The Franks.

Every week, I like to block out a couple of hours on friday afternoon in my work calendar  for "professional development", which means that I troll the internets for weekend food events with free booze and munchies.

Imagine my delight, then, when I saw that the owners of one of my favorite neighborhood restaurants would be having a book signing near my house that promised "prosecco and spuntini". This would make a nice, high-brow counterpart to the rest of my afternoon, which revolved around a Robert Pattison marathon and leftover oreo frosting. 

So not only did I get to hear Frank and Frank, the owners of Frankies 457 and its spinoffs talk about their approach to very simple cooking with very high quality ingredients, but I actually got to hang out with the Franks and talk shop (swoon...) AND rub shoulders with some surprisingly attractive food bloggers and critics AND enjoy free prosecco and salumi.

I also immediately fell in love with their cookbook, which is more like a 19th century home manual with all its hand drawn illustrations and practical advice. It is absolutely the best-looking cookbook I have ever owned. I read it page by page like a novel all afternoon, Robert Pattison be damned. 

I realize that I just wrote an ode to a cookbook signing, and that maybe the true significance of the event did not come across. Let's just say that it was so gratifying that it superseded BOTH the World Cup AND frosting. 

To top it off, the Franks and I tossed around the idea of me being an "intern", or as I call it, a "helper monkey" in their kitchen. In case you're wondering, this came about when I admitted my long standing guilt complex about not cooking enough, and they countered half-jokingly that I could crank their pasta maker any time I wanted. When can I start? I said. I hope they know I am serious.