Audrey and I went out for our anniversary on Friday, taking two seats at the bar at a little French spot called Partake, just off High Street. Cozy spot, small, rustic plates ("how do you say 'tapas' in French?"I asked the bartender, who did not know) as well as a robust and imaginative cocktail menu.
The staff were all delightful, and watching everything that went into making some of these drinks was like dinner and a show - slicing, scorching, smoking and shaking. After watching her mix drinks with a bottle in each hand, Audrey asked at one point if she played the piano. "No," she replied wistfully, spreading her hands on the bar. "Look at these fingers - it's like when I got to age ten, my hands said, 'y'know what? I'm good here' and just stopped growing."
In turn, she asked how long we had been married, and when we told her 33 years, she mused, "hmm, you know, I have only been alive one year more than that - well done!"
I mentioned how impressed I was with one of the cocktails (no. 70), telling her that I certainly did not have "smoky Mexican After Eight drink" on my bingo card ever, but really enjoyed it.
The food was great as well, particularly their coq-au-vin drumsticks (that sauce!) and the prosciutto-wrapped dates, but the dutch bitterballen made with short rib were a delight as well.
Glory graciously agreed to drive us and pick us up which meant we could go pretty deep into the cocktails for a change, and they comped us a swet vermouth as a desertif when we asked for the bill, which was sweet of them.
But as most anniversary dinners go, the best part of it was the person I got to spend it with; the card really does say it all.
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