Sunday night, I decided to take my Baby Brother out to dinner. He’s young, he’s poor, and he’s too skinny for his own good. So I try to fatten him up as much as possible when I can. I had wanted to take his scrawny ass to Rocco’s, but for some insane reason, they are closed on Sundays. So, we had to make do with Mulberry Street–a place I haven’t been for a couple of years. I remember their pizza being decent, but pricey.
We started with some BBQ chipotle boneless wings, which were pretty decent. However, they could have added one or two more pieces of celery to the plate. The sauce was a little gelatinous for my taste, but hey, if it will pack on the pounds for Baby Brother, that’s okay in my book.
Baby Brother ordered a bacon and mushroom pizza (love of mushrooms and pig byproducts runs in our blood) and I went for my favorite, eggplant parm. He enjoyed his pie and it looked decent, but a little thin on the mushrooms. I want you to be generous and load on the fungi with a heavy hand. My eggplant parm was decent. Not anything to write home about, but I’ve definitely made worse myself. The sauce was almost greasy, though. How is a red sauce greasy? I mean, tomatoes are not naturally oily.
The service was decent and unintrusive. They didn’t forget anything, so we didn’t have to chase anyone down for Parmesan cheese or wait 10 minutes for refills on water. The place was pretty busy, too, with a nice casual and relaxed crowd that was so benign that there wasn’t even any good people watching.
While it wasn’t the best meal I’ve ever taken Baby Brother to, it did the trick as a decent replacement-for-restaurant-I-really-wanted-to-go-to. One and a half salt shakers for good atmosphere and okay food.