Luna Generousa

Aiiight, kidsies/massive he(a)rd (us here? LOL--wait for it!! itsa comin faster than you can say the name of our latest/greatest/FIPS dey hatest "follower" (follower only in spirit--but dat be suuum spirit, son[s and daughters]! LOL) "Burk[l]ee Carroll"!!) of DDB loyalists. While I cert(s--yummy!)ainly don’t wish to convey the impression that DDB ~b~ startin to straight-come atcha on a weekly bas(s)is(t), which, given the date of our last post(-up jumper--take dat, GP!)’s unleashing, see(/a--in the case of FIPS, which be comin apart at dem seams since N’v’mb’r 19, 2008)ms a likely impression indeed, I gots some stuff here in me brain-memory that you, dear(/est) readers, really should be apprised of. You deserve it, kidsies. Even you, ChickenUnderwear, even you. (Say, ya found the F yet??? LOL.)

Just what is this stuff(itts is what DDB ~b~ 'liverin [ew, liver!!] nest(e)a ["Go On. Take the Plunge!" LOL] Xmas, sweetheart readers! well, dat + the ofty-promised Playa tee, o'course [18 holes after work, anyone? DDB boasts an all-time best of *59*! LOL]) we refer to, you ask?

Well, dis(s us not!!) it is. Or, wait! The DiCenso family? Isn't dat sorta like "de-censored," which, let's agree, is yet another word to d'scribe DDB's straight-up/slammin/in-yo-face/street-gritsome style?? Man, seams (oh, dat pesky "a"--why not go back to whar you belong, wit dat fallin-apart FIPSY!!) it is. Good to know Tewksbury, MA's got our backs in dese turbulent times, eh?? (Manitobans for DDB! 'member dat?)

But dey ain' it, loyalists. It's... dis(s--we dare you! be warned: sickin ChickenUnderpants on yo asses is NOT beneath us!) plass (transl.: place. LOL). Hahaha--we're kiddin around again, readers!! Cuz surely dat be not-us. Because, think about it--Stillwater, Minnesota?? Let's get serious here! Ain't nothin *still* bout D, D, or B, rightsy? Nawdude. DDB ~b~ pouncin and punchin and pullin fast ones from badass, ball-bustin Brooklyn all the way, sweet babies!

Which brings us to, ah yes, to here. To one of Carroll Gardens' sleepier ends (zzzzzz, LOL--wake up, readers!!). To Court Street's southernmost reach. To ~Luna Rossa Restaurant Pizzeria~. (Hey, owner. Hey, it's us. Say, which one are you--a restaurant or a pizzeria?? LOL. Jus' messin, you.)

Now, the mere act of entering this wet-behind-the-ears establishment (here--use our towel; no, really. LOL) ranks high on DDB's long and harrowing list of *stressful and dramatic life events* (see also: holding clamorous and persistent media attention at bay; effectively navigating Park Slope's Fifth Avenue while shrouded [read: disguised, duh] in a minimum of ten trench coats with ten collars upturned, five pairs of gloves [fingerprints be 'vealin a mighty lot, kidsies!], one of those stretchy face stockings, and a "layer cake hat" [not hatin! just unknowin! LOL] filched from a particularly unscrupulous Hasidic man; and fightin Frank Bruni (LOL--dat face!! what is up?!?) off with a baseball bat). Why, you wonder? Well, because

IT WAS LIKE STEPPING FOOT INSIDE A SHOWER.

Not because we were hit with a surge of warm spray or spit on (don't even think about it, bfipsyd[r]ipsy!), but because, well, because of this:


Does that or does that not bring to mind a curtain-encapsulated bathing stall, readers?? It’s almost like they're sayin, "Screw dat (that?) time-honored 'handwashing' tradition--we want your heads, backs, knees, and bums squeaky clean, too!"

Anyhow, once we'd cleared this initial hurdle and tricked a tired old chappy outta his house-best seat (LOL), we settled in for a nice, soothing dining experience that was sorely overdue us (again, this was only last week!), if you don’t mind th' sayin, ChickenUnderwear & co.


We placed our modest order (Waistline Watchers R Us!) with a friendly ol sucka and sat back to admire the--


Cages?? Sponge paint?!? Where are we--daycare???? LOL.

Our food, anyway, was excellente.


Aaaand, get this, troopers: Some chewins later, responding to our "we'd like dese here leftovers boxed up--and, say, what're the chances we'd be able to, *wink wink*, buy a tomato off ya? We're short one at home, see, and our chances of making it to Fairway for a r'plenishin pri(/y--Richard? LOL--doubly so, cuz duder was a comedian, y'know!!?)or to shutterin-time are slim to zero, kid!!" the kind and, dare we say, moderately to heavily intimidated by dat special, unmistakable, irreshakable DDB flair, not to mention our FIPS-endorsed reputation as Food Blog of the Mesosphere, Stratosphere, Troposphere, and Blogosphere (aww, FIPSY, you shouldn't have! wait, nevermind!!!), waiter said, just:

"We'll take care o' ya."

And take care o' us they did, adding two portions each of tomato and mozzarella, even a flutter o' dat nice (dd)basil, to our leftovers 'tainer.


*Sniff sniff*, readers. *Sniff sniff*.