Lizzy Revisited: Cheating on my Blind Date with Lincoln

This was originally posted in August of 2008.

I used to be addicted to Agatha Christie murder mysteries. I was pretty good about just reading them straight through, until the last Hercule Poirot mystery (Curtain), when for some reason, I could not stop myself from reading the ending when I was only half-way through the book. Oh how I regretted that moment. I cheated. And it took all the glory out of the ending.

A couple of weeks ago, I was persuaded by my restless, impatient mind to cheat again. My restaurant group had a reservation at Lincoln, a restaurant that was so new, the menu wasn't even online. We had no idea what the prices were, what the food was like, and wasn't it exciting! Ansley even said it was like going on a blind date with food. Then about a week or so before we planned to go, the menu appeared on their website. I promised myself that I wouldn't look. I wanted to be surprised, to make capricious choices, to fully enjoy the spontaneity of the moment.

Theoretically, it was a good idea, but I couldn't wait. I looked. And I picked out what I was having that very second: hanger steak with anchovy butter and onion rings. We clicked, me and the hanger steak, from the very beginning. I knew that we were MFEO (made for each other). I dreamed about that steak all week and when Friday came, I was anxiously anticipating my "blind" date. I had already looked at Lincoln's picture and knew that he had all his teeth, did not wear a patch over one eye, held a job and did not hit his mother.

We started out exchanging pleasantries and getting to know each other. I knew right away that we were going to hit it off. Thyme flatbread with chicken liver pate and grilled bunching onions (dark, rich, fresh), deep fried skewers of mozzarella and bread (hot, melty, comfort), crispy potato and sage fritters (crispy on the outside, soft on the inside). The waitress brought us tons of amazingly chewy/crispy bread with a lot of butter and salt (bless you!)

As we waited for our entrees, I was getting nervous to see IRL (in real life) the steak of my dreams. I knew that I wouldn't just take a bite. Sometimes you just gotta live. I had enough of the pleasantries and when my steak arrived, I threw caution to the wind and went straight to second base. It didn't disappoint - cooked perfectly medium rare, with a salty, slightly anchovied butter melting along side and light, crispy, well-cooked onion rings. Other people had cheesy risotto with summer vegetables, the lamb chop, and half a chicken. I didn't bother flirting with other people's dates. I was crushing hard on mine.

After the steak, we talked about it, and decided to go all the way. It was peach ice cream with homemade butterscotch sauce for me. The hot butterscotch slithered down the fresh peach ice cream seductively. The sauce pooled at the bottom of my ice cream dish and my favorite part of the whole night was delving into that peach laced stickiness with my spoon. Sweet, slightly salty and a little twinge of fresh peach.

Well, I don't know what else to say. Lincoln was cheeky and just as handsome as his picture. Maybe next time I'll have more restraint, but it's not likely.

P.S. I don't regret cheating.