I went to Grimaldi’s Pizzeria last night (even though when it was first suggested I thought it would be utterly and completely impossible to get a table there on a Saturday night). Much to my surprise and delight, however, the wait wasn’t that bad. (I took a friend from California [who wanted to be known as “Big J” when we were in junior high] on her birthday this year…but we hadn’t eaten much all day and so we got there around 4:00 on a Tuesday…and we got a table right away!)
So…we had some pizza…and decided the meal wouldn’t be complete without spumoni. (It reminds me of the Santa Cruz Beach Boardwalk because I used to go there with my mother and grandmother when I was a kid…and we used to go to the same Italian restaurant and my mom would order Beafeeter on the rocks with a twist and my grandmother would order bourbon on the rocks with a twist and I’d get a Shirley Temple…and I don’t remember what they’d get to eat, but I’d get fried shrimp and my grandmother would always let me trade her red sauce for more tartar sauce…and then we’d all get spumoni…)
However, at Grimaldi’s last night, the old guy who waits by the door came over and said to me, “When you hit white, it’s the dish” as if I am some sort of ravenous fiend!