Yeah, so since I go to work I get to rock it Spanish-style and dine like a mangy old man for 90 minutes. If I lived here, I would weigh 9000 kilopounds. I went to La Flauta, a nice lunch place for neighborhood folk yesterday and had me some black rice and lamb chops. You know, lunch. For 3 days.
Leah likes lunch, too, and not just PB and J, so she and the fellas joined me today. Abe found the toothpicks, unwrapped them all, and stuck them into the wall. Fabulous! That kept him busy for 4 minutes. Max ate a bunch of ravioli (Viva Espana!) and played tic tac toe until dessert to ease the pain of not getting to eat black squid ink rice. He was pissed, I’ve got to hand it to him.
Until the crema catalana arrived. This is creme brulee, though Catalans are not cool with it being defined that way, since Spain came first. Abe liked smashing the burnt sugar, since he likes smashing anything. It’s being sweet and edible was just gravy. If gravy were sweet. Max ate all of it and declared it the best dessert he had ever had, counting the apple and melon gelato from yesterday. When I told him that we own a blowtorch which I actually bought to make crema catalana, he nearly fell off of his chair.
As we saved him, Abe ran away. Why? Because there was a slot machine in this restaurant, and he wanted to play it. I should send his photo to the Foxwoods police now and save us all some time when he is 16.
Actually, that’s a stupid idea: he’ll probably look different.