It was Saturday, the weather was warm and bright. We thought it’d be a solid to head in to the city, find somewhere with patio seating and enjoy dinner that didn’t come from our kitchen.
The streets and sidewalks were bustling—turns out there was both a Reds game and FC Cincinnati soccer game.
We put our name on the list at Salazar and grabbed a drink down the block and watched throngs of folks head toward the new soccer / football stadium.
Once back at the restaurant our server shared details of the menu with a twinkle in their eye—they were masked and filling in for someone. They asked if we were in a hurry and paced our meal so each course could be appreciated—and it was all so, so very good.
At one point I looked through the large front window into the doorway between the bar and kitchen. I caught a moment as the chef held the server squarely and spoke a few words, ending with a peck on the shoulder.
I felt such ardent gratitude.
For being outside, our city in motion, for the meal and the moment.
