A busy Friday night at The Pickled Heron.
Our Friday night dinner at The Pickled Heron felt like a giant, warm hug; we hadn’t been there in an unfairly long time (we canceled our July 19th reservation to have a baby instead) so there was no better place to commemorate our first date without the little one. Everything was impeccable, of course, and now that I opened Pandora’s box of French food I plan to cash in on the grandparents’ request to cuddle with their grandson at least once a month to eat anything Todd and Daniela are making at our favorite French BYOB.
What we ate: seared foie gras with Concord grape jam; lobster cavatelli with hazelnuts, roasted cauliflower and crème fraîche; moules frites; seared black bass with Lyonnaise potatoes, broccoli and espagnole; chocolate pot de creme.
Saturday was a busy one, and we caught up on plenty of chores, except for grocery shopping.
What we ate: Chicken and al pastor burritos from Taco Riendo.
Sunday, I met up with my girlfriends at our alma mater, La Salle University. The plan was to eat brunch at the Blue and Gold Commons, the school’s dining hall, for old time’s sake. Since we didn’t have La Salle IDs (not on us, anyway) we were turned away at the door; it was probably a blessing in disguise, because I highly doubt any of our stomachs could handle buffet-style, college-dining-hall food. Also, we weren’t in pajama pants like every other person there. We put our heads together, got in our cars and headed to Cresheim Valley Grain Exchange on Germantown Ave. I really wanted to like it, but our food took forever; I couldn’t even tell you how it tasted because I practically snorted it, I was so hungry.
What I ate: eggs (over easy), hash browns, sausage and a biscuit. Washed down with a bloody Mary.
Don’t let “the man” get you down.
I had a great weekend to match an awesome first week back at work. Here I am, though, after a busy Monday of week two, drinking a bottle of De Loach port wine from our California trip in 2009 in my sweat pants. I envisioned us cracking it open for something celebratory, but desperate times call for desperate measures. I guess the novelty of the daily grind has worn off.
Clean Plate 
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