Della Rovere: "There's a Jew, a Polack, and a foppish raconteur in a rowboat..."
Have you ever heard the old Italian expression, “Sometimes the proctologist uses surprisingly nice lube”? No? Well, no matter: Today's theme is "secret treats at crappy places": Frank is telling us about a few impressive dishes at an average enoteca called Della Rovere (Italian for “In the Range Rover”.)
BUT, to deliver this news, he has put on an oversized black leather jacket, greased back his hair, and signed himself up for beginners night at a Jersey club called something like “The Ha-Ha Bucket” or “Dan’s Chuckle Hole.”
After asking if anybody here’s from out of town, he begins,
“New York needs another Italian restaurant like Seattle needs rain…It represents about as virgin a theater for long lists of wines by the glass as Las Vegas does for keno cards.” I know—it’s no use mourning the fact that he said “keno cards” rather than “pension-pissing geezers,” or “cross-gender hustlers.” He’s new at this, cut him some slack. I had a fist full of rotten tomatoes suspended in the air, until I realized that his humor is actually adorable, and that I needed the tomatoes to garnish that evening’s boot-and-tin-can stew.
“My friends and I practically had to perform calisthenics to catch the server’s attention.” (Why do I suspect it was actually “RIGHT HAND, YELLOW!” in nudie swingers Twister?) The performing doesn’t end there. “The persistent emptiness of our water glasses suggested a sudden Tribeca drought.” Ay-O! And finally, “the gap of time between when we finished our entrees and when we were asked about dessert could almost have accommodated a showing of ‘The Aviator.’” YOWCH!
As if receiving negative-29 Oscars wasn’t enough, Scorsese turns around to find himself being almost imperceptibly spanked by a tiny Count Frank with a Hermes switch.
"Your movie's stinky! I'm hungry for petit-fours..."
“That beet salad…was among the best of the 1,189 I have tasted over the last nine days.” I have actually run this one through my scientific joke detector machine, trustily manufactured by the same people that patented Tom Cruise, and it is, officially, an exaggeration meant to cause subtle delight. In other words, it's a joke-- THANKFULLY he did not eat 2,000 beets this week, ‘cause word to the wise, The Crimson Poopers ain’t just a Harvard a-capella group. Ahem. Moving on.
Frank creating jokes:
After getting all micromanaging-middle-aged-wife on us and telling us, to the bite, what to eat at Della Rovere, Frankie Goodtimes ends his set: “even a city as lavishly delectable as ours can stand another treat.” A.k.a, “Dis one time I was fuggin' a nasty chick, and it was like, pretty good.”