Yesterday for my birthday, I went out to lunch with a group of wonderful and dear friends from high school, to a local restaurant that caters to a, generally, more mature and established crowd; naturally, the bartenders there know how to construct a real martini. Since one really only turns 25 years young once, I indulged.
My friends and I are scattered across this country, and across a few other continents, some of us working, some of us still in school; it is a comforting and beautiful thing to be able to get together for some good eats and some good laughs with people who have known me for years, as though nothing has really changed all that much.
A secret surprise birthday dessert, featuring very berry sherbert and a tiny wax candle; darling.
My lovely friend Diana knows me inside and out: she was so generous, gifting me this Barbie calendar, featuring runway caliber clothing designs. A number of them I wish lived in my own closet, supremely elegant in draping and fabric choice. This gift definitely made me very excited for when I can finally buy Barbie dolls for my niece.
Phinneas, the cat, for reasons beyond comprehension within his anatomically inferior brain, was magnetically drawn to my leopard patterned wedges, unable to deny the primal call of his ancestry.
A fine and cozy tableau for a family dinner, following my martini and burger lunch with friends.
Viognier proved to be the ideal wine choice for our meal of crab cakes, potato wedges, and green beans; crisp and acidic, with a touch of sweet fruit, a great complement to the buttery texture of the crab meat.
Obviously, cocktail sauce was involved.
Eating a Maryland crab cake outside of the hallowed state borders of the Land of Pleasant Living is, well, simply, a grave and terrible mistake.