Friday night before the General Session we went upstairs to a place in the convention center that sold pasta. As soon as we stepped into line, they told us that they were closed.
Tick-tock, tick-tock... the session was going to soon begin.
So we boogied down the road several blocks to the mall and dove deep into it's depths to find the food court. Its belly was swelling with people, and so we decided to again opt for Italian food because Sbarro had the shortest amount of people in front of it. As soon as we stepped into line, they told us that they were closed. Tick-tock, tick-tock... the session was going to soon begin.
Yet again my fellowship of the sting had to deal with rejection, hunger pains, and a strange desire to get back to the convention center. I had managed to snag a sample of a Chik-Fil-A nugget, but my comrades did not. Along the way we passed by Pretzel shops that had nothing free to offer, creating a Pooh-like rumbly in their tummy that remained unsatisfied. Only later that evening did we find a place open in the odd hours of the night where we found sustenance (which is a story in itself of how long we had to walk to find something open).
Then earlier today I was meeting with a cool guy named Mark Riddle. He told me about an Italian place that was really good, but I warned him of my pasta "priors." Nonetheless, we ventured forth... only to find that it was also closed.
You have to understand that as a guy who has over a 50% Italian heritage that this was beginning to be offensive. I was starting to wonder if there was a secret camera following me around with Ashton Kutcher close by in some truck.
So when we finally did manage to eat somewhere that served marinara sauce and bendy carbohydrates, I had to take a picture.
The manicotti was amazing.
2 comments:
Mmmm, manicotti.
lol what can i even say? Sbarro's was "out of food" what the junk was that!?
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