Sparkling White Grape Punch

Mei's wedding. Saturday in Highland Park, Dallas. The venue was the kind of place that has a water feature and a valet and servers who call you "sir" in a way that makes you feel like you're being managed. I wore my one good suit — dark navy, bought for Emma's wedding six months ago — and I felt exactly as comfortable as a man who wears Wranglers six days a week feels in a suit: not very.

The ceremony was elegant and brief. Jeffrey's family — they're from Plano, old Texas money, country club people — handled it with the smooth efficiency of people who have attended many expensive events. Mai sat in the front row between me and Linh and wore the jade bracelet Linh gave her and a green áo dài that she'd had since the nineties and still fit into because Mai weighs approximately the same as she did in 1985. She looked regal. There is no other word.

David gave a speech about growing up with Mei — how she used to practice closing arguments on him at the dinner table when they were kids — and it was genuinely funny and the kind of speech that makes you realize how much a family's story is woven together even when the members think they're writing separate chapters. I was proud of David. Not my kid, but my blood. The pride is the same.

The food at the reception was — fine. It was Dallas catering: chicken or fish, a salad with goat cheese, a dessert that involved something called a "deconstructed crème brûlée" which I did not deconstruct further. I ate it. It was fine. Mai ate the chicken and said nothing, which I interpreted correctly.

The best moment: after the reception, back at the hotel, Mai and Linh and I sat in the lobby bar — me with a La Croix, them with tea — and Mai said, "Mei is happy." Linh said, "Yes." Mai said, "The food was not Vietnamese enough." Linh said, "Mom, it was a Dallas wedding." Mai said, "That is what I said." I laughed so hard I almost choked on my La Croix. Mai did not laugh. She was not joking. Or she was. With Mai, the distinction is academic.

Drove back to Houston Sunday. Mai slept the whole way. I listened to Vietnamese ballads and thought about weddings and daughters and the distance between Saigon and Highland Park and how a woman who fled on a fishing boat in 1975 just watched her granddaughter marry a tax attorney in a venue with a water feature. America. It's a strange and occasionally beautiful country.

Look, they had an open bar at the reception and I had my La Croix, which is all I need. But if I’d been in charge of the drinks table — and nobody was asking me, for the record — I’d have set out a big bowl of this sparkling white grape punch. It’s simple, it’s bright, it doesn’t require a bartender who calls you “sir,” and Mai might have actually smiled at it. No recipe from my kitchen this week since we were on the road, but this one felt right for a wedding weekend.

Prep Time: 10 minutes | Cook Time: 0 minutes | Total Time: 10 minutes | Servings: 12

Ingredients

4 cups white grape juice, chilled
2 cups lemon-lime soda, chilled
2 cups sparkling water, chilled
1 cup pineapple juice, chilled
1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
1/4 cup granulated sugar (optional, to taste)
Ice ring or ice cubes
Fresh green grapes, for garnish
Lemon slices, for garnish

Instructions

Combine the juices. In a large punch bowl, stir together the white grape juice, pineapple juice, and fresh lemon juice. If using sugar, dissolve it into the juice mixture and stir until fully incorporated.
Chill until ready to serve. Keep the juice base refrigerated until just before serving. All ingredients should be thoroughly chilled for the best fizz and flavor.
Add the sparkling ingredients. Just before serving, gently pour in the lemon-lime soda and sparkling water. Stir very gently to combine without losing the carbonation.
Garnish and serve. Add an ice ring or ice cubes to the punch bowl. Float fresh grape clusters and lemon slices on top. Ladle into cups and serve immediately.

Nutrition (per serving)

Sparkling White Grape Punch — What They Should Have Served at the Dallas Wedding