Regardless of how long you've been reading this blog, if there's anything you should know about me it should be that I ask, and I eat. Dessert, especially. Ideally, both daily.And I love bubbly.
Thus when, Friday morning, a friend invited me to attend a party -- and not just any party, but a dessert baking competition and champagne fest for which he made a goat cheese white chocolate cheesecake -- I was about to say yes when I realized the day and time: Saturday evening, right when I was set to land in SF.
"Hmm... know anyone else who might like to go?" he asked.
I scanned a mental rolodex and my thoughts instantly fell on another friend, one who's always up for conversation and dessert, in either order. A match made in merengue?
I called and left her a cryptic voicemail message, which she returned a few hours later.
"I'm wondering what you're doing Saturday, because there's something I want to propose. An adventure of sorts. If you're up to meeting new people and gorging on amazing pastries," I began.
"I can't hear you! What??" she asked.
We had a bad cellphone connection, so I ended up stopping by her house and dishing the details in person. Friend of mine. Great party but I'll be out of town. Saturday. He's open to going with someone else. No sketchiness involved. Dessert and champagne flowing freely. Interesting crowd. Interested?
"What time?" she asked.
"Starts at 6:30."
She had to be somewhere at 8:30, which left little time for gorging, but at least she would get the chance to converse, imbibe and, with luck, sample a few slivers of those sweets.
Friday evening I put them in touch via Facebook and stepped back, but not without this final request. "Have a wonderful time!"
