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POPSTROKE

BarTenders Eatery

Avocado
Toast

Served with a fresh fruit cup

A first date at ten in the morning is a brave thing. No candlelight to hide behind. No dim corners. Just sunshine, a putter and the truth.

He arrived in white sneakers and announced he had never played. Then he drained an eight-footer on hole 1 with the calm of a surgeon. I three-putted. He was gracious about it, which was worse.

By hole 9, a downhill slider that broke twice, I had stopped trying to impress him and started simply enjoying him. That, I am told, is the secret to most things.

At the turn we took a break on the patio. He ordered the Avocado Toast and insisted I try it. "A second fork, ma'am?" the server asked. I said yes before he could.

Toasted sourdough, with a proper crunch. Fresh guacamole spread across it, green as a freshly cut putting surface. Lemon herb arugula, bright and lively. Roasted tomatoes, soft and sweet. A ribbon of balsamic glaze, dark and glossy. A snowfall of parmesan cheese over the top. And beside it, a fresh fruit cup, cheerful as a Sunday.

It was light. It was elegant. It was the best avocado toast I had ever eaten, and frankly more put together than I was.

He beat me by nine strokes. On the walk to the parking lot, he asked when we were playing again. The scorecard is still on my refrigerator.

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