I arrived at the 21st Amendment (rather than the abstract amendment itself, it is a pub in honor of same) and did not recognize any party members. The hostess did not recognize any names. I texted a few crucial people (jd, Elliot) and then my phone rang: zarhooie, with a question of general holiday celebrationy logistical sorts of matters. JD and Elliot announced their imminent arrival; Elliot's ride (people I didn't know, brothers) arrived shortly thereafter. We were seated, the five of us.
General cheer ensued over the menus and options. There were a number of interesting-looking things. JD and I both wound up with mead. Somehow, despite various renfair excursions, I had not previously tried mead. (Is it even available at the Arizona fair I used to go to? I don't recall seeing it, but then, I was not looking for the selling of booze there. I've relaxed considerably that I can find the thought of any loss of control, voluntary or otherwise, in a public place at all appealing.) I wasn't sure what to expect. It was less sweet than I might have thought, and had the complex and slightly bitter taste of fermentation that I thought was somehow inherent to grapes. Interesting.
JD got some cider later, and I tried a sip of that. Not sure that I would seek out that particular cider, alas; just not quite my thing.
I may be acquiring a tolerance, but one drink is generally enough when I'll be driving home in the next few hours.
It is football season, and the 49ers were playing. Twitter had advised me that there had been a power outage at their park, cause still unknown and under investigation. There were some TVs on in the upstairs balcony, and noise periodically emitted from that area whenever something particularly exciting happened.
We had a great fireside seat, close to the kitchen: the grill area is visible from the restaurant, and gouts of flame periodically rise an astonishing height, lighting and warming the pub.
It was a bit noisy, but there were good times.
My phone pinged. I had my phone out because I really didn't have much in the way of pockets, as instead of my usual slightly tatty black cardigan I was wearing the lovely grey lace short-sleeved sweater from norabombay, over the fabulous sparkly-shirt. (Yay, *clothes*!) Facebook let me know that marta was inbound, if we were still there. I advised the rest of the group; shortly, we caught sight of each other and she piled in to the booth. There was catching up on news, shop talk, and so forth.
We closed out our dinner bill and headed for the bar, and from the bar to one of the lower-volume front tables. It's very good to be alive in an age where not only does one have the family that one is born into, if one is so lucky to have drawn a good one of those, but also the family that one can acquire on the internet. *hugs fish*
The 49ers won, and the roar from upstairs became insufferable, and dispersed loudly downstairs to the bar, accompanied by many declarations of how football, and the 49ers, and the fans thereof, were totally awesome. Loud declarations. A young woman unlucky enough to be visibly rooting for the Steelers entered, and was met by a certain amount of derision before she was embraced to the bosoms of some of the locals. Ah, sport.
It was amazingly good to see everybody.
I took JD home, then myself. Kat was in bed. I hammered away at my Yuletide, occasionally cackling at my own cleverness. The Yulebears shall be defeated!
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