I walked past Frankie Spuntino, an Italian restaurant in the neighborhood, made for the Brooklyn foodies. They take Grandma’s favorites, give them fancy pants, jack up the prices, and we all devour accordingly.
A little boy who couldn’t have been more than five or six years old stomped restlessly beside his mother and sister. He pouted. “But they don’t have bacon at Frankie Spuntino. They have it at Prime Meats.”
“Yes they do,” shouted the know-it-all sister, not much older than him. “They do have bacon. Don’t they Mommy? Frankie Spuntino has bacon.”
“Yes, they have bacon.”
And aren’t we glad it’s all cleared up for the two Brooklyn foodies under the age of eight.