And my birthday was in February, but I never got around to posting about it because, well, scroll up.
Being on a bit of a shoestring budget as I adjusted to being 100% of the payor, not 50%, has resulted in some creative maneuvers, belt tightening, closet unloading, and increased longing for splurges that used to feel way more within reach. Namely, a couple nights here and there in impossibly chic hotel rooms.
God, I love hotels. And this one—Zero George in Charleston, SC—was pretty astonishing and perfect in every way. Right down to the smooth wood bar and the egg white bourbon cocktail I gripped while my parents had their first proper intro to my new boyfriend. (Thanks for that liquid Xanax, bartender.)
A spacious top floor room with a sprawling porch, spectacular breakfasts spread out downstairs, nooks for eating and drinking everywhere, crisp linens, details details details.
[Breakfast in bed with a tiny hyacinth.]
[The ‘lobby’ is also the open kitchen, and the smells you’re privy to while getting your keys do not disappoint. There’s Chef Vinson Petrillo getting started on the amazing 5-course tasting menu we had that night. Top Chef fans will recognize that name, btw. Off the charts.]
[Zero George lets you take these whips out, too—which was the perfect way to rediscover the streets of my former town, and pull around into the parking lot behind my old apartment building on Cannon St. Memory lane, man.]
[That’s the aforementioned American Surrealist. Dream cocktail.]
Revisiting old haunts is always a little like retracing your steps, or playing nine holes in reverse. Each stop on the trail of tears is like stepping back onto the tee box—a strange feeling when you typically only remember things like sinking the putt, or the long painful stretch of fairway. Dropping back in on your old self like this is different; you get to recall how that place queued you up for whatever big thing happened next, and after that, and after that.
Powers you up to look forward.