I had pasta for dinner tonight. Again. We ate at Perilla, which I'm reviewing for MartiniBoys next week. Pretty good. But I might need to lay off the pasta if I'm ever going to hack it in Italy for a year. Does one ever tire of pasta? This one finds it difficult to imagine. Although the summer I spent in Madrid, the one following my junior year of college, I was ready to swear off white rice forever, due to a stomach bug that had the doctor instructing my host mother to cook me only colorless foods. I suppose I could get tired of plain pasta, but once you factor in all the shapes and sauces and fillings, I think this is a romance built to last.
I'm supposed to start Italian class this Thursday at a school called Parliamo Italiano on the Upper East Side, but I haven't actually registered yet, which makes "supposed to" relative. What kind of establishment doesn't have an online enrollment form? I'm being lazy, but I'll phone or fax or something in the next couple days, and hopefully the class won't have filled up yet. I've decided on PI because it's "the foremost school of Italian Language in the United States" (Parliamo Italiano website) and--perhaps even more importantly--it's two blocks from where I tutor on Thursday nights.
