Next test, the risotto

The worst loss I suffered in The Breakup of 2003 was the loss of my favorite downtown Italian restaurant. When the ex and I decided to be "friendly," we reached a compromise; I could eat there, but not with a date. When we stopped being "friendly," I decided I needed to find a new Italian restaurant.

I wasn't born in Italy, but I'm half-Italian and grew up eating enough good food that I'm particular about it. I also get really, really pissed off when Olive Garden commercials come on. Last night, there was celebrating to be done. The exact reason for the celebration will be disclosed in a couple of weeks. (Can you handle the suspense? Huh? Can you? Is it killing you?) I checked First Love's whereabouts, and we made dinner plans. I wanted Italian. I'm not one to try a new Italian place until I've gotten confirmation from The Roommate that it's good, but sometimes a girl's gotta live on the edge -- so off to Basso Est we went.

I got the homemade spaghetti with beef ragout and pecorino cheese. It was delicious. The staff was friendly and efficient. Nothing on the menu was more than $17. All in all, good stuff. Plus, there was some excitement during dinner involving a drunken fella who looked exactly like Andy Warhol.

We were finishing up our appetizers when he entered the restaurant. The host tried to quietly usher him toward the bar, but there was nothing quiet about this clapping, yelling Drunk Andy Warhol. He fell into a chair at the bar and ordered a drink. I didn't see the drink being made, but what he ended up with looked like a quarter-splash of whisky or bourbon with a whole lot of water in it. It wasn't long before he spilled the entire drink on himself and decided he'd rather be sitting at a table, specifically the one right behind me. There was more yelling and clapping and I believe some incoherent sexual harassing of the bartender.

At this point, the chef had had enough, and emerged from the kitchen. Mofo is one big dude – I wouldn't mess with him. After requesting he leave, Drunk Andy Warhol stood up, and teetered dangerously close to my person several times. The chef had to escort him out and there was much arguing, and a little physical confrontation outside. Don't worry, no one got hurt. Drunk Andy Warhol attempted to come back in two more times while we ate dinner, but he was denied.

Good Italian food, reasonable prices and the drunken antics of Not Andy Warhol. I have a new favorite Italian restaurant. Finally.