Miniver loved the Medici,
Albeit he had never seen one;
He would have sinned incessantly
Could he have been one.
While I was in India, my podunk university town went and got itself a Medici. (It's an offshoot of the Medici in Chicago, hauled 250 miles south and placed in the middle of a bunch of cowfields.)
It quickly became the place to see and be seen. It's priced just a little higher than the rest of our midwestern eateries (which includes a smattering of fast food joints, sandwich shops, and the racially insensitive "Uncle Tom's Pancake House"), and it's got the coveted ambiance.
The other grad students would say things like "my boyfriend took me to Medici last night" in the way the women on commercials would say "he went to Jared."
Since I am currently single, and not undergrad enough to gaggle in with a group of housemates in my prettiest metallic crop top and four-inch heels, I have not yet been to this epitome of haute cuisine.
However, I do get to go this Friday, on my play's opening night. In a little black dress, of all things.
With... (sigh) the ACTF adjudicator.
(This is one of the American College Theatre representatives who travel around the country professionally evaluating university theatre; as this play is my graduate thesis, it's getting the full adjudicatory experience.)
The food had better be good. ^__^