It's been a rough week. I'm missing home, I've had some challenges at work, blah blah. I don't want to bore you with the details. Suffice to say that come Wednesday when I met PetiteFolle for dinner, I started crying into my cocktail (note to self: it's never a good idea to go out three nights in a row after getting off a 24 hour red eye and going straight to work).
Thankfully, Roka had enough to distract me with.
Non-reservation counter seating wraps around the robata grill in the restaurant, where we precariously propped our drinks, dishes, and soy sauce on its naturally uneven wood surface.
My good lady and I discussed getting older, work, living abroad, love, and Oz while we nibbled our way across the menu.
The ribs and eggplant were sensational.
Just what I needed to revive my flagging spirits.