Like Paris, Milan is a bit sleepy on Sundays. You take what you can get and are glad for it. I was looking for a typical Milanese lunch, but settled for Sicilian instead. It was educational, because other than "rigatoni", I didn't recognize one word on the menu. They must speak a special kind of Italian in Sicily.
The rigatoni was bathed in a sweet tomato sauce, sweeter than I expected. It took me a while to adjust. I got full on it as I waited for my next plate, something that I randomly pointed at in the menu. After I finished it off, I glanced over the desserts at the front counter but knew I'd be too full.
The mystery plate. Not a clue when I dug in. Still a bit fuzzy but my tongue tells me it was an assortment of meatballs with a side of sauteed eggplant. I enjoyed every morsel.
It was standing room only and with good reason. I sipped a glass of chianti and looked forward to the jealousy this post would incite in the ball and chain. Dodo, how now brown cow?
Via S. Paolo 15