Gratitude Monday: food for the soul

I met a friend for dinner on Friday; we’re both women in tech and we’re both in some stage of the job search. We try to meet up in person every once in a while to augment phone calls. Last month it was happy hour at a place in Woodley Park; this time happy hour at the Arlington offshoot of a Balkan restaurant in Capitol Hill.

Friends of mine who moved to Miami Beach from Capitol Hill used to be regulars at the D.C. Ambar, and before they left, they test drove the Virginia outpost. So before I showed up, I IM’d my pal to ask, “I want to play the ‘friends of J and M’ card—whom do I seek out?” He gave me a couple of names, which I tucked away.

My friend was late Friday, so while I was waiting, I asked one of the servers if either Uros or Zloti was around, as my friends J and M had recommended the place. Calling attention to myself in this way was is far out of my comfort zone, but—as you know—I’m #playingtowin these days. Well, as it happened, both Uros and Zloti were working that night at the restaurant across the street that the company is spinning up. The server offered to call him over, but I said, no, no—just please let him know at some point that a friend of J and M asked after him.

My friend showed up, and we got down to the business of ordering food and catching up. (Let me just say that my friend knows her eats. She chose everything and we ate like empresses.) We were in the midst of it when a fellow with a beard appeared at the table and introduced himself as Uros. My first server had either called him, or he’d popped by and she’d told him about me. We chatted about J and M, and he assured us that his team would take excellent care of us that evening.

And so they did—the food was superb, and the two of us got squared away for August. Then, as we were paying the bill, our server appeared with two glasses of rakia—Uros had said to bring us a brandy and left the choice up to him. So he’d picked an apricot rakia from Bosnia Herzegovina, because it reminded him of his childhood. (I’m assuming the apricots part; unless it’s the custom in Bosnia to give kids brandy. If so, I don’t judge.)

Well, the rakia was extremely potent—I was reminded of the 4^th of July sequence in The Great Escape where Steve McQueen keeps telling the Brits, “Don’t smoke after drinking this.”—but also subtly delicious once you got through the thousand-proof strength. And the whole Mediterranean concept of hospitality warmed me every bit as much as the alcohol.

So today I’m grateful that catching up with a friend gave me the opportunity to step out of my comfort zone, for the J and M connection, for Uros responding so hospitably, for a really scrumptious meal and for #playingtowin.