A Week of NOMM

The Boyfriend's mom was in town last week visiting from the midwest-ish.  I like when she's in town because it's the perfect excuse to eat out a lot and delight in the company of others.  (Not that I need much of an excuse to do so normally, but the spending money part is the usual hurdle.  If it's in the name of visiting out-of-towners, then how can I NOT oblige?)

We went to Ringside Steakhouse in the middle of the week.  I'd never been there before, and neither had my accompaniment, so I was unexpectedly astonished by the prices on the menu.  Without getting too gritty, I ate the most expensive steak I've ever eaten in my life -- and you better believe it was the tastiest, too! -- that cost what I might consider spending on a one-way plane ticket.  A 6-ounce filet mignon with roasted brussell (how the eff do you spell brussel anyway?! Brussell brussel brussels brussells Brussell's Brussel's No matter how I spell it, the red squiggly line says "No, bitch."  YARRRGGGHHH THE MADNESS) sprouts and cauliflower, an enchanting glass of pinot gris, LOBSTER MASHED POTATOES -- yes, they were ri-freaking-diculous, a salad with the most amazing balsamic I've ever tasted (THIS is what balsamic tastes like?!?), and not one but TWO desserts to top off my feeling like a raging food-a-holic.  

(Which I most certainly did.)

It didn't take a genius, a mathematician, a priest, or a small psychic child to figure out that I have rather the penchant for high-quality -- dare I say, bourgy -- fine cuisine.  The feasting event made me feel high as a kite, happy for hours and hours and into the following day.  How is this possible?  It's just FOOD, right?!

No.

It's an experience.

And it was mine . . . 

What a snob I've turned into.

Anyway, the next night we got down and durrrty at an Ethiopian restaurant by my house.  If you've never eaten Ethiopian food, you MUST.  And if you've got children, this place is awesome because you eat with your hands and stuff your face and drink awesome tasty beverages and leave smelling like spices and jalapenos and it's just marvelous.  This was much less catastrophic to the budget, so don't worry.

On our final afternoon, we found ourselves at Prost! on North Mississippi.  A German pub, they have lots of yummy German beers on tap that I can't pronounce and a menu composed primarily of meats and sour things.  I can't wait until the warmer months arrive.  They've got a fatty garage door inside that opens out to a spectacular deck, nestled under bright sunshine and the hum of the street.  

Note to self . . . 

Cucumber salad.  

Ho-hum, you say?  NO. FREAKING DELICIOUS.

Apples and some sort of liver pate that I forgot the name of with some rye bread.

I didn't actually try it, because the Boy -- He With Stomach of Steel -- 

had a difficult time making his tummy agree.  Yeahnothanks.

A sausage thing with more rye and two mustards.

YUMMM.

Bavarian Pretzel hot from the oven with salt and more mustards.

Beware the sweet one -- it'll punch you in the throat riiiiight at the end.

We also had Bratwurst, another something-wurst, sauerkraut, and more rye.  I walked out of the beautiful building feeling (still) like an angry aholic wishing I'd paced myself better on the gigantic sausages and mountains of bread and kraut.

Ohhh, regret . . . 

No, I take that back.  No regret here.  Maybe for a minute, but HOT DAMN I've had some good food in the last week and it helped me remember how freakin' awesome this silly town is.  Funny how it takes visitors from other cities and states to help us remember why we live here in the first place.

Prost!