27

Birthdays, they can be a crap shoot.

I spent #25 in Naples, Italy, that was pretty glorious picking oranges off of trees for instant consumption, crossing off ‘seeing the “ash people” of Pompeii’ from my list of life goals.

#26 was spent with the terrible hangover, traveling by train from New York to Boston, and stuck in a Providence, RI bus depot  for the better part of the day. It spiraled to an even darker place from there.

For #27, I was a bit anxious. One year closer to thirty, and I always put very high expectations on the day of my birth.  After Peter talked me down from the “I’M OLD” ledge, we were joined by Kim and Brian for a dinner at Chez Francois  in downtown Vermilion.

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Dinner was delicious, truly lived up to all of the amazing reviews and hype. It was gorgeous.

I had beef Wellington for the first time, with a lovely seared piece of fois gras and black truffle. I was straight flexing on Instagram with this photo.

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It was everything a birthday could be and more.

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