Last night, I got finished with a client meeting and Christie rang me to say that they (Jer, the kids, ... the Family) were all down at Pascucci. (For those of you not familiar - here's my favorite review of the place:
We sat down to my favorite table in the whole place - its a tile-covered oval that cozies up to a half-booth. If you look up, you see an arched brick ceiling with a chimney style skylight. Seated in the middle of the place, so you're surrounded by all the noise of everyone in the place.
This detail was really wonderful when little Bella looked at me, flipped upside down, dove under the booth with Chad, and munched contentedly on the cheese (alone) from her pizza. The big kids, I mean, the adults, laughed at their antics while trying to keep them from setting the garlic bread on fire or climbing up the back of the booth and diving onto the table.
However, it proved even more useful when she looked at me and shouted in her tiny-loud voice, "You tooted!" and dissolved into giggles. Just for the record - I did not toot. We sipped our Sangiovese and munched our garlic bread, Insalada Pascucci, manacotti while attempting to keep the kids in the upright position. "Attempted" being the key word, here.
A couple minutes after I took these pictures, S. joined our party, just in time for a deeply sinful wedge of flourless chocolate cake and raspberry coulis (four forks, please!). Just prior to his arrival, Bella dove back down into the cushions and returned triumphantly grasping something small and brown.
She held it up, waved it at me and said, "Dis is fer...youuu!" across the table.
"Thank you, Bella...its a guitar pick - wow, are you going to give it to Scott?"
"YEAAAHHHH!" (top of lungs)
"Wow! How nice of you to think of him - do you want him to play the guitar for you later on?"
"YEAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!" (enthusiasm such as should really be saved for football matches, Olympic time trials and Lottery wins) I don't remember if she's ever actually seen him play, but she's certainly made the connection that S. = Music.
S. arrived and I slid into the booth with Christy and the kids and she gave me a sticky-faced smile and reminded me that, "dis is fer your old dad."
Really, that one alone was enough to make me sing the praises of Pascucci's.
Something had to cover my howls after that one!