Dietarily speaking, quite a day! No. of Italian restaurants I ate
at/from today: due. Other than a bowl of Life cereal to kick start
things this morning (oh, and one caramel Frappuccino drink this afternoon–the
first caffeinated beverage I’ve enjoyed since May 29), all of my food
consumptions, Italian: first at the Olive Garden, then from a place with notable
Pastabilities. You should know that I didn’t have a whole lot of say
in either decision, which doesn’t really mean anything beyond the alimentary
coincidence of fettuccinic proportions.
First came our final class session of the summer term in CCR760. To cap
things off, we gathered at the Olive Garden ristorante on Erie Blvd. I
loaded up on the salad-soup-breadsticks combo. And we carried on about
class stuff after everyone gulped their selections. All in all, an
afternoon well-spent, rounding out a vitally important course abounding
with serious and careful attention to genre and writing in academic contexts.
Just one note about the waiter (and I’m not a waiter-complainer usually, fwiw):
by muttering a certain and audible lord’s-name-in-vain when I asked him to
repeat the soup options, he made it exceedingly clear that he was less than
content with something–serving a table full of mostly grad students who
would spend the better part of three hours in his section? I really wanted
to know the soup options. Everyone before me who ordered the same thing I
ordered let him get away with the rapidfireindecipherable
blahdieblahminestroneblahdieblah: three soup choices as a single word.
"Minestrone," was the answer from every. other. person. before. me.
Thinking I might not have minestrone, I had to ask. And when he said
(after dropping the whispery J.C.) the last choice was something with sausage
and potatoes, I doubled back for option two: the minestrone. I had the
sausage and potatoes selection a long time ago. For the last time. I
remember distinctly that the sausages were rather like Franco American meatballs
who’d wandered their way into my soup, having lost much of their usually savory
flavor en route. Last time. In the end, the salad and minestrone
were quite good; I ate until content; and the class ended on a high note.
Later when D., Ph., and D.’s sister and nephew from Colorado suggested
ordering takeout from Pastablities, I went along with the plan. I
agreeably drove over to Fayette and Franklin. Parallel parked (so what if
nobody was behind me?). Grabbed up the order. And I’m actually glad I did.
Pastabilities has the absolute best sourdough bread to go with spicy tomato oil
for dipping. That sauce is really what I wanted this weblog entry to be
about. Negative: it’s so damn good–dip-my-breadslice, runny-nose tasty–I stuff
my poor self. Overindulge. But there is something to be said for
having Pastabilities after Olive Garden. And there’s also something
to be said for blogging this entry instead of accompanying D. and her sister for
a long evening walk. And third, it’s an accomplishment unto itself that I
don’t even have the slightest stomach ache. Must be something of a
soothing quality (spiceopathic remedy?) in the zesty tomato oil. Or maybe I didn’t
get enough of it.