We have, admittedly, been a bit remiss in our Best Thing I Ever Ate mission as of late. But we have a good excuse. In fact, we have at least two good excuses:
1. Ginger ventured to the hotspot vacation destination, El Salvador, where she consumed entirely too many unfamiliar foods and ended up laid up in bed (well, really in the bathroom) for days, resulting in a nearly month-long aversion to (over)eating.
2. Vodka, in preparation for her future as a crazy cat lady, has acquired a kitten, which , if you're keeping count, now has her outnumbered by pets. (As it happens, because Vodka cannot do anything in a manner that does not result in some sort of ridiculous story, she adopted said kitten from none other than her favorite childhood author, and if "The BSC" means anything to you, you can figure out who that is). Anyway, the wrangling of these animals has consumed a great deal of Vodka's hermit-like existence.
But now, we are back: Ginger recovering from post-traumatic pupusa disorder and Vodka leaving her poodle in charge of the apartment. And we are ready to eat. And, more importantly, to drink.
|Somebody Get Lady and the Tramp on the Line for Us|
Unfortunately for all involved, Extra Virgin actually begins dinner service at 5:30pm.
|But At Least We Have a Bowl of Salt and a Shmata of a Menu to Keep Ourselves Occupied|
"Um, where are you going?" she bellows, cutting through the quaintness of the tree-lined streets.
Vodka returns to her sheepishly and answers, "I felt conspicuous standing right in front of all of the outside diners, so I was going to wait across the street." Now, however, Vodka's plan to not look insane has been rendered moot by Ginger's outing of her (perhaps faulty) reasoning, and it is with a bit of a mocking smirk that the hostess seats us at our table.
|Sorry, Lady, We Don't Get Out Much|
"We don't have that today," the waitress begins. "They're only served on Sundays."
"It is Sunday," we say.
"Oh," she answers. "Well, it's only served for dinner after 5:30pm."
The current time? 4:51pm. Apparently, we are seated with the "After Brunch" menu crowd, rather than the "Dinner" crowd.
"Nothing like being early," Ginger notes as we saddle up for a long, chilly wait for our requested platters. At least we'll have our cocktails to keep us warm and entertained, right? Wrong.
Said cocktails do not appear for at least 25 minutes, during which time we are forced into confusing conversations about Ginger's brunch earlier that day ("I came here for brunch -- "; "HERE?!"; "Well, not HERE, just in the West Village") and her forays the night before into what we've taken to calling "triple house wine" (think house wine of the very worst variety). Meanwhile, Vodka taps distractedly at her phone, interrupting Ginger's tales with various pictures of her animal menagerie like someone straight out of an episode of Hoarders.
Eventually, our cocktails arrive, and the spaghetti and meatballs follow soon after.
And dare we say they are all worth the wait.
The spaghetti and meatballs are separated onto two serving dishes.
|Add This Fine China to Our Hypothetical Registries|
|Feel Free to Leave the Cheese Grater on the Table, Thanks in Advance|
|Two Basketballs of Meat|
|And She'll Be Consuming Double-Orders, With or Without Vodka|
|Forkful Twirl Courtesy of Lucy Ricardo|
|Nobody Sneeze - We Don't Want to Lose a Meatball|
|Time to Start Shoveling It In, Girls|
|You Win This Round, Disgruntled Fellow at the Next Table|
|Only the Classiest People Stick Forks in Their Cocktails|
|Bipolar Climate Choices|
|And Goodness Knows We'd Hate to Miss a Carb|
Ginger: "I want to start doing cultural things."
Ginger: "I'm going to begin doing something cultural every week. Eating and drinking don't count."
Our waitress escorts our check to the table before Vodka can get Ginger to agree to a ticket purchase or Ginger can get Vodka to stop repeating the word "Follies" with Rain Man-like precision. We pay our bill with what turns out to be the last $43 in each of our wallets and go on our merry ways, both content in the knowledge that "eating and drinking" is just about all of the culture either of us is going to expose ourselves to anytime soon.
|Particularly Because We Just Left All of Our Cash Blowing Through the Winds of the West Village|
*Certifiable Best Thing We Ever Ate