I then started a bile-filled post about 25-year-old shitheads, then realized that perhaps my worldview was temporarily tainted by riding the L train out of and into Williamsburg on a Saturday, so I've shelved those thousand words for the time being -- until the next time some 25-year-old shithead pisses me off by whining about how he showed up on time for work three whole days this week and not one person threw a parade.
Instead, I want to talk about what a nice afternoon I had going to see "Raging Bull" at the Film Forum with my friend Judy, then we strolled over to Sixth Avenue on this unseasonably balmy night because neither of us had eaten all day and we were dying of hunger. As luck would have it, we got to Da Silvano just before the mad dinner rush and were seated immediately. We had to run a small gauntlet of paparazzi (that's twice this week for me, the first being outside my office, where some Jim Carrey movie is being filmed), but that was okay, I didn't care, as long as they sat us and dropped a plate of bread in front of me before I started chewing on my own fingertips for sustenance. I just wanted a plate of pasta.
We shared an artichoke (YUM) and had arugula con parmeggiano salads, so we both picked at our tagliatelle when it arrived. Somehow we managed to find room for the panna cotta, which as far as I can see, is a far superior desert than tiramisu. (I'm a complete snot when it comes to tiramisu, most you find is just terrible).
One of the things I like about Da Silvano is that their menu says, in big bold letters, "No cheese served on seafood, at any time." They might as well put a sign out front that says, "We are not the Olive Garden, you American rubes."
It's also about food. The service is fast, brusque, and efficient. None of this, "I'm Trevor and I'll be your server tonight," crap. They move ya in, and move ya out. Romantic it's not. Delicious, it is.
Plus, since Judy and I ordered the same thing, then picked at our entrees, I have enough leftover for two meals.
Now I'm home, early on a Saturday night, drinking a Guinness, and listening to 80's music.
How can I possibly end such a day on any kind of sour note when I've got Scritti Politti singing "Perfect Way," with Real Life's "Send Me An Angel," right behind it!
I mean, honestly. What's to complain about?
3 comments:
So glad I dodged the Olive Garden bullet last week, whew. Maybe I've never had good teramisu, but I just dislike it every time. But your meal sounds tres nom and now I'm hungry, but not for an English muffin and PB, oddly enough. :)
I did not know that showing up every day on time was noteworthy.
Oh, it is to the kids. But I'm an old curmudgeon, what do I know?
Just read in today's real estate section about 20-somethings having to live with multiple roommates in tiny apartments. Wahhh! Isn't that how it's done when you're 22? One poor soul has to live in a sketchy nabe in Brooklyn, while his mother pays his rent. Boo fucking hoo.
Who in fucking tarnation serves cheese on seafood?
It's funny, the other night I was slightly annoyed by the chipper over-attention of some youthful waitperson and felt I must be getting old and curmudgeonly but NO. It's an awful TREND. Not, however, as assassination-worthy as "No problem," when I say "Thank you."
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