Dried Up Pasta And Broken Cream Sauce

Last weekend we planned to meet a friend for dinner, at a restaurant we’ve been going to for years. We got there and realized the restaurant was gone. Were we in the right place? Yep, it’s gone. But we were here just here a couple of months ago! Old news, it’s gone.

It had been a red and white checked tablecloth old-fashioned Italian restaurant, but in its place was a white tablecloth, dimly lit affair called Water and Wall. I think. Something close to that anyway. Being an open-minded person, I only interrogated the hostess for 10 minutes trying to break her on where she was hiding the old restaurant before deciding it wouldn’t hurt to look at the menu. But it did hurt. The menu was one of those what’s trendy right this minute foodie compilations, with things like pork belly and sweetbreads and quail which we all know is really a pigeon. Definitely nothing for the vegetarian palate, and, well, yuck.

We regrouped with our friend and went to another old-fashioned Italian restaurant that’s been around forever and ever. Manicotti and garlic bread. Happiness. The simple things in life. Our friend found on her iPhone that the other place was still around, it had just moved, and was actually now closer to our house. It was then that she came upon a Yelp restaurant review that was EPIC. I don’t just capitalize whole words for no reason; this was MIND BOGGLING. I feel like it’s my civic duty to share just some of this GEM:

When my girlfriend and I first started our courtship, I took her here for our first date thinking she was going to love it so much that she will stay with me. That was three years ago and we’re still going strong. Basically, this restaurant, and the fact that I’m a firm, yet gentle lover, is the secret of our relationship.

Who doesn’t love a restaurant review that starts off with a summary of the reviewer’s love life? Romeo went on to say that since the restaurant moved, it had turned TRAGIC:

We then ordered our entrées. This is where the sadness set in. My alfredo came out and I knew it was going to be terrible. I bit into it and confirmed my hypothesis. My lady’s entrée was inedible. This was very upsetting. The new location was terrible and we were heartbroken. I fear it is no longer the secret to our relationship, which in turn means my loving skills have probably gone to hell.

So there you have it. A classic love story; those first butterfly-in-the-stomach bites, days of Chianti bottle candles and fake flower arrangements, and the next thing you know the alfredo has gone all goopy and limp.

As we read this aloud over dinner, the enormity of the whole thing really hit us. One little restaurant moves just a couple of miles, and now two soul mates were going to have to go their separate ways. We sniffled a little, you know, in sympathy, but then I realized my manicotti was getting cold, and there’s no point in all of us suffering. Through my grief I was able to finish my meal, but it was super sad.

Don’t be surprised if you see a classified ad that reads “Seeking SWF with a good Italian restaurant nearby. Must value a firm, yet gentle lover and be able to bring my alfredo back to life.” Fare thee well, my sad friend. Fare thee well.