile of greens dressed in orange marmalade, horseradish and blue cheese vinaigrette and put it on our own individual plate. Almost simultaneously the conversation ceased as we each experienced the same perfect bite. It was like group sex without the embarrassment of being naked.

After agreeing it was almost the best thing we had ever eaten we decided to follow it with the tuna Carpaccio with fennel and grapefruit. Again one third of the dish for each of us gave us the taste we wanted. We decided we needed the house Mac ‘n cheese next so as not end with something heavy. We had seen the bowls go by us they left the kitchen, but did not really appreciate the size until our sweet waitress put the cheese crusted au grain down in front of us.

I rarely let myself have pasta of any sort these days remembering back to a trip to Italy with Carter and Russ six years ago that was the beginning of gaining my weight back. But sharing some mac ‘n cheese with friends seemed like the safest way to revisit my favorite food- melted cheese. In the end we each had a small bit and had the waitress box up over half of the bowl to bring home to Carter.

At this point we had been eating this long drawn out way for over an hour. We were not close to being full. We ordered the shrimp and crab salad with avocado and radishes. Two forkfuls each and the jewel of a dish was gone. The heirloom tomatoes, with burrata and grilled corn bread rounded out our savory courses.

I would have been happy to stop right then, but I had read out loud the description for a dark chocolate and peanut pie with a bruleed banana and Jan had her heart set on that. Hannah and I did not need our arms twisted. A two-bite dessert could not hurt anyone.

When it was all said and done we had dragged our dinner out for almost three hours, we each got to taste many more yummy things than if we had just ordered our own dinner and the bill hardly amounted to anything. As we walked outside a text message came across my phone, “Just ended. Getting Merch. PLEASE BRING WATER.” Followed by, “We r trying to meet him. They say 15 mins.”

The mothers were so happy from our great meal that we did not put up any fight about our daughters waiting in the parking lot by the tour bus and we even drove through McDonalds and bought four bottles of water on the way to pick up.

In the end I think it would be a real fight to agree who had a better night. As for me I now only want to go to dinner with friends who will split everything with me. Two bites of anything are absolutely perfect.