The three of us went to Vincent for dinner. It was Sunday evening in Andersonville, a fun time to people watch. Two large hairy spaniels, a tiny kitten dog, a mutt with a scary mohawk: and that’s just the dogs.
The waiter was amazingly calm. The patio was full, the owner carving cheese at the special cart, more parties arriving, we were waiting for our drinks. Etta and Meghan wondered aloud about them, as a restaurant professional I grew anxious for him. He moseyed over to the single lady dining at the table besides ours and asked in a slow and measured tone, “Which one was your favorite cheese?” The runner brought the cocktails: the girls loved the charred peach, bourbon and cynar cocktail. It had a beautiful name on the menu but our check read, “Georgia tickle.”
The food was outstanding: the nectarine, squash and goat cheese salad was a standout, as was the crawfish mousse stuffed trout, the best trout I’ve had in years. I recently saw a photo on instagram of the Latino George Clooney lookalike elite yelper I met at a recent elite event (you guys know who I’m talking about): he caught a big brown trout line fishing in Lake Michigan. We crossed the line in our order and couldn’t finish our food: the waiter remarked that at least now we know where the line is.