Lavagna. Like Lasagna with a V

Brad and I went to Lavagna last night. Possibly my favorite tucked-away restaurant in Manhattan for bang for buck. And it's Italian, which is surprising for me, because I'm not necessarily a proponent of Italian restaurants. We drove into Alphabet City (the restaurant is on 5th Street between Ave. A and Ave. B, which usually is fine but turned out to be a mistake, for the parking outlook was quite abysmal. After driving around for at least twenty minutes, we finally parked and walked over. Slightly annoyed with the parking experience, we then were seated at a table touching elbows on either side right next to the kitchen. It was as close as you can get to a German beer hall without a stein. Brad couldn't really hear me from across the table, but both of us could here the first date conversation taking place next to us. Yippeeeee.

However, waiters and waitresses were very attentive with the water, which is good, because Brad is a very dehydrated young fellow. We ordered: homemade pappardelle with rabbit and a glass of my favorite Malbec (Altos Las Hormigas). Brad ordered the same thing, as per usual. Well, when the food came, I forgot that I was cramped between a strange first date and a man in a long sleeved jean shirt. The rabbit was sweet and tender, the pasta was soft and smooth, and the wine was delectable. Man, oh, man. I ate as slowly as possibly, savoring the subtle taste of tyme and salt, and Brad commented that he could have eaten the entire portion in three bites: 1) because it was small, and 2) because it was delicious. He then continued that he wished he could have an entire plate of it. Ditto.