I had made the reservation a week prior. As it goes with most new restaurants in this city, simply walking in and hoping to get lucky in the face of your non-plans is a thing of the past. As it also goes with this city, actually retrieving a reservation at a restaurant that’s less than six months old is next to impossible. While my complaint list against modern technology grows deeper daily, one thing I’m grateful for is the ability to set notifications on reservation portals so the second someone gives up their table, you have approximately 15 more seconds to grab it before someone else does. That’s how I got the reservation.
Friday night—the most beloved night—arrived and, while I was excited about putting on my face, I hardly knew what to put on my body. I had time, though. Boy, did I have time. An 8:30 reservation meant ample time to “get ready,” so I slowly made my way through my routine. Makeup first, outfit second, hair always last. It was a quintessential spring evening, with just enough chill in the air to wear layers but enough humidity to keep those layers light. Eventually I settled on a good pair of blue jeans, a white, uncropped crewneck sweater, and a pair of booties. My hair wasn’t cooperating, so I threw it back and tied a kerchief around my neck for some flair. It was nothing special but would work for a late Friday dinner at the new local Chinese restaurant.