(no subject)

It's warmed up to the high twenties, and the bitter wind that made the last few days such a misery has died away. curiousangel and I walked through a light falling snow this evening to the Brewer's Art, our favorite neighborhood bar.

As so many local businesses are, the Brewer's Art is in an old mansion - high ceilings, elaborately carved lintels, baroque tarnished chandelier, carved paneling on the walls. Tonight we sat on a dilapidated couch in front of the fireplace, which for the first time since we've started going there had a fire burning in it. (A real fire from logs, not a gas fire.) I had a pint of the Proletary Ale, silky smooth and black, and then a half-pint of Resurrection Ale, a rich flavorful Belgian. With the beer we had a plate of rosemary garlic fries. They didn't quite meet the pinnacle of amazingness that is their usual standard (not enough garlic, not piping hot), but they were still addictively tasty, salty and redolent of rosemary.

We fell into conversation with a couple of young guys who sat down on the couch across from us - Eastern European immigrants, one from Belarus and one from Latvia. The one guy's description of his mother's homemade cranberry brandy was almost enough in itself for me to want to prolong the acquaintance. We talked about travel, beer, food, and got a recommendation for a good Greek seafood restaurant. Hearing them talk to each other in Russian made me a little homesick for Ben.

I love this place: shabby, elegant, and comfortable, with quick, friendly service and deeply tasty beer. We keep meaning to go there and try their dining room menu, but I know that as long as I'm this satisfied by the rosemary garlic fries and their beer, the easiest path will be back to the bar again and again.