Let them Eat Cake

It's morning and birthday week here at my house. Todd's birthday (the ex), and my sister. Both born a day apart, same year. So different yet the same in their actions and characteristics. Amazing. It was also my niece Molly Sweeney's First Holy Communion on Sunday.

It's all about food, these occassions. All occasions. (I don't know how to spell, and the more I write this blog the more you'll notice it. I have a good idea of how things are supposed to sound, but ever since brain surgery I just can't seem to hone it in. I also make up words, which I think is highly acceptable. But I digress.)

The end of the week last week was all about Peg's funeral and the food being the final piece of the pie, so to speak. The Capawanna's are italian so the after party was of course Italian Food. I missed it, but I heard it was delicious. Had at The Appian Way in Orange, NJ. A perfect sendoff for Peg, who rests filled and satisfied with family and friends surrounding her.

Then the Communion Party -- Molly Sweeney. That was a combo-nation of italian/american food from The Brownstone Inn, in Patterson, NJ. Really good, with Fettucine Alfredo, chicken, beef tips, the requisite spiral Ham, Salad, Eggplant rolantine, and cake and dessert. A real sleep enhancing type of meal. The best part was the kitchen help my sister Melissa paid for. Gee, totaly worth it.

Then last night's dinner for Todd's birthday: Star Pizza, Orange NJ.

If anyone lives anywhere near Star, they've eaten the thin crust pizza. A tiny pie, you can probably consume a whole one yourself, and many have. I've been going to Star since I'm a wee girl, remember being there when my brothers were little and they used to mess up the tournaments at the skiball machine. (I saw grown men want to kill them; red faced and ranting to my father. There were money on those games.) It's not a fancy place but you could die for the pizza and all the other food that mingles with it, eaten on paper plates. Hot Roast beef sandwhich on italian roll; sausage and peppers; Fried Calamari; the Mista salad. It's all delicious. French Fries. Nothing is good for you, but it's incredible. Wash it down with a pitcher of Rootbeer or coronna and you've got yourself one great dinner. Most nights the wait is worth waiting for -- with babies in high chairs and big groups filling the dining room. The cool thing is that you're going to get what you're getting when you get it. It's crowded, the appetizer concept doesn't work, and once you get a seat just let the food come and the chips fall where they fall.



OK, it's early. Not anywhere near lunch, but it's been a while and I think I should go back to bed for a while. My head hurts and the news is on behind me: Obama and Hilary are neck in neck. Gas is 4.19 in NYC today. There's a backup on 287 North with a tractor trailer overturned loaded with Methasomething, highly flamable... It's going to be 76 by noontime.

Bed is calling....I hear the birds ..lovely.
Later on a poem.