Valentine's Day(tm) Weekend Wrapup!
Okay, technically, today is Valentine's Day, but Wifey and I celebrated early this year by disappearing up the coast to Bellingham for an overnight stay at a local hotel and night out courtesy of Whatcom Builders. "Whatcom Builders??", you ask, "What the hell do they have to do with Valentine's Day?" And rightly so.
Basically Wifey won one of those pimped-out gift baskets at her company's Christmas Party and we chose to use it this past weekend - Whatcom Builders being the folks who so kindly underwrote said basket. It included a night's stay at the Hampton Inn, 120 bucks for the Harborside Bistro, and some skiing stuff that we bequeathed to some friends to use (lift tickets, blah blah blah.)
The Hampton Inn was your basic hotel out by the airport, nothing fancy. The kind of place where they put up little marketing signs saying SMILE or ENJOY in the elevators and on the complimentary soaps and shampoos.
I began to count these signs and marvel at the branding of the hotel. In many ways, the little signs were more sophisticated than the actual hotel. But who can argue when it's a free night away from walking the dog at 3am or any of the other distractions of staying at home on a weekend?
The Harborside Bistro was a tufted leather chair and brass rail type establishment, with low lighting and dark red wood interior. An impossibly thin, highly-aerobicized hostess escorted us to an enormous booth for our table. I love sitting in a booth rather than a table at places like these, because you get to do that whole little kid, scrunch-your-butt-across-the-big-leather-boothcurve thing.
Our waiter's name was Robert, and he was very slick, very low-key and very agreeable. You know the kind: suave, yet not imposing. As if you'd just happen to run across him waiting tables, and voila! yours happened to be one of them. Lucky you. Robert would agree to anything we said. If I had said I'd wanted rabbit poop confit with a lardbucket chaser, he would have complimented me on my discernment. Had I ordered human sacrificial blood from the winelist, I would have engendered a quick conversation on the merits of H.S.B. versus a good Cabernet, and again would have been complimented on my palette.
But for all that, Robert was what made the Harborside Bistro a memorable evening. Once you got past his smooth exterior, he was actually very knowledgable, gregarious and quite funny. At one point he asked me how everything was, and I made a grand gesture indicating the food, the wine and the view of the water, and announced that I was "definitely now, a man of leisure". Which prompted Robert to refer to me as Mr. Leisure for the remainder of the evening. "More coffee, Mr. Leisure?", or "A dessert wine with my compliments, Mr. Leisure."
The Bistro was itself kind of a mid-range place as far as the wine and food went, with the atmosphere outpacing the actual vittles - but our time with Robert made it a great night out.
So that's it for now, kidlets. Have to climb out of this chair and shlep into the bathroom to pull myself together for work.
Basically Wifey won one of those pimped-out gift baskets at her company's Christmas Party and we chose to use it this past weekend - Whatcom Builders being the folks who so kindly underwrote said basket. It included a night's stay at the Hampton Inn, 120 bucks for the Harborside Bistro, and some skiing stuff that we bequeathed to some friends to use (lift tickets, blah blah blah.)
The Hampton Inn was your basic hotel out by the airport, nothing fancy. The kind of place where they put up little marketing signs saying SMILE or ENJOY in the elevators and on the complimentary soaps and shampoos.
I began to count these signs and marvel at the branding of the hotel. In many ways, the little signs were more sophisticated than the actual hotel. But who can argue when it's a free night away from walking the dog at 3am or any of the other distractions of staying at home on a weekend?
The Harborside Bistro was a tufted leather chair and brass rail type establishment, with low lighting and dark red wood interior. An impossibly thin, highly-aerobicized hostess escorted us to an enormous booth for our table. I love sitting in a booth rather than a table at places like these, because you get to do that whole little kid, scrunch-your-butt-across-the-big-leather-boothcurve thing.
Our waiter's name was Robert, and he was very slick, very low-key and very agreeable. You know the kind: suave, yet not imposing. As if you'd just happen to run across him waiting tables, and voila! yours happened to be one of them. Lucky you. Robert would agree to anything we said. If I had said I'd wanted rabbit poop confit with a lardbucket chaser, he would have complimented me on my discernment. Had I ordered human sacrificial blood from the winelist, I would have engendered a quick conversation on the merits of H.S.B. versus a good Cabernet, and again would have been complimented on my palette.
But for all that, Robert was what made the Harborside Bistro a memorable evening. Once you got past his smooth exterior, he was actually very knowledgable, gregarious and quite funny. At one point he asked me how everything was, and I made a grand gesture indicating the food, the wine and the view of the water, and announced that I was "definitely now, a man of leisure". Which prompted Robert to refer to me as Mr. Leisure for the remainder of the evening. "More coffee, Mr. Leisure?", or "A dessert wine with my compliments, Mr. Leisure."
The Bistro was itself kind of a mid-range place as far as the wine and food went, with the atmosphere outpacing the actual vittles - but our time with Robert made it a great night out.
So that's it for now, kidlets. Have to climb out of this chair and shlep into the bathroom to pull myself together for work.
posted by Stefush at 5:28 AM
1 Comments:
Jeez louise, I was wondering where you'd gallyvanted off to all weekend. Hope you and the little woman had a good time.
Happy VD
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