Yep, I did it. I made a half-baked Pillsbury pun. So sue me. (Or tickle my belly. I care not. In fact, that sounds fun. BRING. IT.) And speaking of crescent rolls, which are probably 80% butter, I put butter ON them — do you? So in effect, I’m eating hot buttered butter. BEAT THAT, Paula Deen.
But I digress. I want to tell you about the warm and cozy goodness that is the boutique Crescent Hotel bar in Beverly Hills. It is an undiscovered treasure in the heart of BH. A secret well-kept, like a warm gummy bear in your pocket. We had the whole place to ourselves. What’s UP, no one? Next round is on me.
They generally feature carpeted floors and comfy furniture, giving you a safe place to land, should you need to fall down. And, to quote Elmer Fudd, they are vewy vewy quiet. Unless there’s a pianist tickling the ivories, and I’m into tickling (see above), so I’m more than okay with that.
I had a delicious Manhattan with macerated cherries (don’t worry vodka, me ‘n rye — we’re just friends) and curled up in front of the fireplace. If they served actual crescent rolls (buttered) at the Crescent, all would be right with my world, but in the meantime, thank GOD — cheat day is only three days away.