Deck dinner; Black hole upstairs; new outfits

T felt that our delicate flower of a newly lacquered table still wasn't ready to be set for dinner last night, so we were prompted to head outside. This gussying up of la table has been awfully good at forcing us out of our regularity: a new restaurant one night, supper al fresco the next. Lovely, lovely. T had been in a bit of a funk all afternoon because the straw he got to go on his newly laid grass seed wasn't the regular type and the soaker hose he rigged up to gently irrigate from above was too powerful, even at a slow drip, and so sent the seeds a'swimming down our street. I understand the disappointment, but "T," said I, "you remind me of a depressed, large-mouth bass and you need to get over it." At this point, I mimicked a large-mouth bass opening and shutting its droopy mouth slowly and pitifully until T smiled, just a bit.

"T," said I, "we are child-free right now, and I simply can't have you whining about. Let's go take Percy for a walk and then come home and I'll make dinner and we'll sit on the deck."

He considered this, and so I large-mouth bassed at him until he agreed. I had to keep large-mouth bassing until he finally got his Tevas on and until I actually got him walking.

"T," asked I, "are you hungry? Because you seem like you're hungry and when you're hungry, it's no good." He admitted to a pang in his stomach, and so I walked him to Le Pain Quotidien and instructed him to hop inside and purchase a coconut macaroon. He didn't even attempt to argue and afterwards seemed loads improved.

Once home, he made the excellent decision to stir up an Old Fashioned and fold the laundry. Meanwhile, I: made a plum tart; smoked a pound of King salmon over hickory chips in my smoker box; made a fruit salad and also a really lovely veggie salad of fresh tomatoes (my friend brought me more!), shaved summer squash, grated Pecorino (a softer, younger one) that my sister brought me from Italy, sliced celery and celery leaves, salt, pepper and a vinaigrette made from garlic- and lemon-infused olive oil + champagne vinegar. Isn't this pretty?

For the smoked salmon, I made a sauce of Dijon, olive oil and reduced Balsamic vinegar. Not pretty but very good. And, as always, I love the way smoking meat and fish gives the exterior such a cured look. Pretty and inviting!

Most unfortunately, I have had a hell of a migraine all day. And though I have been working in Jack's room for three days, it appears no tidier. Are any of you missing hex wrenches? Because I found so many in his various Lego bins that I can't imagine any are left in the rest of the world. Mom, the boys and I were video-calling earlier, and I showed her Jack's floor. Friends, let me tell you that she agreed that it was infinitely worse than I'd been able to describe. I quote: "How does one person even get that much stuff into a room?"

Exactly. It has been my pleasure to throw much away, but don't tell J that. The boys then showed me the new outfits they picked out and Mom bought them today.

You should see the shirts underneath: they're shiny polyester, sleeveLESS, slightly V-necked and have Angry Birds and How To Train Your Dragon imagery on them. When they remove the hoodies, they look like pimps crossed with the Beastie Boys crossed with greasers. Mom was laughing so hard she was wheezing, the boys were beaming with pride. I reminded them that they couldn't wear the slippers or shorts to school.

Jack then said, "And, we had Fruit Loops for lunch!"

Mom said, "Jack, I thought we weren't going to confess that!"

I said, "Wow, Mom, you are really getting them on the right path to head back to school."

She continued to wheeze.

Macon Bistro & Larder: review, plus a meaningful interaction

macon bistro & larder

As the lacquer fumes had not dissipated in any meaningful way by yesterday evening and we couldn't use our table anyway, T and I decided to go out to eat. When was the last time we did so in spontaneous fashion? Who knows!

Anyway, I decided it'd be fun to pour myself into some jeans, slip on some heels and try to find seats at the bar of macon bistro & larder, a new'ish spot in Chevy Chase, DC, that I've been wanting to try for some time based on my friend, Jody's, extremely positive review. The name derives from the chef's childhood home in Macon, Georgia, and also from his travels throughout Europe, including Mâcon, France. Honestly, I can think of few better combinations than Southern (and French) food and French wine, and I will tell you that from the moment I stepped in site of macon, I loved everything about it.

DC-area folks might be familiar with the old Chevy Chase Arcade on Connecticut Ave, NW, between Livingston and Morrison Sts, NW. It's a Classic Revival building that was erected in 1925 and is now a member of the city's historic register. Inside, there's an old-fashioned barber shop whose motorized pole still spins red, white and blue candy cane stripes out front, a jewelry store and what once was the Avant Garde Gallery and Frame Shop is now macon. Avant Garde relocated to a corner property further south on Connecticut, under new name (Chevy Chase Art Gallery) but same ownership (dear Kiu Kavousi).

macon is a fantastic addition to Chevy Chase, a wonderful neighborhood that boasts many fine businesses -Child's Play, Circle Yoga, Chevy Chase Wine & Spirits, Periwinkle and more- but little in the way of excellent food. We secured the last spot at the bar, one stool on the corner, and a friendly face soon brought a seat for T too. The lovely woman to my left and I struck up conversation over her deviled eggs and my phone case, the bartenders were both knowledgeable and charming despite being crushingly busy, the ambiance throughout was abuzz with happy chatter and good vibes and T and I settled in quickly and easily. The aesthetics are fantastic- love the fixtures over the bar, the layout of the place, the wallpaper, the chairs. Whoever did the restaurant did a fine job.

The Martini de Lamartine quickly caught my eye as the cocktail with which I had to start my night, and it was so tasty that I ultimately had two. Vodka, St. Germain, orange, lemon and a twist, it was adult koolaid at its most sophisticated best: dangerously smooth and well-balanced. T had an unremarkable Saison beer but to be fair, the bartender told him it lacked character so he was forewarned.

People, the second thing to immediately jolt me to attention was the offering of Essie's biscuits with honey butter and pepper jelly. No restaurant purporting to be Southern could get by without biscuits and pepper jelly on its menu so I was both relieved and thrilled to see the real deal here because, as I've mentioned, I was really grooving on everything about macon. Everything is made in house, and the combination of warm biscuit -tender and with a great crumb- slathered with creamy, room temp butter and perfectly seasoned, perfectly spreadable pepper jelly made me close my eyes for a moment and immediately commit to ordering biscuits from macon's larder to go. Happiness washed over me anew with each bite, chased by liquid zen in each sip.

Whenever T tries a new restaurant, he orders either the house burger or the steak frites (if either is available). This is his standard test of quality (mine is roast chicken), and the results indicate to him whether or not a joint will last. Palena, for example, has a perfect burger in T's opinion, and he is certain this is one of the reasons it's been a successful staple in DC for so long. No burger at macon but, perhaps obviously with the â influence, steak frites shone from the menu light a beacon straight to T's eyes. He handled the lack of ketchup with aplomb, not least because it was replaced by a garlic aioli, and was quite satisfied to surmise that the steak had been cooked sous vide first and then seared and then finding he was correct. Though you cannot tell from the photograph, the steak's exterior was beautifully shellacked but its interior seemed to still quiver with life. Way too rare for moi, but T liked it.

As I am wont to do, I couldn't decide on an entree so chose two starters instead. I like this option because it allows me to taste more of the menu and get a better feel for the place as a whole. And so, while I was tempted by the roast chicken with collards and onion confit (for reason, see above paragraph), I ultimately decided on the savory blue cheese cheesecake with a pecan crust red wine vinegar peaches and frisée and the bibb county salad which was a perfect combination of bibb lettuce, spiced pecans, shaved radishes, braised beets and a to-die-for buttermilk dressing. I could literally eat this exact salad every day.

The cheesecake was good but not memorable in any way. I loved the toast points with which it was served, and I liked the consistency of the cake, but it lacked something. I can't put my finger on what that something is, but it needed to be lifted to more ethereal and flavorful heights.

Though peach cobbler and coconut cake were on the dessert menu, we were too stuffed to consider a final course and so called for the check and our to-cook-at-home biscuits. T's butt had fallen asleep from sitting for so long, so I told him to go walk around the neighborhood and get a pint of ice cream at CVS because I knew he'd want it later, and I'd settle up and meet him in a few.

The meaningful interaction

He agreed, and as I walked out of macon several minutes later, floating along with plump satiety and phone in hand so that I could buzz T, a middle-aged woman approached me and asked if I could help her get something to eat. I'd been so lost in my train of thought that I didn't see her walk up, and I'm glad because my being unaware forced me to simply respond rather than think too much about anything.

"I'd be happy to. What are you hungry for?"

"Well, Starbucks is closed but there's a Dunkin' Donuts."

"Where is there a Dunkin' Donuts around here?" I asked. "I didn't know that."

"Oh, we'd have to take the bus."

Y'all, I was not going to take the bus anywhere at this point, not least because I really did not wish to abandon my husband and our date.

"Let's not get on a bus! What about a hamburger? Do you like hamburgers?" I asked as I saw the American City Diner on the next block.

"Oh yes, I love hamburgers."

"Great, let's go there. Do you like cheese on your burgers?"

"Oh yes!"

"OK, I can't sit with you because I'm meeting my husband, but let's go in and get you settled and order your burger."

"Can I have a salad too?"

"Sure."

The waitress who greeted us could not have been lovelier, and I was so touched by how respectfully she covertly took my money and agreed that yes, the woman could have "so many croutons" and went to great lengths to find the ranch dressing that was MIA because the woman really preferred ranch.

At this point, T called me to inquire about my disappearance, and I told him to meet me on the corner in a few. I love T because he didn't ask any questions and when I told him the story, he didn't ask about what her meal had cost and he didn't remind me that he would not have made the same decision. He simply said, "It's really great that you provided her a good and hearty meal." What love, huh?

Sometimes it's nice to just say yes. I often think about this when the boys ask to do or build something that I really have zero interest in or desire to do. "Just saying yes" honors them, though. It's a small way to show them how much I love them. To simply follow their lead, to let them decide, to not feel judged or hemmed in. To feel that someone cares about them and what they wish for in that moment.

I wished the woman a good meal and walked back out into the night. As we drove off, I could see her through the lit window, sitting comfortably inside the warm diner, and I hope she enjoyed every crouton and that big old cheeseburger.

Spectacular Saturday

When the children are away, the parents will play (and laze)

People, it is absolutely remarkable how zen my home feels when the children are happily elsewhere. Since they are with my parents who take them swimming as much as they want AND feign interest in Pokémon AND take them for sno-cones and donuts, I know that the children, who are elsewhere, are most definitely happy. Since that's the case, we are rolling in lazy zentasticness over here. Swear to g, y'all I neither changed out of PJs or brushed my teeth until 1:30 this afternoon. Why bother with either when A) it's raining and B) you have nowhere to be and so C) you can clean Oliver's, aka Tiny Hoarder, room? I cannot even tell you how much stuff I purged from that "treasure chest." You heard it here first if he ends up starring in a hoarder reality show some day. Some of the "treasures" with which I dispensed:

• a paper lunch bag FULL of pine needles, chipped bark and a faux gem
• a secret stash of assorted gum and candy wrappers
• a giant petrified raisin
• various paper crowns, tee-pees and feather-bedecked hats(?)
• multiple drawings of pokeballs and butts

I felt wildly productive and free.

As I stood up, my calves seemed locked into some sort of bad position that can only derive from lack of use. It therefore seemed appropriate (necessary) to visit a long-lost haunt known as the gym. I stretched, did some cardio, saw some friends and finally returned to my car at which point I realized, upon seeing a sort of diagonal angle of myself in the car window, that my bosom looked extremely unbalanced. Long story short, only one of the boob pads in my sports top was in. I give up on boob pads because A) they're annoying to remove for the laundry and then put back in because (and perhaps this is my failure) they always end up with an odd crease that seems to show through and alert everyone to the fact that I have boob pads in; B) they remind me of people who put other folks' pictures on dating sites: you are definitely going to be found out, person, and you will then look like a total tool.

Once in the car, I ripped out the remaining pad and threw it into my console. It occurred to me that if someone looked in my car, it'd be really weird to see a beige, oblong foam pad in there so I hid it with my grocery list.

When I arrived at the grocery, I hid the damn pad again because obviously I needed my list. The market was so busy I started to wonder if I'd missed news of Armageddon happening tonight, but I channeled my zen and let everyone have the right of way. Where did I have to be? Nowhere. Karma people, karma.

Back in the car, I threw the boob pad in my purse where it remains (note to self: remove it because discovery by anyone else will be embarrassing) and headed home in a jolly mood. Intending to make granola and ricotta, I instead had to haul immediate ass upstairs because Tom decided to relacquer our table and I am certain I lost an enormous number of brain cells in the short time it took me to throw everything into our fridge. It seems we will be going out to eat tonight. And you know what? We can.

This staycation is SUCH a gift. Thank you, Mom and Dad!

Last night's dinner

Yesterday, I was overcome with such a serious yen for short ribs that it felt like a schizo imperative. We ate well last night, in part because of this moment of craze. Braised short ribs atop hominy stew (thank you, Hugh Acheson), watermelon-feta salad (I know, serious obsession) and my crispy Brussels sprouts with lemon, capers and Pecorino. Outstanding. Then we played Monopoly, and I got creamed. Then we watched The Knick which is beyond fabulous and totally redeemed my glum over having been stripped of Boardwalk. If y'all are not watching Clive Owen and this fab new show, you need to start doing so!