Mike and I finally moved! We have such a nice new apartment with an amazing kitchen and I cannot wait to get in there and start cooking. In the meantime we are living in a mess of boxes and have to order in. Tonight we ordered from Joe Abbracciamento's the go-to restaurant for all Middle Village family events. I had my Sweet 16 and my college graduation parties there where they serve amazing Italian American dishes "family style," meaning you roll out of there feeling like a blimp. Its on the more expensive side so we tried to keep it simple, a "bowl" of Penne Vodka, a "bowl" of Pasta Fagole soup and a "side" of broccoli. Oh and don't forget about the bread. So I go to pick it up, and first off its not in a bag, its in a box. When I open the box, there is a catering style tray of pasta, along with a vat of broccoli sauteed in about 5 heads of garlic, a tub of soup and 2 loaves of bread. So Mike and I drove to the Juniper park and had a romantic dinner out of the giant box. As Mike was shoveling pasta in his mouth, he turned to me and asked me, "Is there any bread?" and I almost spit the entire head of broccoli that I was eating out of my mouth. Anyone eating a tray of pasta really has no place asking for bread. He doesn't understand why he feels sick now.
Sorry for the crappy iphone photos.