At five o'clock in the afternoon, a friend called to alert us that he had two free hours in the city while on a delayed connection at the airport and was headed our way. This dinner would necessarily consist of just Mrs., the guest, and me. A cheerful armada of chipper sitters allowed the fast arrangement, and I had nearly no time to change.
Our guest, a particularly elegant and stylish bachelor and long-time family friend percolated our motivation to shift into non-business evening clothing... or as close to it as we could get in under five minutes.
A butter-yellow sport coat would be the only modification, but it gave the boring business get-up a bit of summer-evening. Switch out the pocket square, and the deal was done.
Since there would be only three, the restaurant choice was easy. Lala Rokh is a tiny Persian restaurant and a fixture in the neighborhood with excellent food and attentive staff. More importantly, it has Boston's smallest bar: three seats. [Patsy K: surely you have been there, yes?] A few gin martinis at the minuscule bar, then to the table for not-at-all minuscule plates of grilled lamb, minted rice, saffron yogurt, sultanas and mushrooms. A gulped glass of the house red wine, and our guest was back in his taxi to the airport in time for his evening connection to the West Coast. We arrived home just in time for me to read Richard Scarry's various tales of lederhosen-clad Tyrolean animals to young and sleepy ears.
Our guest, a particularly elegant and stylish bachelor and long-time family friend percolated our motivation to shift into non-business evening clothing... or as close to it as we could get in under five minutes.
A butter-yellow sport coat would be the only modification, but it gave the boring business get-up a bit of summer-evening. Switch out the pocket square, and the deal was done.
Since there would be only three, the restaurant choice was easy. Lala Rokh is a tiny Persian restaurant and a fixture in the neighborhood with excellent food and attentive staff. More importantly, it has Boston's smallest bar: three seats. [Patsy K: surely you have been there, yes?] A few gin martinis at the minuscule bar, then to the table for not-at-all minuscule plates of grilled lamb, minted rice, saffron yogurt, sultanas and mushrooms. A gulped glass of the house red wine, and our guest was back in his taxi to the airport in time for his evening connection to the West Coast. We arrived home just in time for me to read Richard Scarry's various tales of lederhosen-clad Tyrolean animals to young and sleepy ears.
