Nearly twenty years ago, my sister took me to dinner at Upstares at Varalli, because it was across the street from her hotel. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, as she was and is never in town. I'm fairly certain it was a Tuesday.

I also remember clearly where we sat (windows along Locust Street), what I ate (linguine or fettuccine) and most of all, what we discussed: should I start seeing this new guy I'd met? She gave me the best advice ever: yes, date him.

He and I eventually moved to an apartment around the corner and ate at Upstares regularly. We took my father there when we had tickets for Messiah and the Nutcracker; they always made sure we were out in time to make it across the street to the Academy of Music. We took friends who were delighted to discover that Italian food went beyond red sauce. After moving to the burbs, we would occasionally return with out-of-town guests.

While hunting ever more desperately for a place for my fortieth birthday, I finally remembered Upstares, and its downstairs sister Sotto Varalli. Yes, they could fit 25 to 30 of us in a private room and feed us a three-course meal.

The menu started with rocket salad or their field greens salad. Sensibly, most everyone picked the rocket salad, which had the most amazing, large ripe strawberries. These were better than the grocery store carries in June. I had the lobster ravioli, Tobi had the steak, and that guy I started dating had the linguine. We finished with enormous portions of chocolate pyramid or tiramisu (trite, but still excellent). The weakest note was the coffee, but was more than compensated for by the excellent wine selections — I threw myself on the staffs' mercy, and they selected the wonderful Zefiro Prosseco with the appetizers, and the Terlano Pino Bianco and Red Mud Shiraz with dinner. Yes, I had at least a glass of each.

Will I go again? Will I have another birthday?