First truth: I didn't go to Meddlesome Moth on a date. Second truth: I did go there with three couples and my "date"--a girlfriend. Third truth: A man did pay for my meal. So the dinner had some date-like aspects to it, right? Not really. The man who paid for my dinner is my co-worker's husband, and he just plain feels sorry for me. Really he does. He thinks it's sad I couldn't round up a live male body to spend an hour or two with me in a public place. But I'm ignoring that part. At any rate, the name of the restaurant sounds cool: Meddlesome Moth. See?
Staking out the restaurant for future dates that may come my way, I immediately noticed how loud it was. I don't know what it is lately with me and loud restaurants, but this place is loud. New York and L.A. make restaurants with loud acoustics so the restaurants seem popular and full of people. That might be what's going on here, except that there's really no need to worry--the restaurants' booths, tables and outdoor patio tables were filled to the brim with young hipsters. But, bottom-line, the Moth is loud enough that it wouldn't be a good date place.
That doesn't mean it's not a fun place to go with a bunch of friends. The restaurant fit perfectly into our plans as an enjoyable dinner spot before we headed to the Ryan Bingham concert at the House of Blues. And as I surveyed the rest of the diners that night, most of them sat at tables with large groups of people celebrating the end of the week or birthday parties. Not many intimate dates.
I bypassed the detailed beer menu, the main reason most people patronize this gastro-pub, and decided to act British instead. I ordered a Pimm's No. 1 Cup. That's what I'm talking about: Cool, refreshing and reminiscent of my recent summer trip where I watched Wimbledon tennis at the All England Club. Alright, alright, I admit it, ordering a Pimm's No. 1 Cup while the friend to my right ordered a beer flight, and the friends across the table from me sipped bottled beers, felt a bit snooty-two shoes. But I didn't care. It tasted good.
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For dinner we all shared a bunch of the Share Plates: seared sirloin and tuna mediacruda stick meats; hummus; and a Hungry Farmer--several cheeses and some prosciutto and possibly another cured meat. We also shared Prince Edward Island Mussels, the Thai variety. I liked the mussels best (until we got to dessert). The rest of the selections were O.K., but nothing spectacular.
We also ordered dessert. What table of five women (and three men) doesn't? The desserts were the best part of the meal. We passed a slice of Chess Pie and a serving of the Monkey Bread Pudding around the table. We (O.K., us girls) scarfed them down so quickly that the men at the table complained about feeling deprived.
So, there you go. No juicy dating tidbits. No romaine lettuce lodged in between my front teeth and no awkward first kiss goodnight. Except as we left the restaurant, I ran into this guy I'd dated a couple of years ago. He shared a table with another girlfriend of mine. While we didn't date seriously, I thought we went out enough times for him to remember my name. I said hello to him and he responded with a "Hello?" That's right: His response was a definite question. He had no idea who this curly haired girl intruding on his dinner was.
What's worse? Going on a group date with one of your girlfriends by your side--or running into a guy with whom you've most definitely shared a meal and have him look at you with a blank stare? And man, do I mean blank. He could not place me at all. I opted not to share this information with my male friend who so graciously took care of the check. I'd had enough teasing for one night. Plus, I'm going to blame the amnesia on the noise, not the curls.