A few months ago, we stumbled upon this site about a private supper club in Athens. It all seemed intriguing and fabulous, so we got on their mailing list; earlier this month we received an email about their next dinner. It seemed like the perfect way to celebrate with some friends who wanted to take us out for a going-away shindig, and my suggestion was received enthusiastically.
The email gave a date and time that you would be able to reserve your spot online, so I had google send me a reminder about a half-hour before the reservations opened. I got my email on the appointed day, and went to the website so I’d be primed and ready when the clock struck noon. Problem was, I got the time wrong. Reservations had opened up at 11 o’clock, just fifteen minutes prior, but there were already only 3 spots left of the original 24. I panicked. There were five of us who were supposed to go. In a moment of utter self-preservation, and in the name of last-chances, I told Tim to sign us up (as in, just the two of us). That way, I could blame him.
Lucky for us, we have forgiving and understanding friends, who are taking us out to dinner anyway, just on another night. Meanwhile, Tim and I have promised to tell them all about our dinner with The Four Coursemen, taking place tomorrow night. You know, for their future reference.
No menu has been posted yet, so I cannot commence with salivating. It’s probably best — I wouldn’t want to be too distracted from our annual gallon of strawberries, picked fresh this morning.