Pasta and the Dream Team

Morning, chicks.

Please ignore the fact that it’s before eight on a Saturday morning, and here I am, downing water and eating crackers as a pre-kettlebell snack.

Turns out, I don’t have much more than that hanging around my pantry.

Last night, I headed to Fiorentino’s with my pals for a Restaurant Week dinner.

It was ridiculously delicious.

We were ridiculously loud.

The conversation, for the better part of dinner, revolved around who everyone would have on their “Political Dream Team.”

I made up my own Political Dream Team after reading several presidential novels last year, and I wanted to know who everyone would pick.

I’m pretty sure we all know T. Roosevelt captains my crew.

Other contenders amongst the group?

Putin, Alexander the Great, and I believe JD nominated Stalin.

I didn’t say it was about diplomacy.

Anyone else have a nomination?

Anyway, we cackled our way through the pros and cons of every well known leader since ancient times, and then ate deconstructed cannolis and bread pudding and headed home.

At home, we spent the evening trying to salvage a couple of bottles of chardonnay, and learned an important lesson.

Lots of ice and seltzer can save just about anything.

And here it is, only seven hours later, and I’m about to swing some bells.

Let us hope the Russian takes pity on me.

And if not, I’ll keep my eyes on the prize, which this morning is brunch with my book club at Feed.

Have a good one, chickadees, and Happy Saturday!



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Filed under Chicago, Good times, Near Disaster, Politics, Reflections, Things that are delicious

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