The Big Sneezy

Steve is 40 today, and we're back from our mucous-filled journey to New Orleans. Despite his flu-stricken misery, we actually managed to have a pretty good time. Hell, sometimes just being in a hotel room is enough to feel vacation-y.

At the recommendation of my fellow Chowhounds, we ate our big meal at Brigtsen's, a charming, fabulous restaurant. I don't recall the last time I felt so full - I moaned the whole cab ride back to our hotel. The whole thing was great, from the impeccable Sidecar to the pecan pie.

I knew Steve, he of the irrepressible sweet-tooth, was sick when he took one cautious bite of a Cafe du Monde beignet, and sorta shrugged unenthusiastically. I mean, that's flu-inspired heresy on so very many levels.

I had an excruciatingly long travel day yesterday, and then went down to Oly for school. Two double-shot Americanos later I finally arrived home, and then was sleepily buzzy until I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

And here I am today, catching up on work, blogging, and avoiding the crazy heap of things I must accomplish to feel like a human.

Sigh.