Last night, for the first night in say, MONTHS, Kevin and I had a free night together with nothing on our plates.
Conjuring up my best princess voice, I whined why don't you take me out for dinner, baby? I saw this little restaurant up the street that looks adorable. It's french, I think. It looks so cute.
We put on crisp khakis and a flowing white skirt and walked up the hill towards dinner. And just like that, our plates were about to be filled with the most delicious food I've eaten in a long long time.
Now, if you'll excuse this obnoxious bit of self-promotion for a second, we're pretty hip to the Denver restaurant scene. I devour restaurant reviews. I keep a running list of new places to try. I won't pay my Xcel Energy bill, but I'll drop $100 on a bunch of tapas and mojitos at a place like Zengo. Some people buy designer jeans, we buy designer food. We love eating out.
But even I hadn't really paid much attention to the place we were walking to, Z Cuisine
. Hey, I just thought it looked quaint. Cuteness goes a long way in my world. Plus, it's close. In the 'hood. We'd never been there either.
I really don't know the proper transition here because I certainly didn't set out to write something food-reviewish. But, YUM????? How's that for starters? We immediately ordered up a bottle of wine - certainly not an expensive one - but a nice French red for $21. Gold stars always for unpretentious quality wine.
Unpretentious being the transition into this
paragraph. For the most part, we aren't pretentious eaters. We don't purport to know a lot about food and wine, just that we like what we like and hate what we don't. We enjoy getting waited on by friendly people, nice ambiance, and good bread.
Plus I'm crazy about all things french. Well, maybe not Madame Shifflett, my 11th grade french teacher. I wasn't crazy about her. And my mother's ex-boyfriend, who is french, was kinda weird. Not so crazy about him either.
But the land, the wine, the cheese, the food. The french mentality - yes, I love it. Fuck what everyone says about french rudeness. Try walking into your local Burger King. And while I'm going there, fast food. Gross. George Bush. No wonder they raise their large french schnozzes at us.
Right! The food! French food can be intimidating. The menu at Z Cuisine is written on a chalkboard. Mostly in french. I was scared for about one second until I saw what my neighbors ordered. I'll have that, s'il vous plait. Kevin had a very creamy, very buttery, very fattening
soup and a quiche that tasted nothing of eggs. I had a salad. With house-made chevre melted on toast and pine nuts. Oh dear lord. A foogasm in the making.
Over our meals we twittered of post-modernism and shared our knowledge of grapes and glass. Kevin's Dad's dog Emma died. Conversation fueled by wine takes unexpected turns sometimes.
I do believe it's probably time to wrap this mess of a post up.
I highly recommend you all get your high-fallutin' bootays over to Z Cuisine, then leave those high-fallutin' bootays outside on the curb, because you won't be needing them inside.
And be sure to take that hott someone who makes you very horny. Because as they say, there's just something about a romantic little French bistro.