The latest example of that phenomenon occurred tonight.
Harry Belafonte |
However, I guess you could say we didn't realize just what early would mean. When we arrived at 4 p.m. for the scheduled 5 o'clock program, we discovered that the entry line stretched half-way down the block from V Street to U Street. And, in addition, it appeared that Busboys and Poets was already almost filled to legal capacity. Having nothing else to do, we decided to chance the daunting, slow-moving line. We struck up a conversation with a couple behind us who had attended several of the same Busboys and Poets events we had attended. Then, as we inched forward, we chatted with a woman in front of us who was originally from Philadelphia and had spent her summers at the South Jersey shore.
Suddenly, a stir broke out in front of us. Belafonte had sat down at a table and was clearly visible through the large plate glass windows. Cameras ands iPhones flashed as the shivering crowd attemped to capture Belafonte's warm smile and friendly waves of acknowledgement.
Within minutes, a manager came out to say that no one else would be admitted, but that there would be limited signed copies of My Song: A Memoir available at the bookstore tomorrow. I looked at Judy. It was time for Plan B, which I already had in mind. Before we learned of the free Belafonte talk, I was leaning towards going to the John Waters Christmas show at the Birchmere. Given the indie film director's fascination for the bizarre and sickly strange, I couldn't begin to envison the type of holiday show he would produce. I hadn't mentioned it to Judy because I knew she wouldn't really want to go. Plus, there was the $45 a person ticket thing. But now, shut out of Belafonte, I figured I would bring up the Waters' show. My initial reaction was right. Judy issued a double no - one for Waters and the other for spending $90 for a show she was pretty sure she would hate.
OK. No problem. Just produce a Plan C. Earlier that afternoon, I had been doing one of my favorite time-wasting pastimes - researching DC restaurants I planned to visit. Judy had mentioned she wanted to get dessert. One of the places I had been researching - Co Co. Sala Chocolate Lounge & Boutique - was credited with having DC's finest desserts. It was only 3 Metro stops and a short walk from where we now stood. And I knew that as much as Judy disliked John Waters she did like dark, rich chocolate.
We headed back to the U Street Metro stop and jumped on the yellow line. Exiting at Chinatown, we headed down H Street toward 9th Street. We passed Matchbox, praised for some of the finest gourmet pizza in all of DC. (Note to self: Check it out soon). We passed 5 Guys, my favorite DC burger chain which originated just across the Potomac. We passed Cuba Libre, where we would be going on a Monday in January to partake in an 22-dish Cuban dish food sampling to prepare us for our trip to Cuba in February.
Approaching 9th Street, we heard music and looking to the left found the 2-block Downtown Holiday Market in full swing. I tugged at Judy's arm. "C'mon, you said you wanted to go to the market. Let's go now," I said, trying unconvincingly to pretend that I knew we would encounter this very event on our walk. And so we strolled past 2 blocks of lit, tented booths with gifts from Peru, gifts from Tibet, indeed gifts from all over the world, not to mention gifts from just around the block.
Completing our tent window shopping, we headed off to Co Co. Sala. Approaching the restaurant, we noticed it was unusually dark "I don't think it's open," Judy said. And, as usual, she was right. Sunday was a dark day; our 1st visit to the chocolate lounge wouldn't be occurring on this night..
OK. No problem. Bring on Plan D. I knew we were only 2 blocks from Zatinya, the Mediterranean restaurant operated by DC's legendary chef Jose Andres. We had eaten at Zatinya and received one of our favorite DC meals so far. "C'mon we'll go to Zatinya," I said, heading off in that direction.
In a matter of minutes, we arrived at the restaurant. All the tables were full or reserved, but the hostess said we could sit at the bar, where a complete menu is served. And so we finally sat, with no Belefonte in sight, but with us staring at a dessert menu filled with delectable delights. For the record, Judy had the homemade ice cream trio: Lebanese chocolate walnut (who needs a chocolate lounge?), bakalava, and, most intriguing of all, olive oil. Meanwhile, I closed my Sunday evening DC adventure with creamed Turkish coffee cake and Moroccan mint tea. Hannibal was right. I love it when a plan comes together.
Tales, Tidbits, and Tips
So what is the moral of the story above? I suppose you could make a case for not stressing when you are traveling. Then, there are echoes of the Boy Scout maxim: be prepared. But, to me, the main message is you've got to love living in a place where a great dessert at a Jose Andres restaurant is your Sunday night Plan D.
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