The Little Italy Days festival — the annual event that sprawls across Liberty Ave. is beloved by some and loathed by others, but one thing is for certain: we missed pretty much all of it because we were absolutely toasted at Nico’s Recovery Room for its entire duration. Even spent Saturday into Sunday sleeping there under one of the booth tables. Seriously, they either missed us or just figured it was easier to let us be than to coax some tequila-saturated snoozers elsewhere. Anyway, here are three so-so hot takes we honestly just kind of stitched together from social media after we had assured friends and family that we were OK.
#1: The people were great.
Personally, we loved everybody we encountered throughout the weekend. Was it because they were enabling our reckless bets of rounds of liquor on sporting events we know nothing about? Maybe, but that doesn’t change just how great it was to talk to Patti and Bill and Shawn and Lisa and, well, we’re still looking through our camera roll and messages from unsaved numbers to identify the rest.
Guess some people had some bad interactions, too, though, so that sucks.
#2: The food vendors keep getting — we don’t know; what’s the better play here — worse? Sure, let’s go with that.
We bet they had a lot of those generic carnival food vendors, didn’t they? Ones that sell, like, 10 different ethnic classics, but none of them taste all that good? At least that’s what it looked like on Twitter.
Oh, we also saw the Italian gyros. What the hell? But for real, we were just BLITZED like hell by early afternoon, so we would’ve eaten the ass off a skunk and we could do worse than a pandering gyro stand.
People at Angelo’s are just lucky one of us skinned their knee on the way there — and vomited three or four times, but that’s correlation, not causation — or we would’ve run that place out of gnocchi and garlic knots for a month.
***
Listen, we really dropped the ball on this and we’re sorry. If it’s any consolation, we are still hungover and this draft is being finished in a hoodie, with a cold compress, hopelessly sunken into the couch while we blare season 5 of ‘The Simpsons’ on repeat.
We’ll do better next year, and if anybody hears from the one of us who ended up leaving to go to Lou’s, please alert emergency services immediately; they’re about to call off the search.
