Its tuesday. And on this tuesday I decided that once a week I want to have a post on here about something other then homemade food. Like, restaurant food. Or date night. Or how I hate avocados.
Or New York City. Seeing as the name of my blog is Food and New York City. So thats what I’m doing. I decided already. Last night, actually. Mr.D and I went to one of our fav.or.ite restaurants, Pazza Notte, and we tried to come up with catchy names for my once a week post. It didn’t work. Did I mention this place has 2 for 1 martinis.. all.the.time. Glorious, amazing, and if you’re ever in NYC its a must stop. The food is always on point and did you miss it when I just told you they have 2 for 1 martinis? You should be booking your plane ticket now.
Mr.D came up with “takeout tuesdays”, which I thought was pretty cute. I may use it. One day. 40 years from now. But who knows. I’m just that kinda gal.
We had flatbread. It had roasted garlic and rosemary on it. I died 400 deaths of happiness with every bite. I think its safe to say that one of the things I literally live for is garlic. No, really. Garlic is life. My grandmother used to use so much garlic that people from down the street would cry. This is not a joke. It might be. But jokes aside, put garlic on anything and I’ll eat it. Unless its anything other then chicken or pasta. Then no I won’t eat it. What just happened?
That^ right there, is what I get every.time. I am so predictable its sickening. No really. I always order the same thing wherever I go. Chicken or pasta. I must be stopped. I told you I was crazy. But ohmygod it is so good. So effing good. So so so so SO effing good. It has this out of this world buttery wine sauce on top that literally can impregnate you because its so good. Don’t look at me like that. I’ve seen it happen before. Ignore that last part.
That^ you see is what date night with Mr.D looks like. What.is.it with guys and their phones? Sports. Thats whats wrong. Scores, score checking, and supposedly the NFL has horrible refs at the moment and I’m pretty sure we got a few ugly glares from people since they would hear curses coming from Mr.D every 5 minutes. I sometimes wish I was a single tap dancer that lived in Nicaragua. Life would be so much easier. Probably not.
I mean I doubt I could order a pizza at 2am there, and those are standards for living.
And there we go. Mr.D thinking he knows how to work my camera. We had an entire conversation about “focusing” after he took this picture. I’m still trying to figure out why I let him touch my toys.
Bye for now!