Thirty-one days (or well, okay, thirty) days of food come to an end. I must say, like I’ve repeated before, that so many days of blogging about food turned out to be a little overwhelming and tiresome, despite the inherent variety of the theme.
And now it’s July thirty-first and I am so giddy to be done with this month of food blogging that I can’t even think of what to blog. Do I talk about celebratory food? But, I already blogged about champagne a couple of days ago! ARGH!
Um…okay. Well, one of the best traditions, I think, ever, is to have a restaurant you know and love and where you feel comfortable to go when you need to celebrate or to be cheered up. I’m not sure if that sounds stuck up or not– lately, in the Meowhold our celebratory restaurant de rigueur seems to be the Olive Garden, so I wouldn’t say that’s super snooty.
But I guess as with one of the most beloved and longest-running sitcoms ever –that would be “Cheers”— most people long for a place where everybody knows your name: a place where you’re a regular and where, even if you don’t actually know everyone, there is still that feeling that you know the room and the menu and when everything else seems to be going a mile a minute for better or for worse, you can get a meal you like and a break from the grind.
One of my favorite places to go here in DC, for instance, happens to be Las Placitas— a place we’ve come to know and love thanks to a very good friend (hi C!). When Herr Meow first started playgroup and I faced the sheer painful horror pleasure of taking my turn for duty, Las Placitas was there with a supportive round of margaritas and delicious chips for my frayed nerves, followed by the Puerco al Horno to lift up my spirits. I don’t exactly remember if I cried while eating, but let’s just say that once my lips stopped feeling numb and my heart thawed, I breathed a sigh of relief and was at peace.
Also, golden trumpets rang in the distance.
Sometimes you just don’t feel like cooking*, so it’s nice to count on a place to do the cooking and the nurturing for you. Amen for the place where you feel at home: it’s a gift you give yourself.
*I realize that if you don’t like to cook, you give yourself this gift every night. And I’m so jealous.