I think spaghetti night is my favorite night; Y turns on Louis Prima and doesn't let me in the kitchen ("only my dad and I can cook my grandfather's spaghetti bolognese recipe.")
(that rule should apply to all recipes.)
the recipe lives on a crumpled index card on our refrigerator, scribbled in medical shorthand.
there's wine. the fancy stuff, from Trader Joe's.
Ike is never far, whining more for broccoli than the meat sauce. We did something right there.
dinner is NOT consumed on this nice wood table that made the trip from Louisiana to Minneapolis. we eat in front of the TV, like everyone secretly does. how else will we ever finish West Wing?
dessert is tea (always tea) and whatever goodies we have on hand. Tonight's menu: homemade graham crackers from Lucia's and peppermint bark gelato.
also, Ike whined more for the graham crackers than he did the broccoli, so we're back to square one on being awesome dog owners.