Raviolo: the case study

I like to make inflammatory remarks on the Internet. I’ve said some truly and exceptionally stupid and abrasive things online because I’m a glutton for punishment and other equally selfish and needy reasons.

But never have I captured such a strong reaction as when I said this:
ravioli

In 2016 I learned that people fucking love some ravioli. Like a lot. It wasn’t totally fair that the first comment came from a handsome gentlemen actually from Italy with a glib response:

ravioli

In these comments he’s also informing me that the grocery store that’s behind my very apartment has some delicious ravioli. And then how to cook.

And then I learned that ravioli comes in all kinds of intriguing and diverse flavors and styles, and suddenly ravioli bonds were being forged on my FaceBook timeline:
ravioli

And not only were friends tethered together through a mutual acquaintance and appreciation for pillow-y food treats, it generated confusion:

ravioli

BUT I HAVE A RESPONSE FOR THAT CONFUSION. (I also paraphrased the postmodern bit from an episode of a radio show that I like).

And then it started to manifest in delicious suggestions by beloved friends:
ravioli

ravioli

Totally accurate: I am spoiled. I probably do want it fresh. And I’ll take anything with vodka.

And then I got called out:
ravioli

And somehow bringing up Dunkaroos brought up an entirely different, though I’d venture, equally important conversation about yummy snacks and the halcyon days of the WWF.

ravioli

revelations

Starting to accidentally insult people:
ravioli

And I begin to question who am since most of my favorite food is courtesy of this chef:
ravioli

So I needed to chime in on my own behalf and my own gamine naivety that I think is basically film worthy.
ravioli

It’s true. I eat candy and grilled cheeses almost every day and sometimes in multiples per day.

And much like Kim Kardashian’s ass before me, my self-reflection destroyed the Internet:
ravioli

Many additional voices jumped in with feelings on ravioli, no one was on my side. Not a soul. And then in a shocking twist of irony, the very lunchroom – site of twice a day grilled cheeses – decided to put this out for lunch.

ravioli

It’s fucking fried ravioli (like THAT’s gonna trick me). This lunchroom has never ever ever had this out before.

 

I then brought my parents into the debate. To the best of my knowledge they’re Italian food loving asses would be the best judge on pasta.
This is my father’s response:
ravioli
To give you some context of this email: my father is a great man who I love dearly. However, he is also the person that in response to the news that I got him Yankees tickets and that I love that he’s my dad responded, “wow!” I think I can count the things he’s said he’s loved on one hand. Evidently not only does ravioli makes the list – it makes the list in all caps.

My mom acted just like you’d expect my mom to:
ravioli

ravioli

I love that she conceded that *some* restaurants are capable of making homemade ravioli

FINE.

I decided to go to South Philly to get ravioli because, I don’t know. It seemed like the place to go (somewhere in the Italian market). I won’t share the name of the place because I don’t want anyone to think that destination influenced decisions. Despite the whole going to South Philly thing…whatever. They were homemade. Or handmade? Like not frozen is what I’m getting at.

I tried to get the person I was there with to take a photo of the blessed event but he was crazy stoned and started getting insanely paranoid about using a smart phone in public because he doesn’t own one or know how to use them. So this was the result. I’d like everyone to know that I showered for this occasion and you can’t even tell. Fuck a job.
IMG_2294

Result:

Dude…I’m not getting it. I know that I’ve missed out on some seriously important things in life that I eventually came around to, but are my taste buds corrupted from too many years of persistent candy eating? I mean, they’re just pockets of dough filled with crumbly ricotta – which no one likes. They’re not repugnant like relish or pancakes, but they weren’t delicious like welsh rarebit or Diet Cokes. Maybe if they were filled with welsh rarebit or diet soda I’d be, like, “oh heyyyyyyy sorta adorable looking pasta thing!”

Do I need a do-over? Or not restaurant ravioli? Bigger question – do I need many people to make me many different kinds of ravioli?

In the end I treated myself to a cannoli. I gave myself a boxing name (Janie ‘the cannoli’ Cannarella), and then just ate all of the cream and whipped cream.
FullSizeRender (2)

 

 

 

 

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3 Comments

Filed under food, Uncategorized

3 responses to “Raviolo: the case study

  1. Sounds like you need a) some different restaurants; b) some friends to make you ravioli. Because you don’t have to settle for dried-out ravioli with crumbly dried ricotta. And although heavenly marinara sauce is heavenly, few things are better than ravioli swimming in brown butter, maybe with a hint of sage. If you haven’t had some of that good stuff before June, we will make it a point to find you some in LA.

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