So, our title rep insisted that he be allowed to take us to lunch today. And since we're a casual office, we were suggesting boring usual lunch spots, like Hobees.
D. would have none of that. “No,” he insisted, “We're going someplace nice. After all Big Title Company is paying.”
Now, I have been known to frequent several of San Jose's trendiest restaurants, Stratta and The Agenda among them (the latter, by the way, is the best place to watch downtown action w/o being part of it), but of course, I didn't think of this, so D. called his friend CommercialBroker, and got a referral.
We ended up going to Le Papillon, a white-tablecloth French restaurant on Saratoga.
Now, D. and E., my lunchmates, are very sweet men. E. is 37, father of a ten-year-old, and he and his longterm SO just bought a very cool house in Felton. D. is trendy, and thinks 30 is 'old'. (He's the Title Rep). Neither of them frequent such restaurants, and while E. is old enough that he can blend, D. was not. Now, I may live in comfy sloppy clothes most of the time, but I'm not a stranger to this atmosphere, and yes, I can pull off the image of being a lady who lunches. When I want to.
There's an art to such places, even when you aren't having two-martini lunches. You have to be able to pull off casual superiority. You also need to know which fork to use, and that if you're unfamiliar with French food, steak is always a safe bet.
So, we all had their crab cocktail (Dungeness Crab Cocktail with Avocado, Grapefruit and Pepper-Vodka Tomato Water), which was light and yummy, and hey, free buzz! E. had steak. D. ordered wild mushroom raviolli, which was not a wise choice for someone who associates raviolli with Chef Boyardee. And I didn't think to caution him that he'd not like it.
I had salmon in ginger and kumquat sauce, on a corn-patty. It wasn't the best salmon I've ever had, but it wasn't the worst, and I loved the sauce.
We skipped dessert.
And when I got back to our admittedly-dingy office, I looked around and realized how much I hate my job, and being required to follow someone else's schedule (no matter how flexible), and how much I wish I could con someone into paying me to write for a living.
Is it Friday yet?