Dinner or The Sopranos?

This is how completely bonkers I think our society has become, as it relates to popular culture in this country. This country being, the U.S. — land of Anna Nicole Smith and Starbuck’s.

Because I am in deep, deep love with chef Mario Batali, I have become obsessed with trying to get reservations to his swanky new restaurant in Manhattan,
Del Posto. The place is stunning and the food ethereal.

Del Posto has taken on this infuriating practice of forcing patrons to book 30 days in advance, so not only do you have to be cognizant of the calendar, you need to determine on what night of the week the 30th day will land.

I was looking for a particular Saturday night. When I called for a reservation, a young lady with a faint British accent (also infuriating) gave me the regulation haute New York restaurant hooey, “5pm or 10pm”.

However, she whispered, that Sunday was wide open.

Fabulous! I’ll take it! I said in my faint Northern New Jersey accent.

I hung up and thought: Bada Bing! We’re In! What a Score!

But then, I started to ask myself, why, after all these months of trying was that Sunday wide open?

Is Sunday night just not cool enough for Manhattanites? Is it Easter Sunday?

Then it hit me…it’s the friggin’ premiere of The Sopranos! Can you imagine?

Everyone will be home that night making spaghetti and meatballs for dinner — watching James Gandolfini eat spaghetti and meatballs.

We’ll be sitting alone at Del Posto.

Oh well, these things happen, T.

Image: HBO.com