13 November 2005

Sometimes the best plan is no plan at all. A comedy of errors prevented us from getting to a pre-appointed show with friends last night. We sped downtown only to find a a packed theatre with our seats smack dab in the middle of the row, about 15 rows from the stage. It was an intimate setting -- and we didn't want to disrupt the performance. So after standing around looking awkward, we decided to leave. It was a short stroll to one of our favorite restaurants, Logan Tavern. There was a wait (as usual) but we took refuge at a nearby bistro for some drinks. And the wait (as usual) was worth it. We were rewarded with a fabulous meal, part of which our friends (that we blew off earlier) took part in, as well. Then it was off to a little community, non-profit jazz & blues joint that I always meant to return to. It's called HR-57, named for the House bill that proclaimed jazz and the blues national treasures. The decor is no great shakes...brick walls with the works for local artists, a ceiling in various states of disrepair, some tables and folding chairs. I'm sure it's quite a sight in broad daylight. But this was Saturday night. The lights were low. The votives on the tables were flickering. The merlot was fragrant and peppery. My partner -- who's also a jazz lover from her college days in New Orleans -- looked positively radiant. And the jazz was magnificent. We both agreed to patronize and support this place more often.