Shirts, Sherpas, and Sardines

One of the best parts of moving to a new city is that everything is, well, new. Discovering new restaurants, new clubs, new streets, and maybe modifying your old routine into something a bit fresher can be, well, refreshing.

I moved to Madison, Wisconsin three weeks ago from Milwaukee. I've always defended my choice of living in the Midwest and the thumb state has always been my home - born and bred, never left. My dear friends who reside in more urban areas of the country probably won't get it when I say that there is a considerable difference between the two cities. But other locals will understand that Milwaukee is a veritable concrete playground when compared to Madison. So I have my work cut out for me.

The last few weeks have been devoted to the stress of unpacking - unliving the way you did before and starting over. Melding your stuff with your BF's can be akin to the petulant eight year old who doesn't want any of his food to touch anything else on the plate. But after 14 days of playing multiple rounds of "His, Mine, and Ours" (I'm Lucy, natch), it was time to venture out.

Rule 1: Go with what you know. First order of business was to catch the last day of the Friends and Family sale at the Gap. Gap is universal. No matter where you are in whatever language you're attempting to speak, denim is denim. So falling into Madison was as easy as falling into the Gap. Usually I just sit in the changing room while my friend Tony, a manager at the Milwaukee store, brings me things to try on until I am saturated. I was on my own now, and I knew it was time to check out when the nostalgia just got to be too much.

Rule 2: Try something new. After shopping, lunch. In an attempt to break me of my Qdoba addiction, the BF took me to one of his favorite lunch spots - Himal Chuli. Literally meaning Himalayan Hearth, this office sized street spot serves authentic foods all cooked by the owner, a woman who looks like she came down from the mountain itself. I had takaari, roti, and daal while a mix of people chowed down with their fingers (the Tibetan way). So typical Madison, unpretentious. And even though everyone knows about the place, it still feels like your little secret. The food was amazing.

Rule 3: Stake your claim. I'll admit I fantasize that I'm somewhat of a VIP whore. If there were any celebrities around here, I'd be a total star fucker. If it's opening, I want to be there. If there's a list, I want to be on it. In New York, this is hard to do. Madison surely can't be that tough. So after joining the LGBT center, the Madison Museum of Contemporary Art (no laughing TB), and the Democratic Party (they're huge around here), I got a reservation for one of the newest restaurants in town, Sardine. Madison's daily page says, "A bistro style restaurant, Sardine serves an American twist on classic French combinations in hip Machinery Row. An odd mix of caution and confidence" I have no idea what that means but it sounds Perfect! We sauntered in at an early 7:45. I was wearing my over tailored Hugo Boss summer weight blue plaid shirt and my If.You.Like.Versace.You'll.Love.These.Five.Dollar.Knock.Off sunglasses. It could have been South Beach. If we were in South Beach. But it was all in East Madison.

Which is enough for me.