I’ve been working a lot lately. And by working, I don’t necessarily mean at my 9 to 5. I mean that, but I also mean freelancing. I also mean packing. I also mean driving miles and miles and miles to look at apartments and houses and duplexes that have been mostly disappointing (with a few darling exceptions). And I mean rushing home to make sure Luna is okay and trying to exercise her more than normal, since she doesn’t get the chance to do as much running around while I’m at work these days.
The point: I’ve been busy. And not busy doing incredibly fun things.
The secondary point: I needed this weekend. A lot.
It started on Friday at 9PM when I picked up my Very Elegant Friend and we made our way downtown for Denver’s restaurant week. If you aren’t familiar with restaurant week, it’s a time when a bunch of fancy schmancy best-food-in-Denver type restaurants offer prix fixe menus of fabulousness for 52.80. A play on the height of Denver (5280 miles above sea level).
We had chosen Bistro Vendome–the mecca of French food. In part because Very Elegant Friend spent a good deal of time in France teaching English and, in part, because French food is tasty.
Our prix fixe was not only completely delicious…
(I believe phrases like these appeared during the meal: “who needs a man when you have a cracked pepper steak,” and “oh, are you still here? I was having a moment with my French fries,” and “I think I’m going to go home and spoon with my steak.”)
…but also very European (as it should be), in that it was not rushed. There was wine. There were snails. There were long moments of enjoying wine and snails. There was a pear tarte dessert with fresh-made ice cream that inspired the comment, “I do believe they must have the cow in the next room over.” And then, “well, they’ve done quite a good job keeping it quiet.”
And then we both proceeded into a food coma.
(to be continued)
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