Bedding down past midnight after arriving late on Monday, I woke up to iced black and cold water. The room itself was black and cold. Then I saw a mental patient in a locked facility in Jamaica Plain where a discussion of restaurants in Boston followed. I participated reluctantly. None of the places mentioned were of interest. These days? If it’s not Italian, Italian American, Japanese, or real French, I’m not interested. I’m looking for food that expresses itself, not chefs who express themselves.
Wrong town for that for certain.
Dinner? Chicken parm, catching the vibe, preceded by salsa and chips.
Tonight? Neapolitan pasta with a simple red sauce.
Big sale on Barbera: $7 off a bottle. Big sale on Pomi: 2 for $4.