B. had graciously agreed to be my escort on a restaurant-reviewing foray into Bed-Stuy, only to find that the restaurant I'd been slated to review was closed for renovations til June. So we walked over to Jolie on Atlantic Avenue, a recent hangout of his. It's a nice little space, with a bar up front and a narrow dining room in back, with the requisite bistro mirrors and lipstick-red walls. In fact, I think I have that lipstick--Tres Tres Dior, a favorite from my black eyeliner/black stockings/Louise Brooks-bob days, back when I worked in a bookstore in Chicago and drank gin and tonics underage in the Clark Street bars that didn't card.
It was still 80 degrees at 8pm; walking down the street felt like swimming or flying through air the exact temperature of your skin. What with the weather (and it being the last night of Brooklyn Restaurant Week), the back garden was full, so we sat at the bar and drank viognier and ate cold raw things: tuna tartare, steak tartare, endive salad with thin slices of toasted baguette spread with herby goat cheese.
And speaking of jolie filles, Violet Rachel Lollar has come into the world. Yep, Dutch is a dad. All the luck and happiness to Dutch (aka Phil) and wife Joyce. Am I thinking of how every guy (and probably most of the girls too) I've ever gone out with is married now, and many have babies? Of course not! Why would I think of that?