… which is odd enough, since July in these parts usually just sits there boiling. UD was back from the beach and back from her two-day recovery from the beach, and she was alone, Mr UD having left for Warsaw and points east (family reunion; helping direct a summer school in civic studies in Ukraine). Her sister the Morrissey fanatic called to suggest a walk around Lake Needwood.

Boring! said UD. Let’s go into the city.

Are you crazy? Tourists!

Being a ‘thesdan in the summer is like being a Sentinelese. There’s an exclusion zone around your neighborhoods which allows you to go on living your simple preneolithic life without intrusion.

The other side of this is obvious: You don’t go into Washington. UD works in Washington but typically waits until September to venture there.

Yet the bright sun and low humidity made it seem physically doable; and there’s nothing wrong with what Saul Bellow calls an occasional humanity bath.

With some reluctance, UD‘s sister agreed to drive over and pick her up. They had no trouble parking at Grosvenor metro and piling into a car that filled ominously up as they approached Judiciary Square.

UD of course wanted to head for the Botanic Garden, but her sister wanted the other direction – the Reflecting Pool. UD pointed out that on a (still after all) hot summer day with full sun, trudging around the treeless rim of the pool – in crowds – would be kind of stupid. UD described La Kid’s graduation on the treeless sun-infested Mall, where UD, all-asmolder, listened to the now-disgraced Brian Williams tell the kids fish stories…

They compromised: They’d walk through some other gardens – museum gardens – on their way to the Lincoln Memorial. And this turned out to be a great idea, since UD didn’t know how landscaping mad the federal government had become since her last Mall walk. The gardens around The Castle were insane… I mean of course this was optimal bloom time, which UD usually misses because she’s afraid of the tourists… But still. Wow. Lordy. The Haupt garden was full of massive African and Brazilian shit that blasted right out at you. Any garden can stuff millions of teeny pink flowers into a hanging container and water it every day and make this big insipid thing. This garden had some of that, sure, but mainly it was grotesque monkey trees and canopies with big black bursting pods and walls of creepy succulents. Yum.

Now, as they started further down the Mall, they saw that an enormous construction project blocked the thing almost entirely, so forget the Reflecting Pool. They headed back toward the metro for lunch at Teaism, happy to get out of the sun.

But lookee here. A chaotic crowd milled about ordering bento boxes and chai and no way were we going to be part of that. We were after silence, order, and air conditioning. Teaism only had air conditioning. We glanced inside a Native Foods (Morrissey fanatics eat vegetables) but that, thank God, was equally chaotic…

Which left a fancy sit-down white table cloth sort of place called 701 Restaurant. So we’d pay a fortune. So what.

But we were sweaty and dressed down and we wondered if they’d snub us, a couple of biddies with aching feet.

“Afternoon ladies!” said the bartender as soon as we entered. “The host will seat you in a moment. Enjoy your meal.”

“Sorry, ladies,” said a server a second later. “Host will be here in a sec. Good to see you.”

Up comes the host, all dressed and scrubbed and non-judgmental. “Table by the window? Right this way.”

It was pleasant to survey the still-sweating masses from our quiet chilly lookout.

The server, a burly fortyish man with thinning hair and an ironic attitude, opened with “Did they tell you? Two martini requirement this afternoon.”

“Really?”

UD is notoriously gullible. She will really believe anything if said with a crisp commanding demeanor.

His eyes went wide and we all giggled.

“But it is your birthday,” he continued, looking at UD, “so you will be getting a free dessert. Two free desserts.”

UD was fully on board now.

“You’re right on the button. Thanks. Looking forward to dessert.”

UD had the Skuna Bay salmon with mustard spaetzle, rapini, pomegranate, and pecans (with “your cheapest white wine” – to which our server said “I’ll pop over to 7/11 and get some Yosemite Road.”); her sister, butter poached Maine lobster, brussels sprouts, salsify, papaya, and red curry.

Everything fell into place. The fresh air, the views onto the Navy Memorial with its weeping fountains, delicious food, a young version of Antonin Scalia lecturing someone at the next table.

As he brought out my sweet colorful whatever with a candle aflame upon it, our guy asked where we were from, clearly expecting Terre Haute.

“Bethesda? I live there too. Grew up there. What are you doing downtown in the summer?”

“Where did you go to high school?” UD asked.

“Whitman.” Where for decades UD‘s ‘thesdan playmate’s mother taught.

The sisters blew out the candle together, one of them no doubt wishing something having to do with shacking up with Morrissey.

We talked some more about ‘thesda with our server, who knew about Garrett Park and its trees; and as UD signed the bill she sensed an entreaty of some sort from him… Entreaty’s too strong a word, maybe, but something having to do with finding our company good and wanting to hold onto it for a little longer.