dinner, car bombs, and matchmaking

It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to blog over a glass of red wine. I’m not sure what the technical term is that I’m looking for, since my wine glass is almost empty and at times like this, important words seem to escape me when needed, plus wine makes me want/feel a strong need to use an inordinate amount of commas in my sentences, but every year my mom makes a batch of red wine that runs too sweet for her taste but is divinely delicious to me. How’s that for a long sentence? Anyway, I’m just trying out last year’s batch. Better than ever. She could sell this stuff, but by the time it would be ready to get sent off we’d have only a bottle or two left and the rest would be hiding in my house.

Anyway…

Tonight we had a fabulous dinner with some fantastic people at one of my favorite places. Jimmys Pizza and Pasta. I love the noisy bustle of a busy restaurant and a long table of friends with multiple conversations being yelled over each other as babies eat napkins, and friends share life over a piece of pizza. There were four babies at the table–three girls and Henry–all the same age. At one point an older lady with some sort of an accent came over and asked some of us if the babies were related and I jokingly assured her that they weren’t since I intended for Henry to marry the one closest to her in about twenty years, so being related would kind of mess that up. If funny looks could talk, her’s would have said something like, “Maybe back in the old country that would have worked, but here in America people don’t pick out their children’s spouses.But she didn’t. Instead she lamely trailed off with “Oh, I just figured they were related because they were all so cute.” You figured a bunch of babies were related because they were all cute? Huh? I know, it confused me too.

Speaking of arranged marriages, I am a fan. Not of my own, but of arranging my children’s. Not in like a get-married-at-12-and-see-your-freaked-out-spouse-for-the-first-time-on-your-wedding-day sort of way, but in a gentle-coercion-by-way-of-years-of-playdates-and-shared-summers-spent-eating-watermelon-on-the-back-porch sort of way. I may have bitten off more than necessary though, because tonight I betrothed Henry to all three girls–although I’m not sure I officially asked all the parents. Details, details. It’s not that I want him to be a polygamist, I just want him to have options.

Last but not least, I brought these amazing cupcakes to the restaurant that are inspired by a truly ridiculous drink where you have to chug it before it curdles. In a drink, these combinations are ambitious. In a cupcake–the trifecta of chocolate cupcake delight.

Irish Car Bomb Cupcakes

 

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