A Drinking Kind of Place
Our date was for noon, but I was there a bit early, so I took the time to press my nose against the window and look out at the water. It’s a grey, blustery and wintry-cold today, making it especially nice to be seeing the icy water from the shelter of a warm room. Then I looked around for a table with a view, scanning past the big bar and around the large open room, which resembles nothing so much as the rundown rec hall of an old summer camp. Even though my eyes were looking for a two-top, my brain seemed to be registering something else: the fact that there were about 15 people in the room and all but two were drinking. A quick look turned up wine, a few martinis and more than a few Bloody Marys.
Somehow, seeing people knocking back brandy at 6 am in the markets of France never struck me as odd, but pre-noon non-weekend martinis on Connecticut’s shoreline had a different feel, something Cheeveresque.
“Yeah,” it’s like this,” my lunchmate said as she settled in. I thought she meant that the cafe was just a drinking kind of place, but no, the “it” she was referring to was the American Northeast. She’s convinced that mid-day drinking is a regional trait. So being lifelong Northeasterners, along with our Cobb Salads we ordered a Sam Adams for me and a Bloody Mary for her.