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The problem with writing
reviews on this site is that I often attend meals and whatnot with
friends and loved ones. More times than not I end up at these places
at the behest of them. It's odd then when I have to be all honest
and stuff and admit that I didn't love the joint that they suggested.
Such is the case with Bellavitae. It was one that Ms. Hipster brought
me to, and I just couldn't bring myself to love it the way that she
ended up loving it. First, I'm not a huge fan of small dishes. I like
to scarf giant plates of fancy-shaped pasta and chicken parm and chunks
of lasagna the size of an H3. Sharing is for people with clubfoot
and psychological problems. And seeing as Dudley Moore wasn't available
that night to share fried meatballs, fried risotto balls, fried cheese
and some sort of rare, wild Italian boar fried in its own innards
with the Mrs., it became my chore to pretend I liked doing the "one
for you, one for me" thing. By the time I got through these few things
(minus the boar, which I just made up because I didn't want to completely
bore the pants off you), I was so thirsty from the overly-salty coatings
that I was about to sprint into the kitchen and go dunk my head in
the dirty plate sink. The space itself is long and skinny, and oddly
crowded and loud. That said, I'm actually a fan of volume at my eating
establishments, and the jam-packed feeling gave that nice sense of
communal New York chowing. The service was attentive and knowledgeable,
but I just wish that I had chosen my meal better and avoided at least
a fat bomb or two. [MF]
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