Some days call for a fancy lunch. Birthdays, meeting friends you haven’t seen in a while, brutal weeks at the office — eating something wadded in paper will not do. You need little bread plates, ironed tablecloths and a plate of something slightly romantic that required deglazing and reducing. Sadly, not all of these days come after payday, and accruing debt so you can pop bottles at noon on a Wednesday is just self-destructive. Consider instead the veal marsala fettuccine ($11) on the lunch menu at Gabriel’s. The veal is seared and tender, tossed with red onions and mushrooms in a garlicky marsala sauce. Fresh parmesan? Make it rain. There you are up on the second floor, dipping your bread into a dish of green olive oil, eating real food like a person instead of hunching over your keyboard and picking cold fries out of a paper bag. Enjoy the ribbons of al dente pasta, and embrace the return of your dignity.
This article appears in Boil Order.
Veal, like Goose liver, will inevitably be banned for the cruelty it imposes on the animal.
Bon appetite.
Grammar Nazi says, “Bon appetito.” Remember, it’s an Italian restaurant.