campari

Because this place needs another regular feature, I’m here, every Friday afternoon, to tell you that what you drink sucks. Being married to an Italian can be fantastic. The food is amazing. The scenery, when in Italy rather than on Mott St. or in the North End, can be breathtaking. The language, the art … seriously, it’s a good deal, even without considering the individual Italian with whom I chose to spend the time before she decides to divorce me. The drinking, however. If you’re not careful, you can find yourself beyond sauced before the bruschetta shows...

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