Volume CXXXIII, Number 6 October 19, 2001 f

Food For Your Fanny
KERRY ELSON AND LAUREN McKEE
STAFF WRITERS

Lured by the call of pastabilities, the ferocious foodies ventured toward the end of Maine Street expecting a gondola tour of some Italian territory. However, the foodies found themselves in an environment not quite Italian and not of their time. Shivering, they were quickly seated in a nether region with chefly murmurings and stoneware clinking in the background, and they thawed amidst the cozy booths as they studied the menu.

The foodies and their friend immersed themselves in the detailed dish descriptions and found themselves gravitating thoughtlessly to familiar choices. Over steaming garlic bread--possibly of Pillsbury origin--marinated in a blend of butters, the foodies eagerly anticipated the arrival of their meals.

The Great Impasta, one of Brunswick's few Italian restaurants, is located on Maine Street, and offers a variety of pasta entrees. (Karsten Moran, Bowdoin Orient)

Foodie one consumed a simple side salad that is available with all entrees and the mélange included meat, cheese, and croutons that livened up an otherwise standard iceberg base. Savoring a portobello salad, Foodie two proved wiser than her colleague. Steeped in balsalmic vinegar, the tender fungus lay delicately upon a succulent couch of spinach. Pine nuts paraded softly atop the orgy of flavors. Foodie one gazed longingly and quietly ate a carrot shred, while Foodie two attempted to conceal her superiority.

Shortly thereafter, the foodies received their main meals. Kerry became confused--she knew that she was in an Italian restaurant, and she was aware that she was actually in the United States. However, she did not realize that Maine is a member of the Confederacy, for her "risotto" arrived as a colonial mash of patriotic grits. A southern Grandmother would greatly approve of her nutritious choice, for no spices would jar her stomach and no exotic flavors would tempt her wanderlust. The grilled shrimp and vegetables laying limp atop the downy pillow proved only slightly more satisfying. The foodie friend only gazed distraught upon her veal-- baby cow just doesn't look as nice on plates as it does on milk cartons.

Finally, the tables had turned. Foodie one looked enviously upon foodie two's entree. Upon her sizzling platter lay a vegetable tapestry: tender eggplant--an unappreciated amethyst orb-was paired with luscious cheese and slippery baby produce. The dish was devoured guiltily and with few sound effects, for Foodie one did not want to inspire the covetous wrath of her dinner companions.

Desert was an egalitarian event. Foodie two and friend savored tiramisu and mousse cake, while Foodie one selfishly hoarded her own portion of latte and biscotti. The tiramisu was not Italian in origin, for the sweet layers of whipped cream and sponge cake mocked the pretentious delicacy of lady fingers and coffee. The mousse cake, smoother than the cellulite free derrières of the foodies, soon would disrupt the harmony of taught arses.

The foodies barely maneuvered themselves out of the restaurant and would remember both the highlights and pitfalls of the inconsistent yet oddly charming establishment; when dining here, the experience can be one of several pastabilities.
Rating: 2 paw prints out of four