My baby is growing up. In between scarfing down beef and goat-cheese-filled empanadas, he effectively landed his first phone number. Sounds crazy, right? If only I was kidding. The meal started innocently enough. A basket of plantain chips and chimichurri sauce was set before us, which he so kindly shared with yours truly. I didn't have the heart to tell him that it wasn't kosher (and lets be honest, a little disgusting) to remove the plantain you've been sucking on for the past five minutes and offer it to someone else at the table. But then like that, I was no longer the apple of Jenson's affection. Our waitress came bearing empanadas and shrimp and mango salads...they made eye contact and just like that....Jenson was in her arms with a backstage pass to the Cubana Cafe. It was mutual love. And when I had to remove a shrimp as big as his head out of his mouth because I didn't feel like pretending to remember what I learned from infant CPR class, he got very upset. I don't blame him. The shrimp was good, perfectly dressed and he was having a moment. Moms can be such a buzzkill sometimes. But then our waitress came over to the table and like magic, the tears stopped. It was only when I saw her writing digits on a piece of paper that it dawned on me, I was witnessing my child get a girl's phone number. Dad was ecstatic. Does it really start this early? She said if Jenson ever needed a babysitter to please give her a buzz. I know someone who left that restaurant buzzing... Hint: It was not his mom.
LOCATION: Cubana Cafe, Brooklyn, NY