...at Robin des Bois. We were one of three occupied tables in the gravelly garden, on a very, very, very hot and sticky day. I have never seen it so empty. We sat under the pretty crabapple tree and admired the postcard-perfect arbour of grapes trained over the deck area, with many bunches hanging high over the tables. I'd like to visit again when they are ripe. Robin is a great place, and has been part of good Brooklyn memories, with Constanza, with my parents and friends en masse (small mass), my dad in white dinner jacket giving me dark looks for not warning him that it was casual. I had said anything he wore would be fine. So it was the white dinner jacket.
With Vincent, it was Pastis for him and Kir Rouge for me. I am trying to teach it to everyone I know. Cold red wine, preferably Syrah, with a slosh of Cassis, and ice. It's great. Sometimes the mouthier feel of chilled tannin is better than the cold slide of white.
A croque madame for me. A monsieur for him. Good bread good bechamel good ham. And egg for me.