Things I like: really good Italian food, weekday visits, and the Canadian drinking age. Last night Stuart made the northward trek up to Vancouver and we decided to go wild, break a long standing tradition, and go out for something other than sushi. I’d read and read about Campagnolo Roma; the perfect pizza, the dreamy pasta; so we made the long and slightly sketchy journey over to East Van.

Where we were royally rewarded. Pretty empty on a Tuesday night, we sat right down and I started the long and painful process of deciding what to order. Settled on margherita pizza (classics, man) and tagliatelle with artichokes. And two glasses of Italian red wine, to celebrate this sensible ol’ country and their friendly policies. Entering the starvation zone, we requested a bit o’ bread– turned out to be the best request I’ve ever made. If I’m ever on death row, Campagnolo bread is my last meal. Marvelously charcoaly on the outside and unbelievably doughy and light and moist and a tiny bit sweet and a tiny bit salty on the inside; this bread shot up into Top Five Best Things Ever Eaten by a Human. Lordy. Almost canceled our order and just begged for a couple pounds of bread.

Thankfully, we stuck with Plan A, and soon a beautiful margerita came our way. That real-live thinner-than-thin crust, incredibly bright tomato sauce, milky mozzarella, little flashes of basil, and mounds of fresh spicy arugula. And the pasta, wide ribbons of fresh tagliatelle and soft salty artichoke hearts, layered with bright lemon and salty Parmesan. Lordy. Joy abounded. Too full for dessert, we (perhaps foolishly) refused dessert: affogatto… honey panna cotta… Next time.

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