We started the evening at the Hotel Saint Cecilia, which is tucked away on a quiet street just off of busy South Congress Avenue. If you didn't know it was there, you wouldn't know it was there. We arrived at the bar just after dusk as the bartender was lighting candles to create a little ambiance. We were the first ones there. [Dorks.]
"Are you staying with us?" The bartender asked after Alex made a [bad/dumb] joke about us being the first losers in the place. It turns out that they only serve guests of the hotel, or at least that was the line she fed us before mixing up a pair of signature margaritas priced at $15 each. I have to admit that the line worked because I felt cool (like "Ooh, she's serving us and she's not supposed to") until we heard her say the same thing to a table of women who looked like they just walked off the set of Sister Wives.
After two rounds of New York (circa 2002) priced cocktails, we decided to venture to Saint Cecilia's sister hotel, the San Jose. It was there that we crashed a rehearsal dinner after party and drank too much considering we have a three year-old who wakes us up at 6:00 in the morning. But it was great pretending we were young again...even if I did have to take off the fancy shoes that killed my feet and walk barefoot down Congress Avenue.
The birthday boy: everyone looks good in candlelight.
Signature margarita: siembra azul tequila blanco, grand marnier, fresh squeezed lime, homemade simple syrup; salt rim: granulated sugar, salt and cayenne pepper
*not our first crash