I’ve been trying to be good lately—save money, eat healthy, work out… but sometimes you have a day that’s so bad you just say screw it. I won’t go into detail because there’s a small chance my co-workers read my blog, but let’s just say work was hell and by the time I left I felt like I’d been run over by a semi-truck.

I called Zach and told him we were going to Brasa for happy hour. Brasa has carved out a special place in my heart—and it’s not even about the food. I love that it’s spacious and never feels crowded. At the same time, I love that it’s dark and warm, so it always feels cozy. I love sitting at the bar and watching the kick-ass, spiky-haired bartender do her thing. I also love that the bar is dark no matter how bright it is outside. I love walking in and being enveloped in the smell of the wood-fired oven. I love that every single time I’ve been to Brasa I’ve had a fantastic time. And last but not least, I love that everything on their bar menu is half price before 7pm.

We each ordered a vesper, which was perfectly made by the aforementioned kick-ass bartender. Usually, I order the steak frites with Cabrales butter (mmm… Cabrales butter) and Zach gets the clams with chorizo. But tonight we were feeling wild, adventurous, and reckless. I had the pork sandwich ($10 full-price / $5 happy hour) and Zach got the lamb burger ($11 full price / $5.50 happy hour).

The pork sandwich was good, but not stellar. The pork was wonderfully flavored, but a little dry. The mound of fries next to the pork sandwich were incredible. Thin, crisp, salty and addictive. Zach’s lamb burger was outstanding. I’m not sure what they put on it besides a whole head of garlic, but it was delicious and juicy.

After a drink, burger and more than my fair share of fries, I was stuffed. Unfortunately, the gentleman two seats down from us ordered the “Spanish Donuts” and I wasn’t able to run interference in time. Zach saw them and he practically gasped. Seconds later he was asking the waitress for an order of churros.

Waitress: “What are churros?”
Zach: “Uhhh… Spanish Donuts?”
Waitress (skeptically): “Oh…”
Me (in my head): “How can you not freaking know what churros are? Especially when they’re on your menu?”

We forgave her as soon as she brought out our dessert; two pale golden puffs of ridged dough, sprinkled with sugar and cinnamon. On the side was an espresso cup filled with deep, dark chocolate and whipped cream. The donut was still hot from the oil and fluffy and heavenly. I didn’t like it dipped into the chocolate because the delicate cinnamon flavor was overwhelmed. I decided that churros would be perfect served with cinnamon flavored whipped cream and nothing else.

By the time we left, I was happy and full. My bad day seemed like weeks ago.

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