A few weeks ago the boyfriend and I met one of his high school friends for dinner. For months bf has been wanting to try Guerrazzi's, an Italian restaurant on Old 27 just a few miles from his place. Neither of us had ever been there, but the parking lot is perpetually full of cars and that intrigued us.
This was a Thursday night, so in the interest of preserving our delineation between weekday and weekend food, he told me that I could tell him what to order. To make matters worse, we have both started using My Fitness Pal in an attempt to take off some of our Christmas cookie weight. I mean, we have to. I ate all of these.
I don't know if we crossed wires or if the default sauce is inferno hot, but the reduced-spice sauce almost blew my head off. My nose was running and I was sweating as I ate it. My whole wheat noodles were watery and overcooked, and the meatballs were bland.
The boyfriend's entree was head and shoulders better than mine. He had penne pasta tossed with chunks of sausage and a light, creamy sauce. No, we can't remember what these dishes were called, because I didn't take a photo of the menu and Guerrazzi's doesn't have a full website, just a Facebook page (which is fine with me.)
The meal was satisfactory, but didn't knock my socks off. We were happy but probably wouldn't have come back until I asked the server what they had for dessert. Everything I said about us watching our diets and trying to not eat all the baked goods in the world? We had good intentions. But they had chocolate cheesecake.
Last weekend during another torrent of snow I suggested to the boyfriend that we could go quickly to Guerrazzi's and pick up a slice of cheesecake. I was half joking. Ok, I was not joking at all and I would have braved the elements. This might prove dangerous, the supply being so close to his apartment. I thought if I shared it with all of you, the chances of me eating more than my fair share of slices is diminished. Please do your part.