It’s been an extremely long time since I’ve been able to enjoy a glass, let alone a bottle (and when I say bottle I mean two glasses) of wine with the boy, or with anyone for that matter… Frankly I didn’t think I had it in me.
Yes, I reluctantly admit that it hit me pretty early, but after a thrown-together cheese platter (feat tomatos, salami?, salty green olives, and an unexpectedly soft Parmesan) I was pretty much capable of motoring through that montepulciano.
We were really looking for a glass and a cheese plate, a quick app before our veal steak dinner. (We are not, nor will we ever be sympathetic vegetarians.) There’s a little pizza place on the corner, about 50 years old, that we’ve never been to. Initially because the decor was ridiculous. Maybe in that camp way hipsters like so much, but also in a “I feel like it’s greasy” kind of way that was a turn off. They recently underwent renovations, mostly to quell the quintessential Italian atmosphere. It’s a little more sophisticated… Looking. Inside, you’ve still got the same parlour where the owners, mama and papa Italians who still speak English with heavy, almost unintelligible accents after all these years, sit in the front in their aprons watching the big screen TV and chatting with the regulars. It’s the kind of place that survives because of regulars. It’s too unassuming to garner a lot of foot traffic, despite primo location near the subway, and before the other, newer, classier pizza joints a few blocks west.
I reiterate. We only wanted a glass each, but they were out of the house (4 bottles and all empty!) and mama said we could have this one for $20. She made us an offer we couldn’t refuse (forgive me, we’re watching The GodfTher). Two hours later and we had one of the best dates we’ve had in a long time. Romance might be dead, but spontaneity still has it’s moments…