Pay Me in Meatballs

I used to love watching the movie The Wedding Singer, and especially enjoyed the part where Adam Sandler's character was paid in meatballs by a cute old lady who was using him for singing lessons. Last night, I met up with a former coworker of mine at newly-opened Carmine's in Chinatown to talk about things related to jobs, one of which I am seeking at her new place of employ. I have always been curious about Carmine's, having heard much talk about their family-style Italian feast and here I was, sitting at the bar, so close to actually experiencing it. While we grabbed a drink, I decided to tell my former coworker, that if hired, I would gladly accept overtime payment in the form of meatballs. She diligently jotted that down in her notes. Sweet. I hope she passes on the word to HR.

As luck had it, she and her friends invited me to join them for their meal and I graciously accepted. It got better. An order of spaghetti and meatballs, ravioli, and fried zucchini soon arrived to our table. My pupils dilated instantly. The meatballs were huge. The combination of the steaming spaghetti, pieces of the velvety meatball, and slices of ravioli melted in my mouth. In honor of Discovery Channel's "Shark Week" I devoured my serving without much regard for anything or anyone else at the table. Maybe I should've been a tad more dainty.

One the guys with us was the editor of the Washington Business Journal and was recognized by the woman heading up the PR for Carmine's. After she came by to chat him up, assuming the rest of us were reporters aiming to take a bite and pump out a note about the new place, she sent the CEO of the parent company of Carmine's over to meet us as well.

He was actually very interesting to listen to. He told stories of how they got a restaurant launched at The Atlantis in Paradise Island, Bahamas and gave cut-by-cut details of the rigorous training every cook had to undergo before the DC restaurant's grand opening. I was intrigued, but mostly by his tale of the quality control guru--their taste-tester. He made stuffing oneself into oblivion seem excruciating. Um, I'd love to get paid to live my life! He said there's one poor soul who has to fly down from New York every month to The Atlantis (such cruelty) do a taste test of everything on the menu (the nerve!) to assure that things maintain consistency for the sake of their brand. The owner said once you get through taking a bite of each appetizer, you have to sit down for a serious breather, then put your head back to the grindstone and eat on. Bravo! What do I need to do to get PAID to eat my heart out? Jeez, I am in the wrong line of work.

Overall, the experience at Carmine's was fantastic. I wouldn't say the food was out of this world, but it was pretty solid.