“This is fascinating. I never meet dudes at bars.”
Said Savannah, who joined this week’s cake barring, one of my great friends who’s been amazingly gung ho about this endeavor from the beginning. (She happens to be a very talented writer, and also happens to have an adorable girlfriend. Hence the not meeting dudes at bars.) She was a perceptive and active teammate, helping carry the cake around, gingerly covering it up with foil, and matter-of-factly telling the bouncer at Bar Lubitsch after hearing we couldn’t come in with food, “Sorry, it’s part of our evening, so we’ll have to go.” We gave two bouncers some cake on our way out, one of them a former commercial fisherman from New Hampshire who offered to buy us a round of drinks next time we come. Apparently we can bring in a cake before 10:30pm, so consider this a cake bar forecast. We WILL be coming back for those drinks, polite fisherman. With (suspiciously) another cake.
Chrissy (who I should credit again for making the claim for this entire cake bar project), Savannah, and I ended up at Lola’s on Fairfax next, which is a restaurant/ martini bar with an identity crisis. Our experience there included Coldplay music, a flat screen TV playing ESPN, and a noteworthy painting of a naked woman straddling a guitar with a cowboy hat on. It was starting to dawn on us around midnight that maybe we had chosen the wrong place. Everyone around us was a little on the older side, middle-aged and seemingly married. Our waitress had been nice enough not to report us for bringing in a cake without paying, (which no one had pointed out to us on our way in), so we stayed put and ordered empanadas. It’s usually when our prospects are looking slim and I’m reassuring myself that the only thing that matters is that we showed up at a bar with cake that something actually happens. Three boys walked in, our target age demographic, and one of them had glasses. I super love glasses. SCORE!
I walked over and offered them some of our alleged birthday cake leftovers, and they happily accepted. I came back to the table to cut them each a piece, and looked up to see they had decided to just make things easier by joining us. What followed was 2 hours of visiting, the 3 boys all eating what I’m only guessing was their second dinner, learning about the wonders of Grouper, and some questionable comments about how good The Office has been these past two seasons. The girls made the ultimate sacrifice as wingwomen, allowing me to talk to the one whose lap I’m sitting on in the picture below.
The good news: He asked for my phone number.
The better news: He texted me his number.
If nothing happens, I’ll be all right. You don’t have to show me your short film if you don’t want to, okay? This picture is really all I needed.
***At the suggestion of my nice friend Matt at work, I made a Pink Champagne Cake this week. The recipe I used was so easy and simple it’s almost embarrassing, but it was a big hit.