It was Monday night in Birmingham, and once again we had no idea what to do, meaning once again we needed to chat it up with a local and learn how we could best utilize our one night in Birmingham.
We stayed in an industrial park, so cruising the sidewalks for answers would yield no results. Instead, we asked the hotel clerk how to find "Five Points South," a location recommended by Trevor. "Five Points South" is a small but bustling little college town located just outside Downtown Birmingham on the University of Alabama-Birmingham's campus. After she gave us (completely wrong) directions to get there, we put on our spats and jumped in the car.
The first recommendation, Highlands, was an expensive, very nice-looking Italian restaurant. It was also closed (at 8:00pm no less). Again, we had to patronize some patrons in order to get the next best bet. We dodged a couple of homeless beggars soliciting us for change, and settled on 26, an upscale seafood/Italian/sushi/couldn't-really-decide-what-it-was joint with dim lighting. Perfect.
We were sat by our second Trey of the trip. We were surrounded by an older crowd, all of whom likely went to college for at least 8 years. They stared in bewilderment as we sat down and scanned the menu for anything that fit in our limited price range. Trey had dreadlocks climbing down his back and had much to offer for our tour of Birmingham. Friendly dude.
Marc ordered his usual "filthy" martini - a strong combination of what basically amounts to vodka and olive juice. The coup de gras on these beverages was the addition of two hand-stuffed blue cheese olives pierced by a long toothpick. I'm not usually a martini drinker, but this order sounded too good to pass up.
I started with a goat cheese/pomodoro dip that turned out to be not at all what I expected. That didn't bother me though, because anything with goat cheese is OK in my book. For dinner, Marc ordered osso bucco aka slow-roasted, bone-in meat. The meat was absurdly tender, and Marc verified this by effortlessly removing the bone. No seasoning was necessary for this roast, a true sign of a well-cooked tail. Marc validated his reduction using a "back-of-the-spoon" technique that only seasoned foodies will understand. My culinary reviewing skills amount to a dish being classified as either "good" or "not that good but I'll eat it anyway."
I ordered seafood pasta in a white cream sauce. Enormous shrimp tails swam amongst tender scallops, and I downed these first before even considering the homemade pasta twirling around the plate. We finished up our meals, played "26" questions with Trey as to the best local watering hole, dropped a few thousand dollars for dinner, and peaced.
We found our way to a sports bar just up the street. We downed a few pitchers. We shot pool. We listened to a bar quiz in progress (Cate Blanchett is the only actress to win an Oscar for playing a previous Oscar winner [Katherine Hepburn]). We stared across the bar at a local high-stakes poker game in progress. In summary, we had a hell of a night. We headed home.
The following passage will be told from the perspective of a case of Miller-Lite that was sitting in our fridge and had accompanied us throughout most of the journey.
"It's dark in here, and I'm freezing. The front door just opened, and I can hear talking. A flash of light, and suddenly I can feel my contents getting lighter. Darkness, once again. I hear laughing. The TV clicks on and from my cold prison I can hear the faint sound of a movie. Suddenly, the voices rise. I hear arguing. Something about where to post the link to the blog. One side wants to drive people to the site by posting negative comments on Clapton videos. The other thinks that's a stupid idea and he is right. It seems like this argument is going nowhere. The door clicks again. One (or both) leave. I wait in silence. The front door opens again. Another flash of light. No more arguing."
OK maybe I got a little caught up in the whole traffic thing. After all, our names are on this site, and there will be a time to play those silly internet games, just not for this blog. Sometimes, the less you know about the internet, the better. We squashed our differences and fell asleep watching The Professional. Tomorrow would bring a new adventure, and a new argument...the kind that can only take place between friends.
This is for Matilda,
CPS
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