Piccolo: A second post that comes so quickly only because I'm still so enthusiastic about having a blog

Location: 19th St and 3rd Ave.

So my roommates and I are disgustingly cute sometimes. Like we celebrate every month since we moved in and met each other. For our 13 monthiversary (ha! aren't we clever), we went to this restaurant a couple of blocks from where we live (have you figured it out yet? a. where we live and b. that we're lazy) called Piccolo.

In the sunshine- and resolve-filled days of the beginning of the semester, we walked to class and consequently walked by this restaurant everyday. With its outdoor patio and constantly dim to completely dark interior, we figured this would be the ideal location to commemorate the beginning of the year.

We walked in and it was very intimate in a look! we've discovered a hole in the wall that maybe is a hidden gem no one knows about. Highlights of the interior included several vintage-looking posters that detailed various varieties of various things. Vague enough? One of my roommates was seated in front of a poster of mushrooms that were all very phallic. Hilarity ensued. Needless to say, we documented the incident. (Side note: I forgot to mention that we are all idiot savants that are actually 12 and in college.)

But we did not go in there simply to sit around (as I once did with my friends: we walked into a Jennifer Convertibles and just sat on one of the display couches for an hour.) We came there to eat. Suffice it to say it was a disappointment. All I remember from my meal was that I had the most inedible chicken ever. I had a secret hope that my roommate that isn't vegetarian would like the chicken so perhaps the food could be salvaged, but no such luck. I didn't even finish what was on my plate, which is very uncharacteristic for both Connie and me: it is a well-known fact to all our friends that our plates will always be cleared. I know, we have very healthy eating habits. I think it all stems from my grandma for whom gastronomic satisfaction is unfathomable. When I tell her I'm not hungry, she offers me fruit. When I reiterate my satiation, she tells me that fruit isn't food, apparently belonging to some mysterious category of items that look like food, and taste like food but aren't. I dont know.

Conclusion: We all left feeling sick. Avoid, unless you are a glutton for punishment.