A smoother, bluer diamond

No matter how desirous I may be about eating healthier, less fattening food, I cannot resist the siren call of the Spicy Buffalo Chicken Wrap. Thank the stars they're a limited-time menu option. (Or not? Would I eat fewer if I knew they were an eternal temptation, like the sugar cookies I so bravely refused to purchase just now?)

Lovely meal last night. At first, monshu didn't even want to go out at all. Then I complained that he wasn't giving me any chance to treat him on his birthday, so he agreed to let me take him to a snooty bistro on Clark Street. However, when dinnertime rolled around, he decided he wasn't in the mood for snootiness or bistro food or a walk to Clark Street, so we went to Mia Francesca instead.

Given the staff, it really should be Mi Francisca. (We'll forget about the shady-looking Russian valets for a moment.) If they had been any more inobtrusively efficient, I would've thought myself in the Château de la Bête. For some reason, even though we don't go very often, we have a regular booth; they always seat us in the same place for some reason. Not that I'm complaining; now that the bar's gone completely non-smoking, it's one of the nicer seats in the house.

My tilapia was nice and golden on the outside and the topping was very nice--even if the chef did take the liberty of mining it with an unannounced fresh tomato garnish. (Pah, pah, phtooey!) monshu's salmon with cream sauce was perhaps a little better though. He gave himself the rare indulgence of chocolate cake and manfully refrained from having the staff stick a candle in it.

I really can't describe how elated I felt strolling through the park afterwards. Sure, I was a little tight from the terra di tufo and the Drambuie, the flowers really were lovely, and there was a refreshingly summerlike breeze in the air. But it was really all frosting for the incredible treat of sharing a milestone with my honey. I'd wanted something grander, something with more pomp and extravagance, but far better to have an evening that was low-key and flawless than to attempt too much and have it end in tears. If I learned anything from my father's last two big birthdays, that's it.

Bear Pride Plans

Nothing too special this year. I may or may not go to the dance on Sunday depending on how tuckered out I am from Nixon and China and my overnight visitors on Saturday. But for sure we'll be at:

• The Palmer House Friday evening. The frisson between dozens of hot leathermen smoking cigars and trading recipes in the main space and the confused interlopers from the mundane worlds of business and tourism is something I never get tired of. I invite all my downtown friends to join us in the drinking and people-watching after they get off work. We plan to rendezvous around 4 p.m. and leave whenever we start getting hungry for dinner.
• Bucks patio on Saturday afternoon Our usual plan is to secure a table and hold court. The weather report makes me hopeful that the Boxer Party won't be the usual rain-dampened chilly semi-success. I'm still not sure how I'm going to handle the transition from debauchery to high culture, but I'll figure something out.
• Sidetrack atrium on Monday afternoon We usually try to get there right when they open to grab a table convenient to both video screens and smoking.

If you're in town, why not hunt us down?