I’m always up for a bit of decadence. You don’t get hips like mine from being restrained.
But there’s the everyday sort of decadence (which involves a bit of cake with breakfast, and a bit with lunch, and hell, some with dinner, too) and then there’s the once-every-few-months-or-my-heart-will-suffer kind of decadence. And Neptune Oyster in Boston’s North End falls into the latter category.
After a meal there, I looked at my husband and declared myself in need of a shower and a cigarette. And I don’t even smoke.