Little Italy

On Friday we took a little jaunt over to Old Town and wandered around for a bit. They had some neat little shops, but I think all the employees (or volunteers--I'm not sure which) were having a bit of a lazy day. None of them were really into their parts. Apparently they'd never heard the saying "What-e'er thou art act well thy part."

It was interesting, but after awhile we all got hot, hungry, and tired and decided to head to Little Italy for lunch, taking Jacob, James, Emily, and Sarah with us.

Don't be fooled by the name. Little Italy looks just like the rest of San Diego. There are some cute Italian restaurants there. You just have to know where to look for them.

We looked for them in the wrong place. We headed down India street because it looked like a busy street that would have some good food choices on it. Unfortunately we wound up by the Mexican consulate building and all we could find were sushi bars, Mexican restaurants, and other non-Italian establishments.

When we were about to give up hope and turn around, we saw a little Italian souvenir shop with a windsock greeting us with "Ciao!" We went inside to admit defeat and ask for directions.

"May I help you?" asked the shopkeeper.

"Uh, yeah," said Andrew, embarrassed. The rest of us were slightly embarrassed as well so we were hanging out behind Andrew, near the door, trying to pretend that we hadn't just walked in with him, "Are there any good Italian restaurants around here?"

The shopkeeper looked at him and raised her eyebrows, "You do know you're in Little Italy, right?"

"Yes..." said Andrew, more embarrassed than he was before.

She paused to give him a condescending look, "Well, in that case, I usually recommend Buon Appetito."

She told us that Indian street was right, we were just walking the wrong way. So we turned around and went the other way. It would have saved us a lot of embarrassment had we just decided to do that before we got to her store.

At any rate, we found a decently-priced and authentic-looking restaurant called Filippi's. We were seated in a quiet area in the back of the restaurant and handed menus. I had Rachel on my lap when I opened up my menu and to our surprise there was a little Rachel inside our menu smiling back out at us.


Rachel was essentially nonplussed, but Andrew and I found it humorous.

The food was really quite good, and very authentic tasting. My ravioli even had nutmeg in it, and the lasagne was divine. Everyone was impressed with their pizza, except for James. He doesn't recommend the sausage pizza. Of course, he's the only one who managed to finish his pizza, so it couldn't have been all that bad.

It was a fun little trip, and the ambiance of the restaurant was refreshingly European. We saw salted fish, squid-ink stained pasta, and bocce courts in Amici Park (that we originally thought were unfinished flower beds). Real Italy is much better than Little Italy, but I suppose if you're stuck on the other side of the world, Little Italy will do.