Normally I might pass on the opportunity to chow on banquet-level catering while dudes in tights fight with swords. However, there comes a time (or twenty) in every father’s life when he must suspend his disbelief and honor the whims of his child.
And so I spent my Saturday night eating baby dragon. Or at least that’s what my serving wench called it. Or was that my bar wench? One can’t be too sure, for the consumption of too many glasses of mead (read: pina coladas) makes one hazy. But, a wench it was. Welcome to Medieval Times!
‘Twould be easy to storm this suburban castle, lay it ablaze, and retreat to my urban citadel. Easier yet to let the grandparents do the heavy lifting while I stayed behind and checked in on the latest taco stand. But I am not a food snob. Read the rest of this entry »