Sunday, February 03, 2008

Eddie V's Edgewater Grille

The place to celebrate! But bring a bankroll.


It had been on the waiting list for a long time, the list I compiled of places Up North that looked interesting, places to pick from when rush-hour date night rolled around. As fun as it is, sometimes it can get to be a chore trying to find a new and interesting place every week. After all, I’ve done over 70 reviews in the past 18 months.

Some of the places I’ve reviewed have gone out of business. My inner redneck mourned the loss of Woody’s South, my first review, my inner barfly mourned the loss of Reed’s, one of the hippest joints I’ve reviewed. I didn’t go back through the list to see, but I suspect Eddie V’s is the priciest place I’ve reviewed. Not the priciest place I’ve been, but that’s another review for another day.

I wanted to go to the downtown location, where they have live music every night, but it would defeat the purpose of rush-hour date night to drive downtown during rush hour, so we went to the Arboretum location. Walked in, got a table right away and immediately felt underdressed. This not the crowd The Woman and The Wunderfool habituate. But that’s OK. I can act as nonchalant as the next feller from Fred, Texas.

It reminded me of the last dinner on our honeymoon in Hot Springs, AR. Yes, we went to Hot Springs, hometown of William Jefferson Blythe Clinton. (Regardless what the spin machine said about “the man from Hope” during the election, Clinton, like The Wunderfool, left his birthplace when he was in second grade. Hot Springs, the Vegas of Arkansas, is where he grew up. But we got there 24 years after he did, searching for our little honeymoon bungalow in the dark after a two-hour drive, and he was gone to Little Rock being Attorney General.)

We went to Hot Springs because it was the most exotic thing we could afford. On Friday, The Woman took off work at noon to get her hair done. I worked a regular day. We got married Friday night. We were back at work on Monday. Saturday night we decided to hit a classy joint for dinner. We got a recommendation from the owner of the resort cabins and hopped in our beat up, faded yellow Ford Maverick. We found the place and as I topped the slight rise approaching the front, I saw that it was valet parking only. That was when I knew we were in trouble.

I pulled our pathetic jalopy up to the smirking valet and we got out. He slipped gingerly into the rattletrap, making as little contact with the seat as possible, and drove it away. We went inside, got a seat, and opened the menu in fear. We decided that if we were going to tip the valet, we could only afford one entrée. We splurged and got two salads, though.

On the drive back down Sunday evening, we only had enough cash for one hamburger at the drive through for dinner. We split it and finished off the bag of chips and bottle of Dr Pepper as we drove into the sunset to our new life together. Broke, but happy.

OK, so it wasn’t quite that kind of experience at Eddie V’s. We didn’t walk in with a twenty and a large helping of naïveté. But we were surrounded by folks who probably had bedrooms larger than our house.

Eddie V’s is a great place to go to celebrate. You feel like something special has happened just by being there. The service is outstanding, and the food is incredible.

I have a confession to make. I’ve been stalling. I don’t recall what we ordered. Hey, it was three months ago and I’ve been through three major holidays, two new grandkids, several revisions of two screenplays, who knows how many day-job projects, two new laptops, five dinner parties I’ve hosted, and a bottle of 12-year-old Scotch since then. It’s a lot of mileage to displace the memory of a nice dinner, regardless of how pricy it was. I do remember it was very good, and according to Quicken 2006, which keeps trying to wheedle me into upgrading even though the version I have does 10 times as much as I need it to, we spent $121. Which is probably 10 times as much as the entrée we got in Hot Springs 30+ years ago.


Anonymous said...

Omigod, that is how long it took me to get through a bottle of tequila! Yesterday I actually counted it up and it was three months.

Brad Whittington said...

We must be twins. Except for the tequila part. As mentioned earlier in this blog, tequila is bottled evil.