Several weekends ago my husband had to be out of the country for work.
Naturally, I called Jamie to see if he wanted to visit Philadelphia for the weekend. Affirmative. We had one of the best weekends in recent memory, rivaled only by the one in which we headed out to the woods, drank whiskey, and threw some hatches at a tree.
Our Saturday brunch commenced with a Bloody Mary custom bar cart at Urban Farmer. After indulging in biscuits, bacon, and Bloodies, we visited the Philadelphia Museum of Art and along with the latest exhibit, walked through a wing that always seems to be closed on my past vists to the museum. Lots of Mondrian, Matisse, and Monet.
Philadelphia loves their Christmas markets. Blowing through the market at JFK Love Park and Dilworth Plaza and an unsuccessful attempt at getting Jamie to agree to go ice skating, we ended up netting some truffle oil, macarons, and beer. It was the exact sustainance required for an hour shopping on Walnut Street before heading to Sampan for the daily happy hour. Jamie was shocked at how many people were waiting outside for seats at the bar, but being the seasoned savvy Philadelphian, I knew getting there early would be necessary.
Several cocktails and appetizers later (chicken bao buns, look them up), we stumbled out of the bar. A stop at a few local boutiques and West Elm later, we were on our way back to Walnut Street. Paper Source, Theory, Brooks Brothers. Two rounds of martinis with blue cheese stuffed olives at Butcher and Singer. We scampered to make our reservation at Parc, where were indulged in a butter-laden dinner.
That night we fell asleep watching holiday movies and taking out the macarons. I do not recall, but Jamie shook me while I was asleep on the armchair / ottoman and encouraged me to make the move to the bed. Again, I do not recall. I woke up spooning the cashmere sweater dress was wearing the day prior.