Ah, it's great to be 27 years old. Again.The Button and I have this running joke. When she was little, I had her trained to answer "27" whenever someone asked her how old I was. But one day, sitting at the sushi bar at Godaiko, chef Paul Tsai asked her "when is your birthday?"
"May 2," The Button responded, through a mouthful of tempura shrimp. Sensing an opportunity, Paul then asked "hey, how old is your mom?"
"27," she replied. Paul's look of disbelief must have been plain enough for even a 10-year-old to interpret, because she immediately turned to me accusingly, "wait a minute! If you're 27, that means you would have only been 17 when you had me!"
April 16 is my birthday, and of course I managed to stretch the festivities through the whole week. Liz Davis, long-time waitress at Old Town, crafted this wonderful birthday Pinot Grigio for me. And I chose to celebrate with The Accountant and old college friends at yet another one of Bob Sparrow's (pictured with friend Beth Pascoe) wonderful private dinners at Kerrytown.
27 feels pretty good. Again.
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