Beans, Beans, the Magical Fruit

The sort of secret blog of Beans, a.k.a. Jules, a.k.a. "Legs for Miles" a.k.a. "Rackie the Boob Queen." Fine, ok, not the last two. Starting July 2006, sometimes "Mike," aka "fagadoccio," is a co-poster on the blog. The co-poster child, really.

Monday, August 22, 2005

Strap a Baby in Hemp Overalls to my Suze Orman power-les crew cut: I LOVE Park Slope!

OK, fine. More specifically, I love Al Di La.

"THANKS FOR THE TIP, ASSHOLE!!!" You might be saying right now, since this place is about as "underground" as giraffe titties on a diving board. But so what? Here's my two cents: Al Di La does, indeed, rock.

However. An open letter to Sideshow Roberto, the guy with the fro who must be the owner:

I think your tripe is better than Babbos. I think it's the best I've had in NYC. That said, your clever "Why don't you adjourn to our WINE BAR [and pound an unholy quantity of prosecco] whilst awaiting your table?" backfired. It didn't so much backfire for YOU, seeing as how once seated, we ordered enough food for several [two-mommied] families, racked up a huge bill, and were basically blacked out by the time the secondi came around; but it certainly backfired for ME, when I woke up on my floor at 4 a.m. with my alarm clock in my ribs, as bruised as my Unflappable Viking drinker's dignity.

FOILED! By a sissy little Italian place!


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