Last night David's brother Max babysat Cal while we went out for dinner. Just the two of us, on our very first date since Cal was born. We went to one of our favorites - de Belhalmel - a French restaurant, with an original belle époque interior. We ordered a really expensive bottle of red and spent most of the evening talking about how good it was. The food was scrumptious as usual and I'm pretty sure I know the secret. Butter. I had a roll of fish, stuffed with butter, swimming in a sauce of butter. I then mopped up the leftover butter residue, with bread and butter. For desert I had tarte tartin (pear nestled happily in a bed of cooked crunchy butter). Luckily, we had a bit of a cycle home to burn off our butter and wine comas. When we arrived home we found Cal wide awake and super excited to be hanging out with Uncle Max (to whom we had promised a quiet night with very little chance of actual babysitting duties). Apparently he'd woken up minutes after we left and had stayed up all night, the monkey. I was hoping this would mean a bit of a sleep-in this morning. But, no..
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