A dear friend is going through a rough time, another and I haven’t connected in far too long, and Super Agent Fred is always up for a good time, so the obvious answer is Sunday Brunch and then possibly shopping at Gump’s. Gay? Why do you ask?
We’re headed off for a swank little boite in an odd part of downtown. Since making the reservation on Tuesday, they have called me twice and sent me two emails less about confirming our party and more like badgering me. I suspect that were we to not turn up they would track us down with bloodhounds. Still, it sounds like a sweet place and one of the drinks they feature on their brunch menu is the Mary Pickford: white rum, pineapple gum, lime, grenadine and maraska. I have no idea what maraska might be and I’m fervently hoping “pineapple gum” is a typo, but I’m planning on swilling it down and will report later, if the vicodin holds out. I figure it it’s good enough for America’s Sweetheart to knock back, how bad can it be?