On a lazy Saturday evening, we make our way to our favorite Italian restaurant, Volterra. As we approach the front door, all their blinds cover their windows, and we briefly wonder if they opened for business today. However, we push the door and walk right in. We arrive early to enjoy Happy Hour at the bar. The hosting station where they greet guests separates the bar area on the right and the main dining room on the left.
The hostess leads us to our table. The bar area holds about a half a dozen tables in addition to the bar itself. They lay out this section intimately, and from our table, we can see everyone in the bar. We glance through the menus; this includes the menus for dinner menu, Happy Hour, and today’s specials. After some talking and negotiation, we make our selections, and we end up making a selection from each menu.
The dining room often fills leaving no empty tables on most evenings. We cheat and avoid the need for reservations by sneaking in early for Happy Hour in the bar. Though as the evening progresses, we people watch and notice subtle exchanges from both the staff and the patrons. It reads like my own private version of Billy Joel’s ‘Piano Man’, which is perfectly fine by me.
The staff
The staff is top notch here and makes us feel welcome. Our waiter knows us by name and quips that the day turned better now that we’re seated in his station. Honestly, we don’t dine here frequently enough warrant that kind of attention, though we appreciate it. He occasionally tells us tales of his vacations in vivid details that turns us a little envious. Today he asks us if we’d like to add an extra meatball to our order of their lamb meatballs; we happily agree. Occasionally, it feels just short of hearing the familiar Cheers’s calling of “Norm” though in our names.
The bartender knows precisely how we like our drinks, down to the brand of vodka that we enjoy and the extra splash of cranberry juice cocktail on mine. On the occasional day, upon noticing we’ve been seated (and if she’s not especially busy), she’ll prepare our drinks ahead of time and deliver it to our table. Today, we’d have to wait to order our drink with our waiter, though they still arrive perfectly chilled with tiny slivers of ice. Sometimes, she’s the one who takes care of us and has also shared tales of a former life before landing in Western Washington.
Don, the proprietor, sits at the bar for a bit, perhaps there when we arrived, almost incognito. He chats with the patrons as they’re all seated around the bar that curves on a right angle. Upon leaving his seat, he stops by an adjoining table and chats with the patrons.
The patrons
The bar itself holds a handful of people, their proximity to each other may occasionally telegraph if they arrived together. Though that is not always the case. One couple obviously sat together and conversed with Don for a bit while they enjoyed their drinks. While I believe they serve the full menu at the bar, we only notice the occasional food item at the bar.
An apartment complex sits less than a block away, and I’ve often wondered if these folks have simply walked from that apartment to enjoy a quick drink or meal. Though rest assured, both are exceptional here.
Two modest high tables that intimately seats one couple sit at the far end of the bar area; a couple sits on one of them. Their stay is comparatively short and consists of perhaps a round of drinks and one course. While the two seemed together as a couple, I did not get a ‘date’ vibe from them.
The restaurant arranged a long ‘communal’ table in the center of the bar area. It’s a high table with four stools on each side; we’ve sat there on occasion. Today, three people sit at the end towards the bar. A man and a woman sit on the side of the table closest to us. The woman sported straight blonde hair past her shoulder under a sun hat; she wore a dark, patterned sun dress. The man more light-colored shirt and shorts. She lovingly rests her hand on his leg, as a gesture of intimacy and affection.
Their friend sits across from them. A woman splendidly dresses in a little black dress. Her hair is impeccably styled and looks stunning. The three of them engage in conversation during that meal, chatting with Don when he approaches.
The couple at the bar
A young couple sits at the far-left end of the bar. They both look to be in their late 20’s or early 30’s; each is dressed as if they’re out on a date, which is to say dressed to impress. They sit close to each other with their bodies turned towards the other. Intimately, they engage in conversation, as they occasionally lean in to hear each other’s voices. Each seems immersed in the other’s company, obviously ignoring everyone else.
As they continue exchange words, you can see them smile. I celebrate with them as I reflect upon the infancy of my own romance. The young woman with the straight dark brown hair that flows past her shoulders continues to converse with her date. She smiles as she moves closer. She occasionally rests her hand upon her companion’s arm, pulling them in. Assertively, she then raises her hand to gently run her fingers through her date’s hair, never breaking eye contact. She has the proximity and opportunity to lean in for a kiss but curiously does not. Her date, another young woman, with slightly lighter straight brown hair welcomes the advances. Together they continue this dance in conversation and body language, as I’m sure their hearts race.
That’s right, this young couple whom I describe, is a pair of young women seated at the bar. I celebrate with them, not from a voyeuristic notion of watching two women in an intimate moment. I celebrate with them because they can (and do) enjoy their time together being their most authentic selves in public. They do not fear consequences or retribution from simply being a couple.
While we rationalize that ultimately their gender shouldn’t matter, we also need to acknowledge that less than ten years ago, it did.