That's a Spicy Meatball.

The title of this post is apparently what people of Italian descent say when they can't think of a proper reaction.  At least according to Urban Dictionary.  I feel it is necessary to point that out so you guys know this blog is properly researched and diligently prepared for your entertainment.

The other day, Sarni and I ate at The Meatball Shop.  You might notice that I didn't specify a particular meal.  That's because we ate at 4:00 in the afternoon.  So we're either advanced senior citizens, or really tardy hipsters who have invented "Linner."  In reality, we were just trying to avoid the infamous hour-plus wait.  Unfortunately, even at 4:00 in the afternoon on a Sunday, we had to wait for half an hour.  Gotta love New York.  Thankfully, we spent that time eating overpriced macarons at a nearby shop (I'll save that post for tomorrow).

When we finally got to sit down to our meal, I have to say that it was worth it.  You order by ticking off your choices on an erasable menu, which felt only slightly gimmicky.  It also brought me back to childhood, when your parents would give you crayons and paper so you could draw at the table, and you would gift your drawing to the restaurant owner afterwards with a feeling of great benevolence, and they would smile weakly as they tried to figure out why your dog has three eyes.  Anyway.  This is getting off track.  In the end, we ordered one order of "Naked" meatballs (spicy pork in spicy tomato sauce), three meatball sliders (beef with tomato sauce, chicken with mushroom gravy and chicken cordon bleu with creamy parmesan), mashed potatoes and saffron risotto.  Sarni's favorite was the beef meatball slider with tomato sauce, and mine was the chicken meatball slider with mushroom gravy.  They were yummy, and also, don't they look so cute?  We also both liked the mashed potatoes, although we agreed that the proportion of butter to potatoes was probably about 3:1.

For dessert, we had an ice cream sandwich (chocolate chip cookies and homemade vanilla ice cream).  It was good (the vanilla ice cream was really good), but after I pulled out the cookies and segregated them onto another plate, Sarni pointed out that what we were eating was just cookies and ice cream.  "Suckas!"  (That was the ice cream sandwich, not Sarni, he doesn't talk like a character from a Judd Apatow movie.)


Lower East Side.  On Canon Powershot.