And the first thing I don't want to think about is the fact that I used the incorrect zip code when I ordered my books. Autofill, you suck.
Venturi? Well, it's a fancy-schmancy little place in Goshen, Indiana. The food is fresh. The servers are delightful. The atmosphere will make you smile.
I ate there and then decided that I can only be with a man who is willing to discuss the differences in the heirloom tomatoes, a man who will talk about the acidity added by the lemon-olive oil rather than a balsamic-olive oil, a man who will share all his food and will order two desserts because that's my favorite part.
Or I need friends to fulfill this need in me.
OR I can blog about it and force it upon you.
Can we talk about dessert?
Nutella pizza. It's like they know my deep, dark, not-so-secret desires.
Americanos that taste like Italy.
Mozzerella [fior de latte] made freshly that day.
Crust to die for.
Tomatoes seasoned with salt, pepper, and torn basil leaves.
A slice of heaven is in Goshen, Indiana. Who knew?
Back to reality and worrying about textbooks and parking and uniforms and bills.