So Friday night’s wine tasting at the Crane was quite nice and while sipping away in the Richardson building I even discovered a couple of white wines I liked. Plus there were prizes. Not for me of course: everybody is lucky and unlucky in their own peculiar way (such as cards and/or love as the old saw has it) and I am a dismal failure at raffles. I have never, not once in my life, actually won a raffle. Whatever I am lucky at, it is not these sort of contests.  I couldn’t even win lunch with the Sheriff, which I had figured as a near sure thing because c’mon, who else is going to venture a precious ticket on such a prize?*  The Girl, on the other hand, is a raffle machine. No sooner had she expressed a desire for Whale Watch tickets then lo! she won said tickets. Plus a monstrous gift certificate to Montilios.

The following evening we celebrated my cousin’s birthday at Dali (followed by pints at the Thirsty Scholar). Now, while it was a pleasure (as always) to see my cousins I feel I must come out against tapas.  The experience always leaves me feeling the same way I imagine I would were I rolled by a lady of the evening: vaguely unsatisfied and decidedly poorer.   Tapas, however delicious, is simply not enough bang for the buck.

I certainly learned a lesson though. When the Bunny and I open our much-anticipated Irish-Italian-American bistro, our menu will prominently feature ‘Irish tapas,’ that is to say a baked potato for which we will charge you $12.00.

*Some old dude evidently.