Do you have a place that asks, “hey, how are you, having the usual?” rather than, “hello, welcome to Restaurant X, have you ever dined with us before?” If you don’t, it isn’t hard to do, you just have to go often…and tip well.
Everyone should eat lunch, especially me because breakfast is typically a couple of vitamins, the Wall Street Journal editorials, and two cups of black coffee. By the time both hands on my watch are pointing straight up, my stomach is rumbling. During the week, I have a few spots I frequent, and I eat light—salads with grilled chicken breast or a cup of soup (hold the bread) and a beer. Friday's lunch, however, is different.
On Fridays, I have a fancy lunch. It’s penciled in my calendar and set for infinity. I walk around the corner to this place called Knight’s Restaurant and I sit at the bar with a book. Depending on the weather and what I have to do later that day, I order a martini or a Negroni, but after a year of this ritual I have learned that they make a better Negroni. I get in a bit of chit-chat with Andrew, the bartender, casual stuff—sports, rain, local happenings, then he leaves me and my book alone. When my cocktail and a few chapters have disappeared Andrew returns and I put in my order: New York strip (the 8oz not the 16), medium rare with asparagus (though every so often I do get the fries), Caesar salad, and a glass of the house red.
Between me putting in my order and it coming out, some other Friday regulars file in. Tim (Titos and soda), likes to discuss golf and Karl (white wine, usually Muscadet or Pinot Gris), can go on for a whole bottles worth about travel and fine dining. Every now and then there are some other familiar faces, but these are the guys that I see every Friday. If I miss a Friday, or they miss one, it's big news and the absence will require explanation when we reunite.
My food comes out! The medium rare is always much more towards the rare end of the spectrum than the medium end, just the way I like it, but I think if I were to order it rare it might crawl off the plate. I eat and talk to the guys, both acts nourish my stomach and soul. When satisfied, I pay and walk back the way I came to the little coffee shop beneath my office. The baristas don't talk much to me anymore, but they know my order. If there's a line, I can take a seat outside after a nod to whoever is working the espresso machine, and they'll bring out my usual when they have time. I settle up before I leave and wish them all a good weekend. Macchiato with a sparkling water back, and only on Friday do I order a pistachio macaron to pair with another chapter of my book.
This whole fancy repertoire isn’t just about physical sustenance, it's great for my emotional appetite too. The act of going to lunch has added new friends and acquaintances (and a few “worth it” pounds) to my life. I know what’s going on for the weekend because I talked to Andrew, what to order at the new place that just opened down the street thanks to Karl, and the current state of the greens at any golf course in town thanks to Tim. I’d consider all of that invaluable information that would be impossible to find online or with an app.
Meet me on Friday? I’ll introduce you to the guys, but the first round is on you!