Here I come with my tail between my legs, again, Blog. I always say it, like an alcoholic who can’t keep their word, “I promise to come back every day, it won’t be like last time.” It’s baloney, Blog, but my intentions are true if that means anything.

I think the potential for new beginnings is rife. New apartment starting tomorrow, “I’ll take Pennsylvania Avenue for $675”. It’s located on a street in Capitol Hill just up the street from an old, Gothic cathedral and a new bar called Prohibition that makes good sweet potato fries. Sweet potato fries give me a twinge of heartache because they harken be back to that other city in those other mountains, where I first discovered their sweet, yet savory goodness. In any event, it’s cute, and it has a breakfast nook. New car, and fall seems just around the corner, and I always feel like a flower that bursts into life when the temperature drops and the wind blows colder. Fall is like a dear friend who never imposes, but whose arrival you eagerly await for weeks.

Plans to enter the snowboarding realm this winter. It is a must do. I want something that gives me a thrill, takes my breathe away, like the feeling of driving very fast or what I imagine it would feel like to hang glide or fly with a jet pack.

Last weekend Robbie and I checked a few more places off on our list of fantastic restaurants in Denver. In preparation for the event I asked around to find out what some of my co-workers liked the best, paying close attention to what the Colorado natives preferred, but to my astonishment I got one big for the Cheesecake Factory and another for the 17th Avenue Grill. I would actually like to try the latter, but I was really aiming to impress. Robbie took me to TAG on my birthday, and memories of the hangar steak were fresh in memory. It would be tough to upstage that. I picked him up in my new ride, his chariot, my silver Volvo wagon I’ve affectionately named Priscilla or Priss or Scilla, whatever the mood. We drove downtown to the music of Santo and Johnny. First we went to the Cruise Room, a tiny martini lounge that is invisible from the street, but can only be entered through a door just inside the entrance of the Oxford Hotel. It is lit with red light and the bar glows blue. It was purportedly the first bar to open in Denver after Prohibition ended. Known for their vast collection of martinis and retro atmosphere, I thought it would be a great spot to take Robbie to start off the night and have a little fun. We both got dirty martinis and waitress gave us the extra in a glass, which I liked.

The theme song for Robbie’s birthday:

Robbie was very sharp in his denim shirt, brown pants, and his well-manicured mustachio. I spared no detail and had a boutonniere made for him. I wanted it to be a proper date as any lady and gentleman should have.

And I wore false hair.

After a few libations at the Cruise Room we drove to Marion and 6th where we would dine a tiny restaurant in a renovated Victorian house known as Fruition where the chef makes everything fresh from a local farm that he and the other chef own and help to tend. Fruition is known for exquisite flavor combinations, romantic atmosphere, an excellent wine list, and a dinner you will not soon forget. Robbie and I each ordered the Duchesse to drink, a beer that somehow reminds me of blood if we were vampires and cool blood in a goblet were the most delicious, luxurious thing one would want to drink. I love Duchesse. For appetizers we got (yes, I’m going to cut and paste):

Pasta Carbonara House-Cured Pork Belly, Hand-Made Cavatelli, Six Minute Egg, Parmesan Broth


Marinated Beef Tartare Fruition Farms Potato Chips, Micro Onion & Parsley, Black Truffle Hollandaise

Both fantastic, though I lean towards the pork belly.

For dinner Robbie got the duck breast and risotto, heaven. I got the grilled Bavette steak Au Poivr, whatever that means, right? I know it melted in my mouth and I wanted more.

A good night, to be sure.