Feeling Bleu ...

Fun night last night...

In honor of my friend's 40th Birthday, a small group of us had dinner in one of Rittenhouse Square's trendy hotspots, Bleu, at 18th & Locust Streets. Excellent food, good service and great company. The only downside to the place is that it's not the greatest seating arrangement for more than 2 people in one party, since their tables are nothing more than round cocktail tables that they pushed together and the dishes were almost too large for everything to be placed comfortably. But all that aside, it was a fantastic and fun-filled night that brought on an incredible hangover from which I'm slowly trying to recover.

Dinner was to be at 7 o'clock, so I stopped in at the Post (conveniently located around the corner) about six for a beer. I ran into G who was also going (the rest of the party were to meet us at the restaurant). The original plan was to have dinner at another restaurant, but I received a call from O about 6:30 saying that, even though reservations had been made, it was still going to be about a 45 minute wait. So plans were changed at the last minute and we were all going to meet at Bleu instead.

One of the main reasons (other than M's 40th) was for us all to get a chance to meet M's parents, who flew into town for a few days. We've all heard stories of his family's get togethers and we were all looking forward to finally getting a chance to meet the infamous parental units. Now, I'm not good at meeting people and keeping a conversation going with strangers, but I have to say I was comfortable with M's parents from the very first second I was introduced. They were fun and friendly and both had the same infectious laugh as their son.

With drinks in hand we were all escorted to our table and ordered appitizers, entrees and, of course, more drinks. We laughed, talked, ate and drank...

And drank...

A huge thick cut of NY strip lay atop a high pile of fries sat infront of me. As I cut into the steak, I heard several comments about these being the best fries. Hands seemed to come from all directions, picking out my fries.

(oh man, my mind is so foggy right now. Trying to write about the evening with this hangover is not going over very well.)

After dinner, M's dad makes the announcement that, being Italian, it was customary in his family to have an after-dinner drink. When he suggested Sambuca my stomach flipped as the memory of a very horrible Sambuca-induced night in Atlantic City several years ago flashed in my mind like a blinding bolt of lightning. I asked the waitress what she would recommend and I took her suggestion of a vanilla flavored cognac.

My God that was potent!!!! I didn't realize at the time (when we were all saying our good-nights and I asked G if he wanted to go back to the Post for one last beer) that I had reached my limit for the evening.

I tried to finish my beer at the Post, but soon discovered that I really needed to get home and crawl into bed. I silently wondered (at least I hope it was silently) when the city had installed these trick sidewalks that seemed to shift every time you took a step. Someone should complain to the streets department about this. Luckily I found my bed and I looked forward to sleeping in late so I wouldn't wake up with a hangover.

I had neglected to remember that I now have the devil-cat living with me who liked to start his day before the first rays of sun peeked through the bedroom window...