I go to media events for many reasons, but learning more about the product/place is rarely among them. Take the Irish orgy with dairy. I’ve had the butter, know some of the cheeses. But I figured the combination of the NYC chef and venue would yield something useful. And so I was thrilled to see an infant onboard when I walked in just after noon on the big day. A baby. At a clusterfuck. Fodder jackpot: The world really is going to hell in a Moses Basket. So of course it turns out the human larva belonged there, given that Mom was the star chef on offer. When she stood up to speak, the hired photographer should have switched to a video camera — he could make a fortune selling demos of what to do when the whimpering starts. Dad instantly bent down and swooped up the whiner to whisk her well out of earshot. Was that so difficult? Why the fuck do parents wait until the howling reaches crescendo level and diners all around them are clutching steak knives with bloody fantasies? Funny how appropriate behavior makes you realize we accept aberrance way too easily. Which is why a mom friend and I got a pretty good laugh a couple of nights later while passing a hip newish wine bar in the neighborhood and seeing what was waiting on the sidewalk. If you want to drive away the young and the unmarried, sure, go ahead and stack your highchairs outside.