Everybody’s got ‘em – your neighborhood Italian restaurant run by a family transplanted from New York.  Ours is called Fino’s.  Fino’s is the type of place where I expect the fat Italian chef to come out of the kitchen and kiss me on both cheeks and ask if my grandmother found her pants and why I haven’t been by in so long.  It’s the type of place where if I don’t see something on the menu or I’m feeling a little cwazy I can say “Hey Angelo, how bout you whip me up some pasta and veggies eh?!”  To which Angelo replies, “Anything for you!  Que Sara Sara!”  And he kisses me on both cheeks again.  Sure, it’s awkward but he’s Italian so it’s okay.

My experience at Fino’s went nothing like this.  We walk up to the door and there are a few couples enjoying their dinner on the makeshift patio.  One couple even had their adorable black Labrador with them.  It’s 110 degrees out and it’s an Italian restaurant but okay, I like dogs toos.  Jason glanced at the specials written on a stand when we walked in but he said they “didn’t look like English” so he got scared and kept walking.  I know, words are scary.

No one seated us or even made an attempt to acknowledge our presence so we sat ourselves at an open table.  We sat there for about five minutes before someone brought us menus and asked for our drink order.  About 15 minutes later a waitress came to take our order.  I wasn’t 100% sold on anything from the menu so I asked what the specials were to make sure I wasn’t missing something.  She said, “oh shoot, um, hang on,” then walked away.  We never talked to her again.  About 8 minutes later a waiter came by and said, “you want to know about the specials?”  He rattled off some Italian jibberish none of which I could repeat again so I went with the lobster ravioli.  Jason ordered the fettuccine con pollo and we asked if we could split a salad.

The salad was $4.99 and was supposed to include pears, gorgonzola cheese and pine nuts drizzled in a balsamic glaze.  There were no pine nuts.  We paid for pine nuts!  The lobster ravioli was pretty good.  Then again, so are most things that are drenched in butter sauce.  Jason liked his chicken fettuccine which also happened to be drenched in butter sauce.  The reviews for this place on Yelp raved about their baked rolls.  I’m here to tell you they are nothing to rave about.  Bring it Yelpers!  Foodgarbl vs. Yelp LET’S DO THIS.

Most people brought their own wine to dinner which for some reason is a perk.  The perk was that we got to listen to the drunk couple next to us rant about their kid not being respected by his coach on his select soccer team.  Do you know what they pay for Timmy to play on that team?  He deserves more respect.  They’re changing teams and there’s nothing Coach Rob can do about it.

If you have two hours to kick around for dinner and you want spotty service and you’re okay with Uncle Angelo hiding in the kitchen, give Fino’s a try.  Otherwise, there’s a Sbarro at the mall and it’s a lot faster.

Buca di Beppo. Italian for "Planet Hollywood"

Buca di Beppo
8580 State Highway 121
Frisco, TX 75034

Okay I know Buca di Beppo is a chain restaurant.  And I know sometimes waitstaff can be overly excited or clearly lacking in social skills at chain restaurants.  Tonight’s visit to Buca di Beppo was no exception.  The host asked us if it was our first time to dine there and I told him “no” but he still proceeded to tell me about their kitchen and how often they bake bread and how it is the perfect place to throw a birthday party.  Since he didn’t listen to me I then wanted to tell him about my struggle with finding the perfect running bra, how I once made ice cream using only frozen bananas and why I think the Situation’s new rap song might have a chance.

Fast forward to our waiter.  I think he spotted our coupon early on and almost instantaneously started moving at a slower pace.  Either that or his acapella skills were in high demand with the 8,000 birthday parties going on in every room.  They weren’t kidding about celebrating at Buca’s.

"It looks like the oil spill!" - our waiter (way too soon, buddy)

We were not there to celebrate tonight.  It was strictly bidness in the form of carb loading.  We are getting up at the crack of dawn tomorrow to head to White Rock to ride some laps.  The goal is to ride 5 times around the lake for a total distance of 45 miles.  Since I am terrible with math and Jason can’t focus for longer than 4 minutes at a time, we’re going to take an article of clothing off for each lap we finish and throw it at someone we think looks homeless.  Then when we get down to our skivvies, we’ll know we’re done.  And by skivvies I obviously mean padded bike shorts.

Wine bottle ceiling and pictures of nuns everywhere. Like church, only different.

Our carb loading included the Apple Gorgonzola Salad and Penne San Remo.  The salad had walnuts and dried cranberries mixed in and could have easily been my entree.  However, you can’t just wave artichoke hearts, peas and penne pasta in a cream sauce in front of me and expect me to just sit there and drool.  Both shared dishes were good.  Not out of this world, but good.  The meal hit the spot and I have a pasta belly ready for flattening tomorrow.

They serve with real tongs! How bout them apples! Litrolly!

Hi

While we were eating dinner we heard our waiter tell the kids at the table next to us that Buca di Beppo was now owned by Planet Hollywood and that they changed their menu to be geared more towards “celebrities.”  All this time I thought celebrities liked iced coffee and fro-yo but apparently they like mounds of whipped cream shoved in a bowl doused with sprinkles and topped with a cherry and mint sprig.

Family size portions of pasta, bread and cream sauce. Followed by a colossal dessert. But why is America fat?

It is very obvious that Buca is trying to become something of a banquet hall.  I think their end goal is to have every single table filled with at least one birthday guest.  Our waiter was missing for at least 20 minutes to attend Happy Birthday serenades throughout the restaurant.  I tipped him extra because he seemed to be having trouble breathing.  I’d go back here if I had another coupon.  But I’d keep it hidden until I get the bill.

It’s official; FOODGARBL Austin is now up and running!!  There is so much good food here, where do we start?  How about a trip to West Austin (aka Northern Italy’s mirror image)?

FOODGARBL busted onto the Austin scene at Cipollina West Austin Bistro.  I knew I had come to the right place when I saw a red Vespa scooter with over 80k miles on it parked outside.  This was actually my second trip to Cipollina, but instead of the full-blown retarded lunch clique, I had a super hot date.

Not to be confused with Ciprollina, the antibiotic Italian food.

The dinner hours at Cip’s were, um … let’s say … a learning experience.  The lesson, I guess, is that even Helen Keller had a sense of taste and it’s probably one of the most important while eating.  Cipollina offers a variety of traditional Italian pasta dishes, but we didn’t get any of those because I had a sneaking suspicion that the pizza was made of poster board and pillow top.  I was right; the pizza had the exact same taste as a twin Serta smothered in Alan Greenspan brand tomato sauce.  MMmm, like Quizno’s helped ‘em!

Lamb Snausage and other ingredients pre-soaked in water.

Prosciutto and goat cheese glop of tasteless shit on crust.

Oh, and of course we ordered hummus, which was even better than the “pizza.”  The hummus (and baba ghanoush) plate was a smurf scrotum-sized serving of Mediterranean Frito-Lay bean dip paste, with some amazingly bland, astonishingly tasteless pitaboard.  I have to say, it was handy to have some pita bread that doubled as fire retardant, in case our table candle flared up, but I would rather have eaten a good appetizer that did not remind me of the time I drew a piece of pita bread on a piece of white construction paper, colored it beige and ate it.

Elmer's Glue hummus and stale pita quilt triangles.

Thirty five was not only our table number, but close to the total cost of the food.  Yes, at a place without table service and no alcohol, we paid nearly $40 for a fresh pigeon-shit appetizer, two Wonderbread pizzas and two glasses of City of Austin ’09 tap water.  It was like if Wal-Mart spun out a Whole Foods-style concept restaurant inside their tire & lube department, and that had a food bar where you could order Italian dishes with a shredded wheat taste twist.

How many crotch kicks I deserve for eating here.

The trendiness factor was a predictable falcon hair, aviator shade, red wine, summer sweater, my-shoes-and-my-girlfriend’s-purse-cost-the-same douche crowd.  The staff (person you meet at the counter, with whom you place an order) was friendly and helpful, but seemed a little debbie downer about making the most tasteless pizza in all of Clarksville.  And you know what’s scary?  The Fearless Critic gave this place an 8+ score, meaning they must like upscale Domino’s pizza, baked with a dryer sheet, at an Austin-chic price.

Trying to be polite.

Is it too late to go eat at the airport?

I can sum up the disappiontment of Cipollina in one word: Mrs. Johnson’s Bakery!!  Holy shit am I glad we decided to make a dozen donut run on the way home!  This Austin landmark is in the North Airport Blvd. neighborhood, which IS as quaint as it sounds.  In fact, had we gone when it was safer (daylight, with police escort), we might have been able to stop in on Vogue College for a hair weave or I Love Video for some semi-erotic samurai VHS tapes.

The sign says it all. Sort of.

I have tried to enroll several times, but keep getting tickets from campus parking enforcement.

Mrs. Johnson’s has the BEST donuts and BEST tricks on first time customers (Mrs. Johnson is actually a man from India).  The first thing they do when you walk through the door is hand you a very hot, very fresh plain glazed right from the oven.  The second thing they do is allow you to violate every imagineable City of Austin health code and take behind-the-counter, up-close pictures of the assembly line.  I accidently sneezed on a donut, but kept an eye on it and snagged it coming off the end of the line.

Reminds me of Saw IV.

Willy Wonka! Er, Tajilly Wunka!

It took me a while to figure out he was screaming because he WANTED me to come behind the counter.

We really only planned on getting a donut or two, but this master salesman ended up clipping me for $8.50!  That would have bought me a round margherita ceiling tile at Cipollina.  I don’t know how Mrs. Johnson felt about the sale, but I think the joke was on him, as I would have paid up to $10 for that dozen assorted and the sweatiest hug I have ever received from another man.

I don't even bother buckling up my shotgun. But these ...

Mrs. Johnson's Bakery courtyard.

???

Our only option. You do NOT take the bus here.

The first FOODGARBLing of Austin was indeed a mixed bag.  Of donuts and pizza exhumed from the Egyptian pryamids.  In conclusion, Cipollina is a great place to eat if you have Irritable Bowel Syndrome or are recovering from oral surgery.  Mrs. Johnson’s Bakery is THE SHIT and offers 24 hour crackhead entertainment from LeRoy’s crew out back.  He was right, “Austhin’s Awesthome!”