I've been on a pancake diet since this morning. Okay, I had pancakes this morning. During the afternoon, I went down to the harbor so that someone could write 283 on my hand and shoulder and tell me how to run the Escape From Alcatraz Triathalon in the early Sunday AM. Boats and bikes and shoes and rules. I hate rules. Even guidelines. Anyway...
I wanted a plate of pasta because it's what I always eat at 6 PM the night before a race, and there were two options - a posh joint adjacent to Union Square and a place called Little Henry's Italian Food that popped up from Google and was within walking distance. I read about a line of the review that said something like, "no, really, the entire joint is run by Vietnamese but pretty good." I went to Henry's, and sure enough, Henry was back behind the grill, Vietnamese Henry and his Vietnamese staff. The place was pretty crowded with regulars - everyone hanging out and watching World's Deadliest Police Chases as I ate my pasta with salad and bread for 7.25. I think I left about a 75 percent tip for the privilege to dine with talkative meth-heads who were trying and trying and trying to strike up conversations with me. I didn't have the energy, not tonight, and finally answered back in something that "sounded" French and that was that. That was that.
