Stopping by (a wood-paneled room) On a Snowy Evening

It's snowing in Cleveland. I LOVE IT.

I hardly ski anymore these days, I am somewhat naturally cold and need far more layers than most people to maintain a comfortable body temperature, shoveling hurts my back, and I start to wilt when we've gone months without sunshine (and we DO go months without sunshine in Cleveland.)

But I love winter for all of the fabulous moments indoors with good food and drink.

The first year the Great Lakes Brewing Co. opened, a date took me there in a blinding blizzard. We were the only patrons out on such a dreadful night. Perhaps as a thank you for our bravery or foolhardiness, the bartender gave us an extended and fascinating history of the location and one Elliot Ness (a one-time resident of that Cleveland neighborhood). It was like a private history lesson in the warm room with glowing brass kettles and gleaming bartops.

I think of all the wonderful Christmases, a night when most restaurants are closed, when I have gone to Nighttown (a veritable Cleveland Heights institution) for a sample of their warm bread pudding to round out a cold Christmas night. I think about the warm spoonfuls of that delightful confection while enjoying the view outside the front windows of the normally traffic-logged Cedar Road hill, now looking like a Currier and Ives picture in all of its snowy quietude.

I think about adult sledding expeditions, laughing at how utterly ridiculous it must look for grown folks to be giggling their way down some steep decline, never properly dressed for the occasion. I think about the divine smell of Beef Bourguignon, or Cassoulet, or Osso Buco filling the house on a snowy afternoon.

Last night I had the pleasure of reuniting with a friend who has lived away from Cleveland for many years. We met up in some cozy paneled room downtown where the music is too loud. Someone brought chocolate cookies to share. As we laughed the night away, sometimes the front door would stick open and you'd feel the cold wind whipping in from off of Lake Erie. I kept my stocking cap on the whole night. And to misquote Robert Frost..."and that made all the difference."