The Good Life: A Restaurant Review of Lacroix

Above: Treetops Café

I cleaned up, put on a neatly pressed, crisp white shirt, straightened my finest khaki pants, and tied my tie to perfection. My shoes were shined, my belt buckled, and my hair combed for the first time in years. My lady, she put broke in her finest summer dress. She looked simply dazzling in her deep blue garments, and her hair flowed like the ancient Euphrates. We were quite a pair, and off we went to catch a horse-drawn carriage on a beautiful autumn eve.

Tonight, we were living the good life.

It's Restaurant Week here in Philadelphia, and you know what that means—dining that's normally reserved for the well-to-do is briefly available to us plebeians. We figured it'd be best to go to the most expensive restaurant we could find (after all, the prices are the same everywhere this week). Lacroix was our choice (it's pronounced "La-kwa" for you aforementioned plebeians).

We arrived promptly at our scheduled time of six post-meridian, and a kindly old gentleman in suit, tie, and cap opened the door for us. The atmosphere was simply marvelous—big white tables, candle-lit, soft music playing in the background, huge glass windows overlooking our city's quaint Rittenhouse Square. Imagine eating like this every night!

No water glass was left unfilled, no dirty silverware left idle, no whim left unfulfilled. Needless to say, the service was excellent. The young man who served us would have probably given me a foot massage, had I asked for it.

The manager took a special interest in his young clientele, and served us a spoonful of delicious scrambled egg "straight from the cooks pan." Our palates were tingling. Likewise, every served dish dazzled our taste buds with their distinct and unique combinations of flavors. Pork shoulder has never tasted so good as it did with thin apple slices over it, nor did the salmon ever delight the senses with its blend of corn, water chestnut, and cheese. All the courses were well prepared, not only in taste, but in sight. It was quite an experience.

So all in all, dinner was delightful. I felt like a prince. We left, well-fed and well-nourished, with nothing but smiles on our faces. Lovely.

Then we, uh, got some Hurricanes and got fucked up in my dorm room, but that's another story for another time. For now, it was nice to savor the good life for a night.

Random Selections from the Marble Copybooks of Nicholas Gilbert, Esq.

As I'm sure most of you know (or should), I love to write, and it's taken me way too long to actually take the dive into this new-fangled blogging business. However, I've come today to bare some of my selected pieces from the notebooks I'm constantly scratching bullshit into when I have nothing to do. Now, I know PoYB, as we've come to call it, is much more often a forum for rants on the pleasures of drinking, dancing, rock-and-roll music, pre-marital sex, and just about anything else the Catholic Church and the venerable Reverend Shaw Moore frown upon, but we can all agree that blogging is more a practice in our beloved art of writing.

Having said that, this is not a rant. My words have, and never will be, as candid as those of Joseph or Amanda. I will never be able to write about life in the Bermuda Triangle we call Northeast Philadelphia with the poignancy of David or Mike. I enjoy college and being on the cusp of adulthood, but I just can't put it that eloquently. I write what I know, and, most often, that's lyrics. However, a lyric without fingers dancing across keys or fretboards is really just poetry masquerading as something a little less queer. Keep in mind, almost none of these selections have been read by anyone other than yours truly and are rough drafts at best, so enjoy.

Without further ado, Random Selections From the Marble Copybooks of Nicholas Gilbert, Esq.

"Those Before Us"

Our lives, built along the timelines of those before us.
Crossing fine lines drawn in the sand by those better than us.
Arrest my moral judgment, decisions aren't to be made on my own.

Father, I've been feeling sick,
Though I've not come for advice
Shamed as I am, I'm here to confess

He says that I can't see what's going on here
He says that I can't see we're going under

Most of this deals with my disillusionment with religion, especially the Catholic Church. I've never been a religious person, but I believe I have a certain set of morals. We were made to stand on our own two feet, and I hope to never see the day I use blind faith as a crutch.

"Beneath the Sheets"

Paper-thin walls crash down beside me. Laying, exposed to the world, in bed, the only solace I have left. "He's sleeping," onlookers will say, "these problems can wait til morning." The cool breeze and soft light, coming through what used to be my window, wake me along with the stunning realization that this night is real. All the things I hid from in sleep have been watching me, beckoning my consciousness to come together for a welcoming breath. And so, in this lonely state, I write. I write words that anyone can read or understand. "Perhaps," I think to myself, "hiding is not my only solace." This park, vacant as I had once been, is now only full of stepping stones. Each one is larger, growing from self-conflict to epiphany.

I really don't have too much commentary on this. I feel that the metaphors and similes speak for themselves. We all have rough times, and we all find a certain solace.

 

"Perspective"

If there's one good thing about this fire
It's that it casts the light on your face in a way I've never seen before
As the glare dances across your face I see
The intricate emotions hiding beneath every expression

Maybe it's just the contrast
But I've never seen
In the midst of such chaos and desperation
Such great hope

If I've ever had a constant
I'd call it change
Elegantly straddling the fine line we call decision
Perspective is the only thing that could save us

Here's to starting over
Here's to new beginnings
Here's to the night being darkest
Just before dawn

Sorry for the last verse/stanza being composed entirely of cliches. When in Rome, right? Either way, a constant theme in my life is all the terrible or rushed decisions I've made since college started have brought some of the greatest things in my life. I consider myself lucky in that I can honestly say one of the most hurtful things that ever happened to me turned out to be the greatest.

So, there you have it. Feedback is much appreciated. I'm not fragile, I swear. Also, bonus points to whoever can find a Kevin Bacon reference in this post.

Goodnight.