Jammies, jammies, and a restaurant review.
'Tis 5 PM and I just disrobed from my jammies. Granted, it was just to put on another pair of jammies.....but now? Now at least I am clean.
So yeah, it's been that kind of Sunday. Wouldn't you be content to lounge about all day in jammies too if it looked like this outside?
The Kevmobile and the Rosemobile, as pictured above, haven't moved all day. I'm pretty sure Kev, who is devoutly parked in front of the tube and all its football-showing glory, hasn't either. Munch munch on the couch. Munch munch.
(Oh look, here he is. He moved! In jammies! Jammies jammies, fucking jammies. I love jammies.
I also love pizza and I'm wondering when we're gonna get to eat some. Tengo hambre!)
Last night's dinner, oh yes, let's talk about that, that and the big ol' Benjamin I dropped. Wait, make that $97...he gave us a "discount" because the pleather check folder was greasy. Yeah- I made a stink about the cleanliness of the check cover, whatchu gonna say about it?
(I didn't really. That's the kind of thing that people who iron their dust ruffles do.)
Now, we often drop $100 for dinner out, but the problem with last night is that we were not expecting it. We didn't get dressed up, it wasn't an "occasion," and we weren't feeling all super-psyched and eaty-outy. We were just lazy and hungry and wanted some food. (Goddamnit.)
Yet, it was excellent. Better than excellent. We shared a bottle of Chianti (of course) and let me tell you, shit wasn't cheap. I started with a salad (my Parisi fave - romaine with gorgonzola, pear, walnuts, and the most scrumptious balsamic reduction - all syrupy and thick and sweet) and Kev had the tastiest soup I've had in years (Ribollita?). For my entree I had the homemade lobster ravioli topped with an orange-y cream sauce (oh, the sin) and Kev had an italian seafood stew, which rocked. I definitely suffered from a serious case of plate envy.
So, to sum up: the meal basically came out of nowhere and kicked some serious ass. We were pleasantly surprised, if only a little cash-hungover. But out of 5 stars, I give Parisi Downstairs (Firenze a Tavola) a solid 4. YumBigFatYum. We probably won't be back though, because the menu for pescaterians is really quite tiny. We had the only 2 options available for eaters of the fish-persuasion. But if wild boar and duck and rabbit and steaks are your thing, get thee to Parisi and have your socks knocked off. You know, if you wear socks. You can also have your knickers or your tall brown size 7 Nine West boots knocked off too, they'll even go there.
Lastly?! Can I get a big fat ugggggghhh?! Because I just want to get this off my chest: I HATE MONDAYS! And by default, I hate Sunday nights too. I am starting to get that empty but angsty knotty feeling I hate so well. Do y'all get it too?