Suppah Club is back with a vengeance after a four-month hiatus brought on by weather-related disasters. At long last, the burds gathered at 224 Boston in Dorchester which never disappoints. Even when the place is jam-packed. Even with the ever-present possibility of face-butting another patron. Even when conversation involves hollerin' over the Boston Street Cod Cakes and imaginary (or not) elfin-like whistles that followed us trom the trunk of Auntie's car.
Fine dining in a vice-like grip between chair and table.
After dinner, KT and I headed over to Florian Hall for a fundraiser beneath flourescent lights where we sought out DT and James among a sea of men in January jorts.