the drunken cyclist

I am out in Sonoma for the week, and as I sometimes do while traveling, I revisit a Sundays Are For Sebastian. This comes from exactly five years ago when Seba was twelve. Sebastian is my twelve-year-old and he says some of the funniest things–we have no idea where he gets his material since his mother and I are rather boring, serious people. Sebastian: “What’s are we having for dinner?” Me: “I’m making carbonara.” Nathan: “With pancetta?” (Which he prefers, as opposed to bacon.) Me: “No. This time I’m going to use guanciale.” Nathan: “What’s that?” Me: “Pork cheek.” Sebastian: “Is that like butt cheek?”