Sfuzzi kind of Sucks

 Dad and Mar being NERDS

 I got over to my dad’s house last night and suggested several restaurants. I suggested Sfuzzi, the newly re-opened Italian restaurant on McKinney, and he proceeded to try and pronounce it for the entirety of the car ride to no avail. Once we got there, we had them seat us inside because it was hot as balls outside. Mistake #1. If you walk in to Sfuzzi and they start to lead you to a really cute table tucked away to the right, stop. Turn around. And quickly leave the restaurant. The 5 of us sat down and immediately started sweating. Now sweating during meals is completely normal for my family, but usually after several rounds of meat dishes and 6 loaves of bread. But the sweating started as soon as we hit the benches. Turns out, we were sitting directly behind the pizza oven. Woof. So we ordered wine, martinis and calamari and waited a while for it to come out. I guess they ran out of wine glasses or were just trying to be “trendy” but the wine came out in a double shot glass. Nothing makes cheap wine taste better besides imagining it as a shot? Mistake #2.
 
Actually, that would be mistake #3, mistake #2 would be the fact that our waitress was wearing hot pink faux ray bans inside on top of her head—as  if walking towards the pizza oven required some type of protective eye wear. The calamari was okay—we ate the whole thing because it really isn’t in our nature to leave any remnants of fried food—I know, I know, there are starving children in Africa, but they probably wouldn’t like calamari, so we finished it out of goodwill.

                 

Then we ordered, and that’s when the waitress lost a few more points. (Mistake #4) Ya, we get it, when we order an extra large pepperoni pizza, a veal chop with pasta, chicken parmesan with spaghetti, a caeser salad, fettuccini alfredo and a sausage pizza we seem large, but stop judging us bitch, cause we would also like a side order of double fried French fries and some more bread. Also, we are running low on olive oil, so spruce that up too.

                Then she laughed. BIG MISTAKE. Don’t laugh at our family, it is almost guaranteed that we will either make you incredibly uncomfortable or try to eat you. Both are a possibility, both have happened.

                So we sat in our booth baking for about 15-20 minutes when they started bringing out the smorgasbord. The pizza was giant, and smells delicious and overall everything looked great. So I dug in to my caeser salad and was not impressed. I am a firm believer that Caeser dressing shouldn’t be super creamy, especially if its homemade, and this one definitely didn’t seem homemade. The fettuccine alfredo with peas and vegetables was just with peas, and a little too thick for me. Also, I was sitting across from my sister who would take a bite and let the sauce get stuck on her mouth like a glob of mayo, so we know that it repulsed me. My other sisters chicken parmesan was okay, but I prefer the Lean Cuisine version—and it’s about 12$ cheaper. The star of the show was the ‘za, it was delicious and the perfect amount of crust/grease/cheese. You could even pull the layers apart and eat a thing layer of pizza and then a thin layer of bread and since I heart carbs, this was perfect. The sausage pizza sucked and tasted like an onion farm mated with old sausage. Just bad. My dad’s veal was awesome and it came with a huge arugula and parmesan salad. By the time we got up a few nasties were sweating so bad that we had to run out of the restaurant as to avoid embarrassment. Ya, as if we could avoid embarrassment after ordering 50 entrees and cleaning the plates.

Mistake #5 (and in my dad’s case, a fatal one) was the fact that they forgot our French fries. Only a true Fatty McButterpants would mention this after gnawing the last bits of veal directly off the bone (I guess I am my father’s daughter). The sad part was, the tone of voice that he used when mentioning it to our waitress was forgiving—like he really was “too full” to eat one more bite, but the small tear (or sweat) drop proved that he was disappointed with the no-show of our double fried French fries.  

One last note—Mistake #6: being directly situated next to the dooshiest bar in uptown, Renfields Corner. 





Legit Veal Chop
Sucky Chicken Parm

Pizza Pizza (In a creepy Little Caesar's voice)

BEFORE


Dining in Dallas is an endless adventure. For us twenty-somethings, we wish our pockets were endless too. Unfortunately, they end. A lot SOONER than we expected. Allowance is possibly the greatest invention in the world. Think about it—your parents basically sponsor your eating, drinking and rent throughout college, and all you have to do is stay there and pass classes. (Well, for some, the passing part is difficult, but it wasn’t too bad for me). Then, May hits you, and all of the sudden, once you have a job, the allowance well dries up. On June 1st, I asked my dad for my allowance, and he looked at me like I was an idiot—“What allowance, you work now.” Well, ya, I work, but I also have to pay bills and pay for dry cleaning, and most importantly, EAT. How am I supposed to do that without allowance? There is only so much Ramen I can eat before my face swells up like a balloon. If you want to go out to dinner and have one (6) martinis and a meal, you’re looking at upwards of 50$. That’s 50$x3 nights—plus going out after—and that is one number that isn’t pretty. Well, your money troubles are over, so stop eating peoples leftovers, because at Campania, the BYOB pizza restaurant in West Village (ehh), you can have 2+ bottles of wine, a huge pizza and 3 salads for less than 20$.

After receiving a TXU bill for 800$, I panicked—but panic doesn’t suppress hunger, or the need to go out on a Friday, so I got to thinking…Campania. I’d been there once, but I was with people who thought Rosé wine magnums were an acceptable drink, so I really needed some new company. So, three of us went, and got there around 8:45. The waiter said it would be a 45 minute wait, but he would uncork as many bottles as we had, so we didn’t mind the wait. If you are waiting, I think they don’t charge you a corking fee, but if you are seated, it is a 5 dollar fee. We waited for about 15 minutes and watched a bunch of West Village-ites act like they were eating, and laughed at the 50-something men who were with their 25 year-old fake boobed girlfriends. People watching should be an Olympic sport. (PS—I don’t judge these people who I write about, I guarantee I am far more weird/idiotic than they are) but they are fun to mock nonetheless. Anyway—we only waited for 15 minutes and were seated next to a large group of old grannies who seemed to be on an awkward first quadruple date—they had clearly been drinking before they got picked up, had several cocktails before their wine, and were most likely on their tenth bottle of wine. The uncomfortable gentleman on the end, who happened to be wearing pants that perfectly accented his fupa, and a shirt that clung to his mobs, spilled his water twice—once on the table and once directly on his and his date’s pizza. (Side note: If I were ever on a date where he spilled liquid on my food, I would cry, say horrible things, then get outta there—even if the relationship was serious.) His date didn’t seem at all perturbed, which implies that she was just as drunk as he.

Anyways, we sat down and uncorked a second bottle while looking at the menu which was pointless since we had already piggily discussed what we were getting—small caesar salads and splitting a pizza with pepperoni, mushrooms and artichoke hearts. The service wasn’t bad, it was 9:15 by that time, and our salads came quickly. The salad wasn’t impressive, but it didn’t need to be. They definitely abused the use of caesar dressing. The pizza was legit—thin crust and plenty of toppings. Would definitely go there again—basically free food.




AFTER (WHALES)
Me: 4 chins
Shannon: 5 chins (She’s from Graham, not many restaurants there)
Mary Martha: 4 chins