"R" is for RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRoberto!

It was like that age-old children's story, "The Ten Little Zupperites." First there were ten fearless food junkies all gung-ho, ready to storm the Bronx like a bunch of Zupperites hopped up on some high-grade meth. We had just conquered Queens two weeks prior with the noticeable flair and zest that comes from a group that knows its shit and is confident taking down another borough. And this time it would be the last borough. The Bronx.

That's right, the Zupperites had put away 18 months, 18 letters, 18 restaurants, 4 New York boroughs and only had one borough left to bring down. We were strutting around like a bunch peacocks wearing bright yellow shirts, ruby-rimmed glasses and Horn of Plenty hats encrusted in sausage links. This was Confidence's bigger brother. The perfect mixture of Popeye Doyle wearing a Martha Stewart Halloween mask. After Saturday, it was clear to all involved that the Zupperites would claim victory over all five boroughs with 8 months to spare. Life was good...

...Or so it seemed... (Insert crack of thunder and bolt of lightning here)

Like the fat guys on Saturday Night Live, the Zupperites suddenly started dropping like flies when R-Day approached. Some had work, some had sicknesses, some just didn't have the decency to write back and say, "Sorry Dudes, I moved to LA a few months back. I'm probably not going to make it. This is Paul, btw." So what started out as a strong, solid, Zeitgesit of Zupperiters, pretty soon dwindled to a paltry, fidgety, forlorn five. 3 women. 1 man. 1 undecided. It was a watershed moment. Would the Zupperites, ravaged by disease and flakiness, survive to conquer their bitter foe, the Bronx? The confidence was gone. The swagger, no more. The Horn of Plenty hats traded in for ones less ostentatious. One fainthearted Zupperite even suggested in a text, "Rain check?"

The seas were in tumult. Would this happy Band of Food Brothers and Sisters still make it to arguably the toughest borough in town? Don't be silly.

Of course, we would. We're F*in Zupperites. And we were hungry. And thirsty. So before we set out, we powered up with a couple cocktails at the famous Oyster Bar in Grand Central.


Once we were "juiced" up, we boarded the LIRR and headed North to 125th St. We headed out in search of the famous Arthur Ave (New York’s original, real Little Italy). The street was a culinary mecca of little delis, bakeries, pizzerias and family run pasta joints. Temptation was everywhere, but we had to stay the course, we had to reach Roberto’s or this would all be for nothing.



Roberto’s doesn’t look like much from the outside, but with just a crack of the door, we could sense that we were about to experience something unique, something utterly and wholly divine. (We just had to get past the "Sopranos extras" at the jam packed bar and “coffee talk” ladies milling about.)

It’s hard to begin on the gloriousness that was our dinner. The specials were a highlight, the best being the spring risotto (fresh pesto, toasted slivered almonds and buttery morels) and this creamy, rich pasta pictured below:

The Chianti flowed, homemade pastas were twirled, chicken was smothered and veal carmelized to perfection. We felt like Kings, Queens... like we found out a secret that we didn’t want to share. And best of all, Roberto himself came over to check on the table, made a few jokes and posed for a picture. I think someone tipped him off that the Zupperites were there.







We were so inspired (and loopy), we had no trouble entertaining ourselves. Our first attempt at replicating the shape of an "R":





And Tenny’s successful way of making an “R”:

Another night of culinary success- our bellies, satiated and adventurous souls, quenched. Roberto's (the restaurant and the chef) absolutely rocked. Two right thumbs up.

"Q" is for Quaint in Queens

I think we have to hand it to Covitz for this one - "Q" night at Quaint in Queens was quite a lovely surprise, a true pig in the poke. Not that we didn't expect a lot from Phil's quixotic quest (or from Queens) but whenever we leave the island, it's always a little bit of a gamble. Going to and from seems to be as flavorful as the meals themselves.

A core group of Zupperites and two very special guests, Lisa from San Francisco and James from Kenya, met at Grand Central and after a few detour quagmires (the 7 wasn't running) landed in Sunnyside, Queens. Due to the quivering cold and queasy subway feeling, we quickly quaffed down a beer at a nearby pub. After a few quips of us yelling "queers" at each other (clearly only replacing cheers with a zupper version of the word), we headed to Quaint.

It was quite a top quality restaurant, the quintessential little neighborhood spot. The menu had a short list of seasonal items (no quail) and the group took advantage of all the options. Several enjoyed the seared salmon over a bed of garbanzo beans and braised fennel, someone ordered the pan fried catfish with wild rice and toasted pecans (one of the true highlights, it was like each grain of rice was freshly picked and marinated, not goopy or mushy at all). Even the chicken breast served with a thick brick of gratin potatoes quenched a couple hungry bellies. There was an all-you-can-eat mussels and fries deal for $18 but to quote a questioning zupperite, "Having a finite amount of mussels is a good idea. I'm not sure I trust people who can eat unlimited amounts of bivalve mollusks."

On our way home, we experienced something you don't see everyday in Manhattan: a small Asian woman with a quadraphonic megaphone making the subway announcements. A real, live human being uttering those quizzical and incomprehensible announcements that typically blare overhead from some invisible speaker. It was so jarring, it prompted someone to impulsively query "oh my God, you are real!?!" We even got her to announce Happy Birthday to Mike, making him feel like the quasi-queen of the night. But even though she was standing right next to us, the only thing we were able to quantify was "Hmmmpp... Btooreerkkk, fivmelele, aexcxxxcitte!!" Close enough.

We ended the night in quality fashion - by playing Buck Hunter at the querimonious Subway Bar. Definitely not your quotidian bar night - the bar itself is a hodgepodge of B&T, quiddley old drunks, and some young hipsters nestled in the rotting red leather booths. The boys flexed their quads and competitively fought to be the quincurion with the highest Buck Hunter score (except Phil, who's points grand total was a quiet 12. Don Quixote, he is not.)

Without quibble, Q night was all about good 'ol fun (no quaaludes or anything). Two thumbs up for Quaint and big Qudos [sic] to Phil for organizing.