Swining and Dining

Last night, Husband and I went for a yummy dinner at a fabulous little restaurant in the neighborhood: Salumeria Rosi Parmacotto.  [Please note that I am being commendably generous here by linking you to this small- plate-sanctuary.  It's not that too many of you are reading. It's not as if this is the Gastronomy Gospel.  It's just that this place is the size of your Pomeranian and I quite like the fact that Husband and I can pop in and get a table.]

Anyway.  Please see Exhibit A to the right.  This was our appetizer (and a fraction of Dear Husband's taut torso).  I contemplated (for a few seconds) stealing the menu because it was so serious and detailed - it taught me how to pronounce all the varieties of parmacatto I was about to nibble.  But I am too much of a good girl (and wuss) to do that, so sans details, I will keep things simple and fondly refer to it as the Pig Plate.

It occurred to me as I sampled said pig that though pathetically allergic to all things adventurous, I have a seemingly magnetic attraction to the danger-du-jour.  Remember a while back when everyone was freaking out about spinach?  All I wanted was spinach.  In my omelets, in my salads, as a side to my din.  Frozen.  Fresh.  Cut.  Creamed.  Organic.  Au Gratin.  You name it.  And I was pregnant.  

Now?  As the sinister Swine Flu swirls through the states, I seem to be doing everything in my power to contract H1N1.  A recap of the steps I took just yesterday: (1) I took Toddler to Fairway which fellow Manhattanites know is the go-to gourmet germ fest; (2) I went to the gym to swap sweat and sneezes with the general population (okay, yes, that was the day before but I'm making a point here); and (3) Husband and I patronized the aforementioned precious-parmacotto-purveyor for the second week in a row.  Sure, those who know better insist that swining and dining is not dangerous, but I figure if there is a slight chance, why not give it a shot?

Yet another instance of yours truly acting like a toddler and doing exactly what she has been told not to do (a la my jury duty antics a few weeks back).  Okay, off to take actual Toddler to her preschool-prep class (no joke) at the incomparable Children's Museum of Manhattan where we will be serenaded by the day's sweet chorus of coughing kids.  Cheerio!