Birthday at Belleville

I am perfectly happy dining at any restaurant on my birthday, as long as it's French and serves escargot.
Tonight my birthday requests were met via a short trip on the R train to a French bistro called Belleville. The escargots were perfectly tender and swimming in fragrant pools of rich butter and garlic. The entrecote steak was a rare slice of heaven served a deep ruby red with maitre d butter, and the frites were just slightly more crisp than the vibrant green hericots verts. For dessert, the birthday girl had a pear tarte that was just sweet enough to satisfy. And now the most important part: what wine were we drinking? Well, it wasn't a 1982 Lafite. I'm only in my twenties and married to an artist. But I had a perfectly balanced 2005 Cotes du Rhone and it was quite enjoyable. Slightly peppery, earthy, with remnants of tobacco. My meal was everything I imagined it would be, and I had been imagining it all day. I like to eat. Especially French bistro food, and especially if it's some one's birthday. And obviously, it always is.
It's strange the way a birthday entitles us to things like elaborate meals and champagne, and the sudden desire for a new dress. I walked into Belleville shining like a new dime. (It helped that I was carrying a new handbag, a gift from the designer. I'll post more on that tomorrow.)
On your birthday, you need to look good, feel good, and eat good food. If something goes wrong or isn't perfect, ( and it never is) people see it as a bad omen or another kink in their already doomed lives. In fact, birthdays are like any other day, but with higher expectations. Expecting everything to go perfectly is short sighted. There are perfect days, and perfect evenings, of course. Magical ones even. You just can't plan when they will happen. I've learned to relax on my birthday. I don't exactly get a huge thrill out of celebrating the fact that yet another year is gone, but I'll take the good food and wine, and I'll gladly accept a toast.
I have a had a wonderful day, a wonderful year, and the empty wine bottles are in the hundreds. The best are yet to come.