Our Friday night dessert, one for each of us: Chocolate Terrine on graham cracker crust with ganache, blackberry cheesecake ice cream, blackberry sauce, and a real blackberry on top.
Previously on Midlife Crisis Crossover: last Friday was my birthday, which I usually note here with gratitude for another year of survival. For years I assumed when I turned 52 I’d celebrate with some geektastic solipsism involving that very number’s use as a recurring DC Comics motif. I had at least one whole anecdote lined up and everything. So far the closest we’ve come to living out any DC homage is the cosmic irony of having the entire lead-up week disrupted by, to put it horridly, a major character death.
The week was instead overshadowed by the unexpected passing of my cousin Shawn on Mother’s Day at age 50, two years younger than me. I never throw parties anyway, but I begged off some of our traditions with hopes of resuming them next year — no evening spent entirely on Facebook (the only social media system remotely nice about birthdays), no one-day road trip with my wife Anne away from Indianapolis, and no ice cream cake. I never post about the ice cream cake, but it’s usually my thing.
Nevertheless we tried to find and/or create some bright spots where we could throughout the week. Mostly I mean food.
After Anne, the first entity to wish me Happy Birthday that morning was Google Assistant. I’ll take it.
Shawn passed away Sunday afternoon. Monday night, they scheduled his funeral for Friday, the very day of my birthday. Tuesday, my coworkers held a combined birthday celebration for me and our supervisor, who was born the previous Saturday. Our two parties were rolled into one, on a date halfway between them to split the difference.
By that point I’d only told two of them what was going on. No sense in half-dampening any spirits. Whenever anyone asked me directly if I had any birthday plans, I’d tell them with my best Halpert-face, “A funeral!” and then we’d share a moment of sincere, awkward absurdity. Such is The Lord’s Creation at times. Sometimes we need to climb even the flimsiest lifelines out of grief’s deep pit, if only for a bit.
Regardless, I deeply appreciated their thoughtfulness and was blown away by the spread.
They collaborated on an entire charcuterie board. Who does that?
Closeup of that pepperoni flower for emphasis. The ringleader Maria made this.
For dessert, a Berry Chantilly Cake from Whole Foods. It’s fruitier on the inside.
…I have no memory of posing for this.
On Friday, the service ended shortly before 3:00. Far as I know, the family had made no other plans. After taking our leave, Anne and I made 5:30 reservations at Union 50, one of numerous upscale restaurants we’d never visited in and around the swanky Mass Ave neighborhood. Hours before any nightlife descended, the place was less than half full and empty parking spaces were in abundance.
For the rest of the evening we resolved to talk about anything but family (well, y’know, except each other) just to help me clear my head. I think we nearly managed it.
The front side of Union 50 facing East Street. But you can’t enter there…
…rather, the front door is in the alley.
For appetizer, Medjool Dates served and/or stuffed with honey ricotta, bacon-onion jam, Peruvian pepper sauce, apple gastrique, and mint leaves.
For me, Duck Confit with Roasted Sweet Potatoes, Brussels sprouts, jalapeño-blackberry purée, and soy molasses.
For Anne, a Wood-Fire Roasted Half Chicken with ancient grain pilaf, haricot verts, and an absolutely wonderful leek-and-herb velouté that was the best thing I tasted all week.
…and you saw the dessert in our lead photo. We ordered one for each of us. Mine was free because they’re part of a large restaurant group that offers free birthday desserts across their many eateries of all sizes. Restaurant prices across the board are jaw-droppingly ludicrous nowadays, but Union 50’s were less unreasonable than some of their sister companies. And the quality was definitely there.
The meal was more than satisfying, but we ended our evening with a gratuitous stop at a nearby candy shop called Kilwins. They’re a Michigan-based chain with over 150 franchised locations, but central Indiana only has two of them, neither of which we’d stepped foot in before. Chocolates and ice cream are among the many pleasures they offer for the discerning shopper. We blew way too much on chocolates to take home, then called it a night.
The front of their Mass Ave location.
My share of our loot: a dark chocolate pecan snapper, two chocolate-covered Nutter Butter cookies, and some extra dark chocolate bits they threw in because my birthday came up in our small talk. Unforced and with no expectation of freebies, I hasten to add.
…and for my birthday present, Anne got us a subscription to Max, the last remaining major streaming service we didn’t have. So far I’ve availed myself of Paul King’s charming Wonka prequel and, at long last, season one of DC’s Peacemaker — two drastically different works, each representing extremely polar-opposite forms of sincere, awkward absurdity.
Midlife Crisis Crossover! 