Actually I'm not the worst photographer in California

Nigella, Justine, me 

Do you have night vision goggles? In that case you can see that Nigella Lawson is signing copies of Nigellisima for my sister, Justine, and me. What a pathetic and disappointing memento!

For my birthday, Justine bought tickets to a luncheon to promote Lawson's new book and it was the best present ever, a convivial meal, decorously drunken bacchanal, brush with celebrity, and memorable sisterly adventure all rolled into one.

The event was sold out and I did feel like a groupie, but it wasn't a bad feeling. Lawson is even more beautiful in person than she is in pictures, which is to say, scarily beautiful. I had aways wondered how much her loveliness had to do with makeup, tight dresses, and artful camera angles. It turns out, very little. In person, it is clear that Nigella was born beautiful.

She seemed almost shy at moments, which was endearing. Her speech (about her longtime aspiration to become Italian) was smart and droll and she fielded politically loaded questions and boring questions with wit and grace. I wanted to ask her about her cookbook collection, which supposedly puts mine to shame, but the moment got away from me. The only thing I personally didn't admire were her shoes.

But I did admire her fashion-forward moxie and that cancels out the shoes themselves.

Isabel and I are at the airport about to board a plane to New York City. On the agenda are some plays, a trip to the Cake Boss bakery in Hoboken, a visit to our New Haven family, and Eataly. They're boarding us now so, bye.