Their river of time.

I see far too little of my Mom and Dad. Between this city and their country; and the yoke of work and the oddity that stands between generations it just doesn't happen as often as I'd like. It's such a pity because besides the blood tie they're also very good friends--an actuality upon which I rely and shame with forgetfulness.

Finally, however, fortune prevailed and my Mom and her childhood best friend came to Pittsburgh. Eric, threw open the doors to Brillobox, permitting the ladies a private late morning luncheon. I knew about the prospect well enough in advance--well enough to scrawl about seven or eight different, highly ambitious and Proustianly unrealistic menus in the Moleskine. Here are a few notions that made it to the plate.


Salad of Chioga and golden beets with Shropshire Blue and Walnuts


Wild Maitake, French Lentil and Leek Soup


Croque Madame "Petit Four"

Cavatelli in Kale and Chili Pesto with Fontina Val D'aosta.

I need to do this for my Dad soon.