I don’t ask for much these days. As a mom of an almost-five-year-old who really, really likes me to put him to bed, I don’t get out much. So after a long week, when Friday night finally rolls around, I drink.

I know what you’re thinking, but work with me here. I’m not talking vodka in a secret flask inside my semi-attractive yet hefty mom purse. The perfect wine to match the delectable meal Keith and I have prepared for ourselves, to unwind and satiate — that’s what I’m talking about.

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