It's been almost two years since I've had decent Italian food. I've just recently come north from the culinary hinterlands of New Mexico, where a good red sauce is as hard to find as a cloudy day, a competent driver or a virgin bride. There were nights when I would have walked a hundred miles for a plate of honest-to-Jesus linguine or killed for a big, fat meatball sandwich. Cannoli? Forget it. I was once served a cannoli that was filled with Reddi-wip and Hershey's chocolate chips, and the restaurant (which for now shall remain nameless) had the nerve to call this a "handmade New York favorite" on the menu. I showed them another New York favorite -- and I only had to use one... More >>>