Grand Isle
Last night, P, T, and G and I went to celebrate our birthday at Grand Isle where P’s husband is the chef. The food was delicious and the presentation was awesome. Crabmeat salad with citrus sauce, tuna with eggplant, then a profiterole with candied mint ice cream and caramel swirl. We girls caught up on love life, work, kids, and travel then G and I headed to Bacchanal to see what was up there. We sat with a couple, who were maybe not a couple, hard to tell, and the band sounded great (Broken Smoke) and the conversation grew interesting and twisted, and the night blooming jasmine was strong and heady. Classic New Orleans at Bacchanal, I kept thinking – nice crowd – we looked around and were surprised to know no one there except the workers.
Then I came back to the LaLa to a pleasant, serendipitous visit from the man with mesmerizing eyes. Hmmm.
It was a weekend cut from the cloth of Turkey – Friday had been a testy day, a day of workaday accomplishments with all of the weekend unplanned or scheduled – the last free one of its kind for a while, my mood was swinging from the trees with a sense of impending more and more to do and a little Eli creeping in. So that night, I forced myself to doll up and head out, and in doing so, reversed the course of the entire weekend. Hersheye cok guzell olijak.
Fatma wrote to remind me that I’m an international heartbreaker. It’s easy to be international in Istanbul and turn down the German, Turkish, French, Israeli boys who want to charm the pants off of you – literally. Fatma is down in Marmaras with Ferah on the coast without me. Wah!