does sex sell? il bordello.
My neighbours (i still can’t quite work out if they’re next door or the flat above) have sex every Thursday morning. The first time i got rudely awoken by the creaking sounds, i cursed – who on earth does DIY at 7.30am? and then for weeks after, i questioned, why is he trying to cut up MDF at this time ? and why can’t he get a frigging new less creaky saw or one of those cool woodwork gadgets that ty pennington uses on “extreme makeover – home improvement”? (i haven’t watched EMHI for a long time, it makes me cry. I am a real weepy sucker). Can’t he just cut up the frigging piece of wood and just be done with it instead of doing this EVERY WEEK for 3 minutes? Then it twigged. I can be so thick sometimes. Ah. Poor girl. 3 minutes!? Sometimes even less…i reckon the bloke must be swiss german. Swiss german precision and efficiency y’know. Leisurely pleasure must be an unknown concept in their world.
I don’t actually want to talk about my neighbours bonking. I want to talk about dinner. With M. at il bordello. I know sex sells, but seriously, to call your restaurant, the brothel? Only the Italians. The sister restaurant is named La Figa, which literally means The Fig. Nothing wrong you say, except that every Italian speaker will tell you that’s a euphemism for a part of the female anatomy.
Then again, i don’t’ care what you call a restaurant, call it the Rat Hole if you’d like. As long as the food’s tasty. And it is well tasty here at Il Bordello. And it’s delicious at La Figa too. What to eat what to eat what to eat? As i perused the menu and debated the choices in great detail, i was grateful that M is one of the more patient people i know – he has to be – he shared a room at slavedrivers inc. with me for 6 long months in which i whined, talked far too much, drew him pictures on our shared whiteboard, and imposed general queen-like, spoilt princess behaviour on him. I think he’s even watched me cry once. very occasionally i gave him some work to do and hopefully taught him some good nerdy derivatives stuff – which i suppose was the main purpose of him being subject to my idiosyncrasies.
My indecision arose from wanting to eat everything on the menu. But M was nearing breaking point with my indecision. He threatened to order for me. I went against the advice of the waiter who was extolling the virtues of one of the specials, and went for penne amatriciana – safe classic – pasta scrolls in a rich tomato sauce with pancetta. I asked them to make it extra spicy. I love it that way. Bring on the chillies. They did as i asked and it was spicy. Lashings of freshly grated parmesean (grated with their dinky battery operated cheese grater no less), lots of black pepper from their giant grinder. Exactly what i wanted.
M got the pizza il bordello. It had good stuff like pancetta, artichokes, mozzarella.
We shared a tiramisu of course. Luscious it was. Espresso sodden, mascarpone saturated sponge, running over with cream. We looked longingly at a plate of profiteroles that was whisked to another table. Coffees were superb – you can always trust the Italians to make good coffee.
does sex really sell? Of course it does. George Clooney can sell me anything. But i’m glad Il bordello doesn’t rely on sexiness of any sort to sell me its food – it highly irritates me when restaurants try so hard to be sexy in a bid to disguise the fact that the food isn’t actually all that good. Il bordello gives good honest, hearty Italian food. Definitely worth lots of visits. Just beware the waiter at the door that insists you flirt with him for a bit before he seats you.
posted by the guvnor at 3:17 AM
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