Alta

Each dinner begins with asking, "Gail, what's good?"

Gail does her homework. She visits blogs, reads online reviews, peruses local papers, talks to other foodies, and maybe even hides outside of restaurant kitchens taking copious notes.

Without pause she ticker-tapes, "Bacon wrapped dates and olives, fried goat cheese, asparagus tempura, white truffle and porcini deviled eggs, crispy brussels sprouts, grilled gulf shrimp and chorizo skewers, Catalonian flatbread, pulled pork empanadas, house-made grilled Merguez, and braised short ribs of beef." So, that's what Ann, Jessica and I go with. (Donna was out sick with a sinus infection.)

We all began the night at Alta's bar drinking their super punchy sangria. Gail swore she wouldn't need a second drink. Ok, I did too. An hour later at our table we over ruled our swearing off a second drink and each ordered a glass of Cava.

When we checked in for our 7:30pm res, instead of the hostess (who looked like Lisa Loeb enlarged twenty-five percent) saying, "Welcome, enjoy your meal,"  we heard, "We have to turn the table at 9:30pm." And then we were lead to our table situated in one of the nosiest dining rooms in Manhattan. I guess the sound level is specially designed to drive diners out in two hours or less as well as the easy-to-gobble-up, delicious tapas. And if that doesn't work maybe they crank up some Lisa Loeb tunes?

Since our last meal together, Ann had ventured into the world of brown dating, and Gail had been subjected to her sister's friend decreeing that she must wear shocking pink to her sister's bridal shower. Gail was aghast, "Who owns shocking pink?!"  Possibly clowns, Mary Kay reps and blind people.

No floosie dinner is complete without something breaking. As Gail was driving home the difference between Thai-American and Thai-Thai to Jessica, her arm hit her champagne flute. The glass shattered as it hit the table, Jackson-pollacking Jess's white blouse in Cava. Luckily it was white and not red.

We ended with four desserts.The most amazing were the dark chocolate liquid truffles. They tasted like they had been plucked from the interior of a warm car. Each exploded in your mouth with a fruity filling. Much tastier than new car.

9:30pm came and went without being given the heave-ho by our Lisa Loeb on steroids hosteess.

We're skipping November and regrouping in December when it's Gail's pick. See you Floosies then.

Scuderia

I was the first floosy to arrive at Scuderia, Donna's pick. There are some pluses to working in DUMBO, Brooklyn. You can get to West 4th Street in 20 minutes without breaking a sweat or talking to yourself. I hit the bar and ordered a glass of prosecco while I waited for the others. As I sipped my dirnk, I noticed a pair of sneakers hanging over a pipe that hung over the bar. Immediate fear of shoe dust falling in drink hit me. I scooted down to next seat.

Half an hour later and two and half glasses later, we moved to our outdoor table. We ordered the Salumi e Formaggi platter. Using an 'e' instead of the word and really transports one to Italy. Before moving on to listing the mains we wanted I threw in an order for the olives. I feared one app wasn't going to cut it.

Lo and behold the first item to arrive were the.... seven olives in a bowl the size of thimble. I imagined the chef figured a thimble would make the seven olives look more like twenty-nine. I quickly did the math at $5.50 for seven olives that's 79 cents per olive. Maybe I should start a math club? The olive I ate was fresh tasting and crunchy. If it had been a bad olive, I was prepared to ask for a credit.

Our main dishes included an assortment of delicious pasta dishes. I think you can't go wrong ordering any of them so I won't bother to list the ones we ate.

To end the evening on a sweet note we ordered the Tiramisu, Pizzetta con Nutella e Mascarpone and something else that was basically a sundae with a thick bottom layer of peanut butter stuff.

The pizza (I won't bother with the extra letters) tasted like a rice cake with Nutella. In other words the waiter could have sent over a vaht of Nutella and five spoons. As for the sundae thing, the restaurant should change their name to Sundaeria. One wasn't enough for all the floosies. As I went in for second bite, my spoon knocked the dish off the table and to the ground. Gail quickly and professionally announced, "We can still eat it." I'm sure broken glass chards covered in gelato are delish. However, I waved my drunken arm and explained the series of events and the waiter cut me off by saying he'd bring a fresh one.

The photo above isn't of the chef, but sure would be funny if it were.