Talking About Margaritas

Borage flowers are beautiful, no? A bit like passion flowers. Our little borage plant is going nuts with these pale blue flowers (and an odd pink flower thrown in). I was reading to Dave from the Wikipedia page about borage flowers, how you can eat them, and he said, yes, we ate them in a salad the last time we had a borage plant. And I was, like, we've had a borage plant before?

Why don't I remember that?

Dave also reminded me tonight at dinner of the time we had margaritas with my mother. I had completely forgotten about it. After he told me I remembered. I think we played Scrabble and drank part of a pitcher of margaritas.

Anyway.

David and I had dinner tonight at a newish restaurant called Ezra's Place. We shared an appetizer of tomato bruschetta. I had a burger with blue cheese and caramelized onions. (The menu said it was Kobe beef, but I took that with a grain of salt.) The burger came with a mound of shoestring french fries that I split with Dave. There weren't many vegetarian choices, so Dave made do with a couple of appetizers, one a kind of spicy potato dish and a plate of grilled asparagus with aioli.

We were talking about margaritas because someone in the booth behind us ordered a prickly pear margarita and the enormous hot pink drink was carried out to the table by a kid who looked about fourteen. Ezra's is that kind of place.

I haven't had a margarita in years. I never really had a taste for them. I probably went through a margarita phase in my twenties, though of course who remembers?