Tuesday, September 27, 2011

I Did Not Talk into That Phone

If there's a line to sit at the bar on a Monday night, it must be Stuzzi.

As pizza lovers and cheapskates throughout Richmond know, on Mondays they do Margherita pizzas for a buck.

There are plenty of candy bars that cost more than that, so naturally the lines form.

Instead of waiting behind the girl who informed us she was ahead of us in line, we allowed ourselves to be led to the far end of the bar where there was a bit of space, albeit with no stools.

An overly-friendly guy came up to make small talk with us about the Blue Goat and as I was responding to his first question, my friend cut me off.

"We need to order wine, so save your answer for after we do that," she instructed.

Apparently she'd had a stressful day and needed her wine sooner rather than later.

The end result was that the guy disappeared immediately, no doubt worried that she'd turn that tone on him. Frankly, I didn't blame him.

We appreciated our server's honesty when we inquired about a particular wine ("Nobody who orders it likes it") and instead got the Volpetti Frascati Superior.

Not long afterwards, the couple next to us turned over their stools in a time-honored Monday tradition.

That's one thing about Mondays at Stuzzi; people generally get in, eat cheap and get out. Turnover is rapid.

But since we'd ordered a bottle, we saw no reason to hurry.

When our Margheritas arrived, I inquired after some Parmesan cheese.

Not surprisingly, the tiny ramekin of cheese cost exactly as much as the pizza. One dollar.

Before me sat the best and worst restaurant deals in RVA. But even combined, my meal was a steal.

As we ate, my friend showed me pictures on her phone of the townhouse she's thinking of renting.

In a moment of what could only be called blackmail threatening, she mentioned that she still had the picture of me using her cell phone when we were in DC last month.

And, just for the record, I wasn't using the phone; I was looking up something online to show someone.

Nevertheless, she's already shown that picture to one mutual friend who delighted in seeing evidence of me using a dreaded mobile unit.

How in the world do public figures think they can get away with anything with practically everyone (except me) a potential photographer?

How much is Parmesan cheese worth to someone being blackmailed?

How long can the line get for $1 pizzas?

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