We kicked off the Thowmbpsin wedding weekend with a low-key dinner party at our place. It was great to have the gang come out our way, and I tried my best to make a meal that would satisfy everyone while taking into account a few key factors: It had to be quick, since we were eventually due at a post-rehearsal-dinner soiree an hour away; it had to be kid friendly, since we had Homey's adorable almost-five-year-old gracing our company; and it had to be -- oy -- vegetarian, since, yes, we were welcoming a non-meat-eater into our home.
I mean, I'm capable of making a pasta dish without using pork products. I simply prefer not to.
I'd prepared for this dinner at the farmers' market the other day, when I grabbed a huge, gorgeous head of locally grown broccoli. I got the rest of the ingredients -- good olive oil, a nice loaf of bread, some Parmesan -- earlier today at the nearby Italian store. I'd just scooped up the Johnner at the airport, and it was fun to usher him right into the heart of Jersey. We picked up capicola and soppressata for lunch, and he got a nice helping of the local color as the owner and a customer discussed the Mets being disgracefully swept by Boston during the week. The owner, a Yankees man, told a tale of nearly kicking a blustery Sox fan out of his store last year when the red-hatted guy failed to recognize where he was and refused to show respect for our hometown squad(s).
Back at our place, I made my mom's old faithful dish of pasta with chickpeas and broccoli. (For Homey's little one: pasta with butter and cheese.) The guests fell into place, Margy came home, we pulled a bunch of eight-ounce Coke bottles out of the fridge, and we all broke bread as our pregame to a weekend of l-o-v-e.
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