It’s Restaurant Week and I am officially getting fat. But it’s cool because I’ve discovered the secret to stuffing your face whilst still looking chic (what else is there really). Two words: empire. waist. y’all. (ok three).
Really, restaurant week is the best. I mean, when else can I get a normally $60+ meal for half that and rub elbows with DC-ites I’d normally never get close to (read=out-right avoid). I’ll be doing both this week, with reservations, one already last night, at Agraria, as well as on Thursday at the Monocle for lunch.
I am especially stoked for Thursday to see if I recognize anyone old and white and governmenty and possibly overhear a bit of palm-greasing at the number one good ol’ boys’ club on the Hill. My roomie and I, who both work in policy/political research mind you, are going to wear our sluttyest rompers and spend the afternoon shooting gin gimlets, laughing shrilly, and eating steak with our hands. At least that’s what I’d like to do if life were at all fair, and I didn’t have to work both before and after lunch.
Were that you lasted always, sweet, sweet restaurant week.
Couldn’t quite get your shit together in time? Fear not, some places are extending the deal into next week. Details here.
No comments:
Post a Comment