#61 He Cares for My Snail

I felt it was high time I gave you an update on Snaily.  I have to admit, I was a little worried a few weeks back.  Snaily was laying on his side, on the bottom of the tank, and his insides looked like they were shriveling up.

Ok, I'm not a snail person.  Or a fish person.  I just like to look at them.  Therefore, I don't know the terminology for what part of his body the 'insides' are.

And I refuse to Google it.

In fact, I'm not even a true pet person so I don't really know how to communicate my feelings here.  I can only say that I felt a little sorry for Snaily, and hoped he hadn't kicked the bucket just yet.

Amazingly enough, a few days later, he was back to inching his way around the tank.

Here are the famous insides I was talking about.  When I thought he had died, the insides were a grayish color and looked ringy....like the insides of a tree.

Boy, am I using great vocabulary here today!

I promise, these pictures were just taken this week.

I really hope my hubby didn't pull the old parent trick on me and buy a new snail and swap out old Snaily #6.

I don't think I could live with that.

#46 He Buys Snails

In an effort to aide him in his job of cleaning the fish tank, hubby has been buying snails for sometime. Someone, somewhere (probably, say, the pet store?) recommended them to help keep the tank clean. But, all that our snails have ever done is die.

Right now we're on the last half of our third pair of snails. (Simply stated, our 6th snail). We would get a pair of snails, then one would die and the other would follow along shortly thereafter. Don't worry about me though. I don't get too attached. In fact, I'm so sentimental towards them that they all have the same name: Snaily.

I know, I'm super original.

This last snail has really amazed me. Not only has he hung on despite the odds being against him, but he's also been very mobile. I get real excited when I see his slimy bottom on the other side of the aquarium glass. Usually, with our other snails, all we could ever see was their shell.

(This is what I get to see on a good day).

And let me clarify, I don't like slugs. I like snails. In my tank. To look at, not to touch.

Okay, I had to say that.

It was mere chance when I saw true incredulousness from Snaily #6 the other night.

Here's how it went down. Hubby and I were already in bed. Like, for a few minutes already. Like, not wanting to get up again for at least a million and one years.

It was then from down below we heard a clang! clutter! crash! Rolling over with a groan, hubby got up, grabbed his weapon of choice, and headed downstairs prepared to meet the villain we assumed was in our kitchen.

I tried to stay upstairs, you know, in case there was an actual real intruder in the house and I needed to call the police and then hop out of my window to run for safety. But curiosity overcame me. I grabbed my cell phone and slowly headed downstairs.

That's when I saw this:

Well, excuse me, Snaily #6! Apparently Snaily #6 loves the nightlife. He's got to boogie...on the disco 'round...oh yea!

Sorry.

I was blown away. Hubby could have been wrestling down an ax murderer and I would have been on my knees, nose pressed into the aquarium glass, yelling for them both to come over and see how awesome my snail was.

Good thing the noise in the kitchen was just something that had fallen on top of the stove.

#26 He Listens to My Grandmother

My grandmother is famously known to base most of her decisions on either what she sees on TV or hears from someone who appears of a snobbishly rich status. This usually leads to a lot of nonsense and comical conversation which include the eventual realization from her that the famous person she is basing her choice on is in fact not the originator of whatever it is that they are currently promoting.

However, (ah, however) occasionally she makes a decision that proves in the end to be worth all the status quo hullabaloo that my family is forced to listen to quite frequently.

After my grandfather passed away in 2005, my husband and I started to take my grandmother to Atlantic City every so often. She would reminisce about going with my grandfather and how they would always follow the same dining routine: lunch at Pickles in Bally's Casino and then dinner picked up at the Columbus General Store on their way back home. Yet, she would also mention a little restaurant that they always passed, one which he would never take her to. My grandfather was very set in his ways, and unchangeable, unless it was his choice to be changed. Thus, he seldom gave in to such bizarre suggestions as going to a different restaurant.

How my grandmother knew of the restaurant is quite another story. One involving gangsters, a girlfriend, and the desert. Her memory of wanting to go and never being given the chance led us to stop there one night on our way home from Atlantic City.

Thank you Gram.

Without her wacky desires and fantasies of glamour, I never would know the goodness that is Joe Italian's Maplewood Inn. It is quite the opposite of glamour, however, I assume the person who once told her of it must have herself been rather glamorous to have convinced my grandmother to want to go there. Perhaps. The atmosphere and decor produce an instant homey feel with the restaurant seating probably no more than 150 people tops (and that's counting the bar). There are two rooms with sit down tables, however, it is very tight. Arriving exactly at dinner time is not a good choice, unless you like squishing behind those who are sitting comfortably at the bar as you wait for a table to clear.

Personally, I don't mind. I tend to grow extremely tired of only having chain restaurants available as a decent choice for a dinner out. Nothing against them, but I'd much rather have something exclusive to my area, which doesn't sacrifice price or flavor for being so.

Dinner always starts with salad tossed in their house dressing which is perfect. Alongside comes a loaf of fresh bread, still warm, and slices of garlic bread.

If you're feeding me before I've put in my order, you are automatically a winner in my book. But remember, a winner with flavor.

I cannot order anything but the Chicken Parmigiana here. I've tried, honest I have. I ordered Chicken and Broccoli Alfredo a few times and it was a perfect blend of creaminess, pasta, and veggies, but I have always had to return to the Chicken Parmigiana for one reason: they pound this bad boy ridiculously thin. It is so thin you might almost think for a second that they thought you ordered the veal. But you didn't. The breading is crisp, the cheese is evenly spread, and the sauce is fresh and sweet. I always get their homemade pasta on the side, but you can pick from an assortment of other sides if you are crazy and don't like pasta.

(I got so hungry I forgot to take a picture of my plate when it was beautiful, but the above picture will have to suffice. It comes from my husband's plate and yes, those are french fries hiding in the back).

My husband usually gets "The Fisherman's Delight" which includes an assortment of fish: lobster, king crab, clams, scallops, and shrimp served kettle style. The first time he ordered this was the first time I tried scallops. From that day of I dubbed scallops the filet mignon of fish. Can there be anything better?

Dessert at Joe's is, of course, to die for. Just don't order a cappuccino to go with your tiramisu or you might have to wait for a while (especially if it is a busy night). All their desserts are homemade and complete perfection.

The cost is probably what will make it or break it for most people. My husband's Fisherman's Delight costs $26.99 which is fair for all that fish. My Chicken Parmigiania comes in at $16.99. This really isn't horrible. If we look over at a chain restaurant like Olive Garden (who, yes, I do love despite that they are a chain and despite that people swear that they are not true Italian food) they are serving the same meal for $13.95. So it's $3.04 cheaper there. Just remember that the cooks in the back of Olive Garden aren't lovingly pounding your chicken paper thin. No, they are pulling it from a bulk bag that says, "Chicken Parm" on it and then throwing it into the oven.

(*Note: I do not know this for a fact, but one can only assume...)

In respects to a true Italian meal, Joe Italiano's is where it's at. Cost, flavor, and location all taken into consideration, it wouldn't take a trip to Atlantic City to get me to drive the 45 minutes from my house to eat here on any given night of the week.

Again, thank you Gram.