Jones & Formosa Cafe: Viv And Betty Boom Boom Hit The Town.

I had originally planned to take it easy Friday night, but when I learned of my impending banishment to that outer level of hell also known as Detroit, I convinced our roving reporter Betty Boom Boom to rally for a night on the town. In typical Vivian and Betty fashion, we wanted Italian food. Of course it was Friday night, and we didn't have a reservation, so no Pizzeria Mozza for us. We finally decided on Jones (a place where I've done more drinking than eating), because (1) neither of us remembered there being anything offensive about the food, (2) we got a 9:30 rezzy, no problem, and (3) if the scene wasn't good at Jones, we could always head across the street to Formosa for a drink.

JONES

I'll admit that last time I ate at Jones, I was a tad too intoxicated to render any opinion about the food. And when I say intoxicated, I mean drunk enough to fling a meatball at a particularly douchey guy Betty and I had acquired earlier in the evening at El Guapo (soon to be the subject of a RIP post, so stay tuned).

I was pleasantly surprised by my more sober dining experience Friday. Betty and I shared the proscuitto and melon, a caprese salad, and the penne pasta with turkey sausage and rapini in a spicy tomato sauce. The proscuitto and melon were elevated above the usual by a generous hit of fresh black pepper. The caprese salad was on the salty side -- a good thing in my opinion, since I pour salt on everything, but maybe not for everyone. The pasta was simple, spicy and good, with a surprisingly high ratio of goodies (i.e. sausage & rapini) to penne.

The price point worked too. We each had a glass of wine with dinner, and our bill was still about $40. Add to that the good music, interesting crowd, judicious use of subway tile, and door guy that gave compliments instead of attitude, and you've got a good start to a Friday evening.

FORMOSA CAFE

After dinner Betty and I went over to Formosa Cafe for a drink. A friend of ours (male) is always touting the virtues of the Formosa Mai Tai, and another friend (also male) recently blacked out lost part of his evening after sampling three of these famed creations, Never broads to shy away from a challenge, we decided to make it a Mai Tai night. As soon as we walked in, we ran into the Mai Tai lover and two of his friends, one of whom had recently deemed this Mai Tai trend distincly un-macho, but who had one in hand himself. They called it the "gay Friday Mai Tai club," and based on the presence of maraschino cherries in the drink I'd say the moniker is appropo.

After all the hype, I was expecting a fishbowl-style monster, but the real deal was much more innocuous and came in a regular highball glass. A little sweet for my taste, but somehow the right drink for the dim lighting, leather booths and old Hollywood feel of Formosa. I went home reasonably sober, and did not black out or discover takeout of mysterious origins the next morning, but then again I stopped at two Mai Tais. Maybe three is the drunken hook-up magic number.

* Disclaimer: the drink in the picture is not an actual Formosa mai tai, just a mait tai pic I found on the internet. The Formosa version is heavier on the pineapple juice and much lighter in color.