St. Pat knows his fucking cupcakes. (Cupcake photo: Amber)
Unless you're totally illiterate actually blind, by now, you know that the FIPS staff basically come at the mere mention of Robicelli's deep fried cupcakes. Lest you forget, they're like sex. Or drugs. Probably both at once.
Since you're already all going to be smashed to smitherines, drunk as fuck, or whatever collegeate-derived substitute you use to describe your incapacitated, alcoholic selves on St. Patrick's Day tomorrow, why not visit cupcake nirvana, too? ESPECIALLY if you missed Part I at Union Hall.
Robicelli's will be instating the return of the deep fried cupcake at The Double Windsor tomorrow night, frying up Car Bomb cupcakes (chocolate Guinness cake with Jameson whiskey ganache and Bailey's buttercream, yes pul-leaze) from 6 p.m. until the cupcakes run out, or everyone at the bar is too gone to work a deep fryer. Or stand. Whichever comes first.
I'm not sure who else from the FIPS crew will be there, but this shit's right around the corner from my place, so I'll see you all there. I'm boring and sober, but hand me your cameras, and I promise I'll document all of the things you don't want to remember on Thursday morning. And I can tell you who won't be there - motherfucking babies.