scenes_from_the_capital_grille lostgirl it is a date night. after a long winter of living separately on the weekends, it is finally time for some alone time. some real couple time. no kids. no company. i am nursing a terrible chest cold, to the point of needing medication, so he asks if we should even do this. i am not willing to let the opportunity pass. we need this. he’s even gotten a driver for us so we are able to “drink responsibly.” ha! as the CEO, he cannot drink and drive. ever. there is just no way to unburden the type of stigma that would be associated with a dui. since we enjoy wine with fabulous food, we are now in good hands with our good friend j baker. when we made plans to go out, there was an unspoken agreement on the destination. he didn’t ask but then again, i didn’t either, yet the reservation was made for the place we both wanted to go. as we zoom towards the city, on this gorgeous spring evening, we both comment that it is so nice to still have daylight at 7:00 pm. he calls chris to let him know we’ll be late. though they already know, i’m sure. they probably wrote us in their book at 8:00. they know us well where we are heading. and they know that we are reliable, but perpetually forty five minutes behind schedule. our lateness is not from me. i am a simple girl, and can be ready in about 30 minutes, even with a shower. as i was putting my make-up on and doing my hair, i realized that today i feel different. sure, i’m a little under the weather, but this is special. i just feel brighter. after such a strange winter, i’m finally feeling like myself again. my tipped sideways world is right side up again, and it feels so damn good. this sentiment was punctuated this afternoon by the little redheaded neighbor girl that was selling magazines door-to door with her mom. she told her mom, with the unedited colloquialism of a seven year old, that she wished that she could be a queen like me. a queen? like me? i asked her what she meant, and she elaborated without a second thought. “you live in a castle, so aren’t you a queen?” i answered her with a huge smile and told her, “sure, i guess you could say that, although this queen also cleans the castle and cooks for the king and the knights.” she made my day. we are late because of the little man. he was so excited for donna to babysit him. he talked about it all day. he loves this woman like a third grandma. she talks incessantly about whatever comes to mind, and includes him as if he were an adult. they even talk politics. one time he asked me about the tea party and what i thought about those dems. yikes. all winter long, he has been quite attached to me. we rarely leave him behind, and tonight it hits him at the last minute. with the quivering lip and the lonely tear that escapes his eye, i am toast. this child can dissolve me with a bat of the eyelashes. eventually he lets go of my leg, comforted only by the fact that i will be home early enough to carry him to bed. we get on the highway at the canonsburg exit this time. we normally don’t go to town via this route, but baker is in charge. somehow tonight it feels like the right path to take. this is my hometown. i see the old homes sprinkling the hillside living comfortably with the old trees. the good old “cbg” is no “house farm” community. i call the housing developments in our area house farms, because they are just that. houses planted on farms. its really a shame actually, but my view on development will be left for another day. anyway, my town…home of perry como and bobby vinton, sarris candies and all-clad cookware. sure, it is old, there are a ton of old people that live here, but my first 17 years were lived here. this girl held the diving record at the high school for 23 years after graduating! there are so many more than a few happy memories, and with a sudden pang, i deeply miss my parents. especially since tomorrow is easter sunday, and i will not even see one of my family members. i make a mental note to call them first thing in the morning. the landscape is turning that fuzzy, hazy misty green. as the scenery zooms past my window, i wonder, like i do ten times a day, why i still miss winter. something must be wrong with me. i fell in love with that snowy white world. as we enter mount washington through the tunnel in his gorgeous sleek black “b-wagon,” the car fades into a temporary twilight. DVE is drumming and strumming in the background, and strangely, the rock and roll is soothing me. he chats on and on with baker, but i don’t mind. i am enjoying my little slice of silence as they banter about their childhood memories. these two went to grade school together. i think it’s quite curious how two boys that grew up in the same dravosburg projects could turn into men that are so diametrically different. baker has grandchildren and drives limos for his daily bread. his passenger wants to heal the world, and flies over 100,000 miles each year. different choices from within the maze, i guess. as we emerge from the tunnel on the city side of the fort pitt tunnel, we are instantly greeted with a glorious sight of this city i love so dearly. it is always so much fun to enter the city from the south with people who have never been here before. their jaws always drop with the onslaught of her greatness upon emerging from the tunnel. the view tonight does not disappoint me. to my right, the sun is hitting the buildings sort of halfway up. the buildings are slightly dark on the bottoms, but they unexpectedly burst with color from the windows above. to my left, i am awed with the vivid brightness of the stadium. in that magical hour of the day when absolutely everything looks its very best, the giant pittsburgh icon stands proud and so, so, well, yellow. the colors are razor-sharp, and my eyes continue to drink it all in. i am already considering that i will be writing about this very soon. i contemplate this recent renewal of my passion for words. what could have ever possessed me to stop writing? i was an avid journal keeper since i was able to write in a locked diary as a child. with a sudden stab, i recall why i stopped. i remember being so low that it really didn’t seem worthwhile to comment on my life, let alone record it. what a gift I was given this past winter from a friend. knowing that I write for a magazine, one day he asked me if I kept a personal journal. i recall his interesting response when i said “no.” he looked at me quizzically with those mysterious blue eyes, and simply asked “why?” he was on the money with that one. it was like another missing piece of my puzzle sliding into it’s proper place. out of my reverie once more, i look outside. there really is nothing quite like a sunset. it doesn’t matter where the big ball of fire is retiring, it never fails to mesmerize me. i regard him as his chatter with baker continues. he doesn’t appear to notice the sunset at all, but that’s okay. he is so different from me. so analytical. so serious. such the business man. there isn’t an artistic bone in his body, therefore to think that he would be experiencing what I am would be a misstep. he sees the world in black and white, yes or no, right or wrong. i would be willing to bet my life savings that he has never read a book for pleasure. i am such a contradiction to his personality, though i guess this might be half the reason it works for us. as we pull up to the restaurant, the valet guys practically trip over each other to open his door. baker opens my door and protectively takes my arm as I step out into the street. as if i would get hit by a car. as if. but, i let him protect me. its just what he does. i don’t need to be protected though. i’m shining. so confident. so complete. in fact, i’ve adopted this kick ass swagger i’ve been hearing so much about. why not? entering the restaurant is like stepping into a library of a mansion of some old tycoon with an enthusiasm for hunting. there are dead heads mounted everywhere. this seems odd for such a high end restaurant, yet it doesn’t bother me. an interesting portrait of mr. rooney greets us at the hostess stand. i glance into the bar area to assess the crowd gathering to watch the wvu game. i notice a local sports figure at least fifteen years my junior looking at me as if he wants to devour me with one bite. is he crazy? i smile and turn around, and this entire exchange goes unnoticed by my present company. as we are led to our table, i can see where the hostess is taking us, and i am one hundred and seventy five percent certain that we will not be sitting at this table. it is a very private table with two walls enclosing it into a cozy little nest. to complete the effect, there is a giant rendering of mister rodgers hanging here. he seems to be regarding us carefully, as if to ask, “are you staying or going?” to me this table is perfect, but i am not wrong about my suspicion that we won’t be parking our butts here. a barely imperceptible shake of his head to the hostess has her quickly leading us back to the lobby. he likes to see the door of the restaurant. he always has. his mom reminds me often that even as a child, in a restaurant, he always wanted to see who was coming and going. odd, sort of, for such an intensely private person. in fact, he just criticized me earlier in the week for posting pictures of our kids on facebook. he just doesn’t want people in his business. i’m not a facebook addict, i’m just proud of my kids. there are not too many pictures of me, but tons of them. i’m planning to continue posting. it’s good for the grandparents. he wanders off for a bit with the manager to look at the wine locker. our locker is next to mario lemeiux’s. i guess some might think that is impressive. as they talk, i am content to look out to the street at the masses of people passing by. where are they all going in such a hurry? i am still privately annoyed with the events of the night before. what a nightmare. after leaving the local social weekend scene for the better part of four months, it was really time to dip my toes back into the pool. i do this not for myself. i do this for the little man. my preference is to keep to myself and my family, but little kids need interaction beyond adult conversation. especially this boy. with a ten year age differential between him and his next older brother, he needs other kids. he wants to be social. he just does. we went to an easter egg dying party. there were five women present with their small children. the wine was flowing, and the evening started out well. i recall thinking, “okay, this may actually be fun.” however, when the conversation changed to tiger woods, and what an ‘idiot’ elin is for standing by her marriage, i offered a bit of my recent position on forgiveness. i was met with the look of death from five pairs of eyes. needless to say, this sparked a debate that led into a gossip-fest regarding several women in our community. one is apparently having an affair with the tennis pro. follow this with some name calling and more judgment. another’s husband has been seen at atria’s with a local well known real estate agent. and how is it that i didn’t know that they have been doing it on the sly for years? because its none of my business perhaps? it was like a fucking soap opera. these women with whom i was sharing an exquisite bottle of cakebread had abruptly changed into their snake suits. this is so completely not my scene. i withstood some of it, and then i left. wonder what they had to say about me? i don’t really much give a shit i guess. he returns with chris, and we are now led to our table. yes, the right table. perfectly in view of the door, accompanied with the ability to see out into the restaurant. it’s a little front and center for me, as i am not in favor of being the axis of attention. he doesn’t seem to realize that this table is intensely public. i don’t really care at this point because i am famished. then, the strangest thing happens. the waitress walks up to the table and gives us this long drawn out glare. she seems unsure. of herself maybe? she works here, so she shouldn’t really be confused, but she is. suddenly, she throws her hands up in the air and lets out an exasperated sigh. why is she angry with us? she has never been our server before, yet here we are, suddenly plunged into her section. instead of asking what we would like to drink, she says, “i’ll send danny over.” what? sure, danny usually takes care of us, but we hadn’t requested him. she seems disappointed, but unable stand up for herself. it is very weird, almost as though she has hit the lottery but is giving the winning ticket to danny. danny confidently saunters over, and in the next minute, she is long forgotten as he rolls into a discussion of this a new special edition wine they are offering. i tune him out for a second. my throat is so raw from coughing, that the thought of a cold chardonnay (which is normally my favorite) sounds horrible. i’m craving red wine for some reason. danny prides himself on knowing his best customers’ preferences, so i steel myself for the recommendation i’m probably not going to oblige. but, wait a second. he’s suddenly speaking my language. could this be for real? everyone who knows me understands that i only drink certain red wines. they are all extraordinary vintages and they are usually very expensive. thus, i don’t have it often. but when i do, at least i know i won’t have a night filled with heart palpitations followed with a blazing headache the next morning. oh, and i never, never, never drink cabernet. never. so what does danny suggest? you betcha. a cab. but….the way he explains it, the entire detailed literary presentation of this wine, is so over the top, that we cannot say no. we know all about how the restaurant has done a collaboration between napa valley’s famed atalon vinyards’ winemaker thomas peffer, and the grille’s grand master sommelier george miliotes. the result is the artist series 2006 atalon cabernet sauvignon. here comes the cab! we are really stoked now to try this wine. danny described it as not being a “normal” cab, a lot more fruit forward with blueberry and cherry, but with no leather and coffee. okay, we’re in. wooooohoooooo! then the bottle comes out and danny presents it to us. one look at the label and i about fall off my chair. sideways. the artist series is indeed just that. there was evidently a competition for the label design, and the winner was a wisconsin-born artist named dean j. baer. the art is intended to depict the peaceful scenery of napa valley, the birthplace of this exceptional cabernet. baer’s original piece is entitled ‘at peace.’ i would entitle it, “holy shit~this gives me butterflies.” the couple is embracing in such a way…almost as if they knew they would fit together perfectly….well, suffice to say, i love the label. but i feel a little knocked off balance. not for long though. the first taste has me in heaven. it only gets better as it opens up. we drink the whole bottle, and enjoy a stunning presentation of food. it is really that good. the veal chop is so delicious that we share it bite for bite down to the bone. everyone should order truffle oil drizzled french fries at least once in their lifetime. it is so worth it. and the tempura asparagus. yummy! we talk a lot, and i tell him how i am going to write a novel. i think he will laugh, but he doesn’t, he even offers me a few suggestions for characters that are actually workable. he says he would rather me write than be on facebook. he’s probably right. i ask him if he is happy he married me. he looks at me really strangely, and says, “of course, why would you ask me that?” as he heads to the bathroom before we are ready to leave, i look at the wine bottle again, and i carefully regard the emotion this label provokes. and i realize three things. first, that this man i love is so lucky he crossed my path when he did. second, that being close to the fire has warmed my heart, and last, i that wouldn’t change a thing. not at all. 100404 ... rt like eating and drinking satisfies the yearning body these words satiate the piqued soul. a glimpse into an unknown world...fascinating. 100405 ... lgp http://www.deanjbaer.com/ 100405 ... rt i liked this from his bio..."He showed great interest in art at a very early age, often choosing the walls and furniture to express himself versus the usual paper and coloring books." his work is soothing. 100405 what's it to you? 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