I went to dinner on Saturday night with Stan at Three of Cups in the East Village. First, the food was awesome but the portions are HUGE. Like retardedly huge. The bread is great, the wine was great but the best part of the meal (aside from the company) was the waiter.
Our waiter very clearly did not want to be working that night. Perhaps he had better places to be. We'll never know, though we should have asked. But really, who wants to be waiting on adorable 20-somethings when you could be out shopping for vintage Dilbert calenders? Seriously, I know he collects them.
So our waiter comes over when we sit down and says, "can I offer you two something to drink... OTHER THAN ICE WATER?"
We, at this point, had no water, iced or otherwise, at our table. Also... ICE WATER? I'm glad they serve their water with ice but, doesn't everyone? Maybe not! Maybe he used to work at a restaurant that served lukewarm water. He wants to be clear that we know we're getting ice in our water. THIS PLACE TRUMPS HIS LAST PLACE OF EMPLOYMENT, BITCHES! Holla!!
So he brings us our ice water (and boy, he wasn't kidding... that shit had ice in it!) and then brings us our bread and says, "here is some fresh bread."
Now I didn't hear this though Stan said I should have known to begin paying attention to what our waiter said from the minute he said "ice water." FRESH BREAD. Thank you, sir, for not serving us yesterday's bread.
Guys? Two for two. The bread was FRESH!
So we're ordering and I get a dish with pasta, snow peas and zucchini (awesome. so good) and Stan says to the waiter, "I'll have this... how do you pronounce that?" and points to what he wants on the menu. Our water says, "Spaghetti and Meatballs."
HA! I almost lost it. Stan looks at me and I'm like "DO NOT LOOK AT ME. I WILL LOSE IT."
On the menu, obvsies, Spaghetti and Meatball had some fancy-shmancy name that we couldn't pronounce. I loved that part the most I think.
Spaghetti and Meatballs you RETARDS.
Oh I loved our waiter.
We kept joking that he was the best part of the night and that we should ask him to come out and drink with us. We'd buy him a "tasty budweiser" or a "crisp heineken" or something equally as delightful.
We left with enough food to feed a couple more people (or me, after a night of heavy drinking) and I took this picture of Stan's food... cuz I'm 12.
Have a great day, you guys.