A Family Reunion, From Scatch

My family converged on Boston last weekend. One of my sisters was having a conference here and the rest of the fam was like, hey, let’s make it a family trip and I was like, no prob! And they were like, is it cool w/ Brent if we take over your house and I was like, no prob! (note to self: write it in the marriage vows something about spontaneous family reunions and how they contribute to our lives).

Mo got in from Chicago on Thursday night, so Beth and I met up in Harvard Square to check into the hotel (that Mo’s employer put her up in and that we would never experience otherwise)and pregame while Maureen had to finish a working dinner. Maureen met up w/ us a few hours later and promptly ordered about a pint of wine; or at least that’s how the bartender served it (gotta love those sketch beer gardens that pop up in the summer where the pouring rules are more than a little lax).

My sister Sarah and her boyfriend were due to get in Friday night, so I busted out our new mortar and pestle to make guac for the occasion. 

Which we immediately ate all of so there was none for them (hey, you go to an amusement park w/out me snooze, you lose). We did wait for them to dig into the peach pie I made, though (from scratch) (that means the crust, too). I was pretty pleased w/ myself, and therefore didn’t take any pictures of it. So you know it was a big deal. 

My dad was pretty adamant about meeting up w/ Brent’s parents while they were in town, so Brent’s fam humored us and made the trek into the city on Saturday. We spent the afternoon at a BBQ festival featuring a hot dog eating contest and saw some guy set his new record of 43 dogs in ten minutes, or something equally as gross. I mean, I love hot dogs, but I was pretty perturbed after witnessing that. Mostly due to the fact that I was totally jonseing for a hot dog, and it was a BBQ festival so there wasn’t a dog in sight.

After that we headed to a nearby park, where my parents’ penchant for overpacking items we usually have at home anyway came in handy when a scatch and kickball tournament commenced. Tell me you guys know what scatch is; the ghetto velcro version of playing catch w/ a glove and baseball, just swapped out w/ a round velcro plate you strap to your hand and a ball covered in that stuff that velcro sticks to. It’s just my childhood summed up, is all.

For dinner, I’d made reservations at an ultra swanky restaurant, you know, the kind where chip refills come standard w/ your order of buffalo chicken dip. I think this sign says it all.

I was excited to show off where I work to my family, so I made brunch reservations for Sunday morning. Everyone loved the cute rustic ambience (the mimosas and bloody’s didn’t hurt the review, either), and it was really nice to be on the other side of the kitchen and share everything w/ my fam. The biggest hit (besides the seriously sick discount employees get) was the dessert spread they put out for us; my pastry peeps hooked. Us. Up. After such oversized brunch portions and several rounds of drinks, there was hardly any room for dessert…until the gallon or so of ice cream and toppings appeared and everyone had to have “just a bite” (I think our empty plates spoke for themselves). My dad had the best plate of all:

All the alcohol our fridge is stocked w/ should last us until the next family reunion (which Brent is highly suggesting not be in Boston).