Seattle Sun Newspaper - Vol. 7, Issue 4, April 2003

Copyright 2003 Jane Lotter. Use with permission only.

Stepping Out

Jane Explains Column

By JANE LOTTER

It's our wedding anniversary and my husband Bob and I are going out to dinner at one of Seattle's finest restaurants. We always dine out on our anniversary.

"You're wearing black pants?" Bob asks when he sees me getting ready.

"I am."

"But I'M wearing black pants," he says. "We'll look like twins!"

"Not unless you slip into pumps and a Donna Karan blouse," I say.

At the restaurant, we will each have one perfect cocktail. We will have oysters on the half-shell, we will have salad and fresh bread, we will have the mixed seafood grill or possibly the Dungeness crabcakes. We'll have whatever we like, it's our anniversary for goodness sake!

After dinner, we'll eat a yummy, chocolate-something dessert. We'll linger over cappuccinos, we'll nibble on the little mints that sometimes come with the bill. We'll sit there so long and eat so much we may just segue straight into breakfast.

I don't know when we discovered the joy of eating at fine restaurants. It's a grownup joy, isn't it? Like multiple orgasms or getting your taxes done early. I mean, we own that book, "The Joy of Cooking," but it's nothing compared to The Joy of Being Waited On.

And when you think about it, I suppose this is how so many celebrities put on weight. Liz, Liza, Luciano Pavarotti. I figure they're endlessly offered terrific food. Agents, publicists, hangers-on are constantly saying to them, "Are you hungry? Would you like a little something? There's a four-star Continental place just around the corner. Shall we grab a nosh? We could get take out." This just minutes after they've stuffed themselves with Thanksgiving dinner.

Who can resist good cooking? I know I can't. Naturally, the service at our anniversary dinner will also be excellent. One thing I've noticed about dining out in Seattle is that waiters don't say "Enjoy!" anymore, which is nice. They've stopped insisting you have a good time. Of course, I could be mistaken about that. Perhaps the custom hasn't completely died out. Perhaps they're still saying it at the drive-thru window at McDonald's. "Here's your Happy Meal. Enjoy!"

Or maybe Seattle waiters say "Enjoy!" ­ but they just don't say it to Bob and me. Maybe we look like we've already enjoyed ourselves plenty. Maybe the waiter takes one look and says to himself, "These people have wrung enough enjoyment out of life. Better to leave them in peace."

It's like another phrase you never hear anymore: "You go, girl!" People used to say that to me all the time, at work, at PTA meetings. "You go, girl!" These days they're probably thinking, "Oh, never mind. I can see you already went."

One thing I like is eating in a restaurant where the menu is written in French. I studied French for five quarters at the University of Washington and I feel I should have something that is, eat something to show for it. "I'm leaning toward the coup de grâce," I say to Bob as I scan the menu, "with Folies-Bergère on the side. For dessert, a slice of Moulin Rouge."

"I happen to know you're speaking complete gibberish," Bob says. "But your accent is good."

At the restaurant we'll probably run into people we know. Does this happen to you? I don't know why, but we almost always encounter friends when we dine out. They're usually not close friends. They're people we know through work or even through other friends. Perhaps we'll bump into our attorney or tax accountant. "It's your anniversary?!" the attorney or tax accountant will exclaim. "Well, you've picked a great spot to celebrate."

Yes, we have picked a great spot. We toyed with the idea of picking someplace really awful, just for a change. Just to see what would happen. But in the end we went for traditional. We chose a place that was fun and memorable and where the food is scrumptious ± one of Seattle's best. And I guess we always will.

E-mail Jane at janeexplains@attbi.com. b