In a crowded Nero's dining room, my old boyfriend "R" and I met for a business lunch.
My trout entree was one of those entrees that reveals its perfection gradually, bite by bite. The first bite revealed that it was uniformly crisp and golden over every centimeter of its surface. The second demonstrated that was perfectly cooked, just firm enough but still juicy and tender. By the third I had sorted out the brilliant flavor combination of hot fish and cold black bean salsa, judiciously balanced with salt and lime juice, enriched with a zigzag of spiced crema.
It was a ideal entree, a little too generous a portion for a woman's lunch. But because R and I are past all the "eat like a supermodel" stuff, I ate alll the fish, plus an embarrassing number of corn cakes. There's not a better cornmeal-based product in town, you ask me.
There's less to my relationship with R than meets the eye, but it probably looks a little odd. My husband thinks so, anyway. Fortunately, we never run into anyone who knows our history.
Speaking of history, I did something I haven't done since the last time, probably 23 years ago, that I had lunch with R: I got a doggie bag of corn cakes. What about you: gotten a doggie bag lately? Or gone out to lunch with an old flame?