The Sacred and the Profane

God help us, the always social Mrs. E. and I have been invited to a “club” this evening. Well it ought to be interesting. And it does sound like it has that James Bond “Die Another Day” vibe thanks to the ice room. I will have to wear jeans, I suppose. I do own a pair.

Thankfully the young’un’s who so thoughtfully invited us have promised to end the evening at Bogart’s, one of the last true speakeasys, for some jazz from a fellow faculty member.

It promises to be an eclectic evening. Which brings up the subject of this post.
The Sacred and the Profane

The ever-charming Mrs. E. and I have moved around quite a bit, at least until we hit Richmond and stuck. And even here we’ve lived in three places (not counting the dreaded Mogadishu apartment.) Each time we move I’ve been too wiped out from the experience to do much cooking. So we order out — pizza usually — and have the food delivered to the new address. We eat on the floor, by candlelight (I never remember to have the electric turned on), listen to a battery operated radio and pop open a very good bottle of champagne to celebrate our good fortune (or ease the pain….) I call this meal “The Sacred and the Profane.”

It works with many combinations: great reds and Five Guys Hamburgers. Champagne and Mary Angela’s pizza, Stirfried Green Beans with Chicken and .. you get the idea. So, tonight, if you’re not feeling up to it, light the candles, buy a great bottle of wine and order in.

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