8. dished.

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I tend to do pretty well for my birthday dinners. Even when they are a month late.

My folks are here this weekend, in part to take in the Carnegie International and in part to celebrate my birthday, which, uh, yeah, was a month ago. As it usually does, that involves a nice dinner out.

This year’s pick? Dish.

And boy do I wish I had pix of the food we had. I started with carpaccio, sliced so thin that the touch of a fork almost made the beef melt. Topped with a slice of nutty parmigiano reggiano, a little arugula and drizzled with olive oil? Oh my.

And then there was the gnocchi. Butternut squash. Ricotta. And topped with a wild boar and black truffle ragu: big tender chunks of roasted pork that just dissolved in the slightly earthy gravy. My folks both had linguine with a mix of shellfish — they were both very pleased — and Mrs. Crappy’s dinner, a pork chop stuffed with speck and smoked mozzarella, was delicious.

We drank well too. While I walked back to the restaurant after parking six blocks away, Mrs. Crappy ordered me a Brooklyn, a white Manhattan made with Wigle’s rye, and the barbera recommended by our server was a very nice pairing with my entree.

A great meal, perhaps the best I’ve had in Pittsburgh.

Clearly, I should have birthdays more often.

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