Once upon a time, on a Friday morning, I did not want to eat Grape Nuts for breakfast again. I went to the corner store and bought a container of fruit, mostly melon, grapes and a couple of strawberries. Healthy, right? Except if it’s rancid. And just like that I had a stain on my shirt from spitting out cantaloupe, which promptly fell in the middle of my chest, as if to get revenge for my rejection.
A few hours later, I walked down the street from my office in San Francisco for a sandwich. I ordered the Chicago Italian Beef Sandwich, which somehow I did not anticipate being so unpalatable due to the spice factor. Unpalatable in the middle of the day at least, before I had to go back and welcome a new employee to the company with reams of paperwork. I picked at the meaty monster and felt bad for throwing most of it out, but it’s not like I could have someone else finish up a half-eaten, picked at sandwich with my saliva and tears on it. Seriously. It was very spicy.
By the time I got home, I was HUNGRY. Since we are suckers for earning OpenTable credits, we settled on an Italian place in Alameda a couple miles away that would get us 1000 points for a six o’clock reservation. C’era Una Volta. It means Once Upon a Time in Italian.
So we drove to Alameda. The place was nice enough inside. The waitress was friendly enough. The menu sounded good enough. I ordered Petti di Pollo alla de Milanese, which was breaded chicken with lemon and capers, with mashed potatoes. It was good enough.
Funny thing, though. We knew they charged extra for more bread after the first basket of four very small pieces of some kind of wheat bread, served with a dish of olive oil and mustard. Olive oil and mustard. Is that weird? I’ve never seen that before. But anyway, we knew they charged extra for more bread. The waitress asked us if we wanted more, we said no. Then about half-way through our meal, a different waitress came by, with a basket of bread and a big smile and I think some kind of an Italian accent. “More bread?” She held out the basket so we could inspect her wares. I kind of felt like I was in Greece again, turning down the nice gentleman trying to sell us a DVD of “ROKCY” in the middle of dinner. We declined again and she went on to the next table to try them. That’s weird, right?
Lizzy and Luke went home, with moderately sated hunger, and lived happily ever through the weekend. (At least that’s the plan.)