La fête du bon voyage (containing an ode).

(a), he was going to China, but

(b), so did Marco Polo, so

(c), it was perfectly fine for it to be a pizza party.

You cannot imagine the array of good pizza stuff I had--enough for pizzas for the 5000. We did happen to have only 2000 or so people, at the fête, so there was a lot of good pizza stuff left over, which we packed up and sent home with several.

But that's not what this post is about. What this post is about is ice cream cones.

IN PRAISE OF THE ICE CREAM CONE.

For it is edible, yet it contains an edible,

which is both icy and creamy;

but the cone itself is crunchy

and brittle: for it is

a cookie, yet it is also a vessel:

for it is made in several versions, to wit,

the cake cone, which is for children;

the waffle cone, embodiment of savoir faire,

the cone of choice at the ice cream parlor; and

the sugar cone, the cone of my youth,

burnt sugar crisp into which

the double dark chocolate

ice cream of Swenson's was dipped:

because it comes in exceedingly

small sizes, such as

the kiddie cone:

why not have two?

**********

The day before the party, I found tiny ice cream cones at Target, and the people, I bought them, and for dessert we had cupcakes baked by my daughter, with tiny Chinese flags affixed to toothpicks and stuck in the tops, and to finish it off, there were tiny ice cream cones, vanilla and chocolate, and they were adorable.

I don't always think "adorable" is the most salient quality in a dessert. But sometimes it is, especially when the boys--little and big--who are attending your party ask for just one more.

tags: ch-china, odes

Things to do to improve your outlook.

By "things to do," I mean "parties," and by "do," I mean "eat."

Saturday morning, I arose bright and early to make foccacia, Famous Pasta Salad, and sugar cookies cut in shapes appropriate to a baby shower. That's right: my daughter, the make-up artist and splendid all-around human being, is having a baby in May, a boy, and my mother and I were the caterers for this affair. We made all the arrangements via e-mail, thus avoiding having to address my increasing phone phobia (note to self: must investigate phone phobia).

I thought, somehow, that in any store where they sell cooking implements (Target), there would surely be a cookie cutter in the shape of something baby-ish (bootie? teething ring? breast pump?). What cookie cutters they had were in the shapes of an Easter egg, two kinds of bunnies, a carrot, a lamb, a duck, a tulip, and another generic flower. I know, appropriate to a baby shower! Especially some of them. I was, I admit, cursing my folly as I was icing the cookies at twenty minutes to shower time, but managed to arrive with a minimum of cursing, enough cookies for everyone, a mountain of Famous Pasta Salad, and two loaves of foccaccia. My daughter got baby booty, a baby shower game was played, we all had a grand time. Because I was taking pictures for my daughter with her camera, I managed to get home with only a small handful of pictures of the shower, none of her, and none of the cookies either. Oh well. The ducks were especially cute, you'll have to take my word for it.

Then, later that same day, we went to a surprise party for the birthday of a poet friend, Jennifer. It was great, super surprising, and delicious, too, as the hosts had knocked themselves out making shrimp-and-scallops pot-stickers, amazing eggplant, sesame noodles, steamed soup dumplings, scallion pancakes, and barbecued pork buns. Another poet brought a gorgeous bombshell of a cake, all whipped cream and strawberries. And we all had a very, very grand time. Here is the surprise:

Here are the dumplings:

and here is the cake: