Andy Carvin is a Twitter star, and Wright Bryan manages NPR's busy blog roster. But in the office, when Wright and I get to talking about how neither of us have had a McRib before, and Andy jumps in to say he hasn't had a McRib in decades, we almost immediately depart the building for the nearest McDonald's. We eat standing amid the usual chaos, complete with security guard, at the Verizon Center franchise.

We bite in, worry about the sexy (?) box and congratulate ourselves. This post, as you must know, is not an endorsement. It is just lunch.

A year and a half ago, when I still worked at USA Today, I received a Tasting Table email about a new Capitol Hill restaurant called Acqua Al 2. My favorite paragraph about the Italian spot began, "The assaggio di primi ($13) presents five different plates of the house-made pastas."

I bookmarked the page immediately.

Time passed. I jumped to NPR. Tasting Table started a to-do feature. I killed my bookmark and put Acqua on mine. The site's editor became a friend. Her boyfriend became a fellow gunslinger. Colleagues became friends and more, and many of them turned out to live on Capitol Hill.

This story leads to the fact that I've now finally been to Acqua Al 2. For 11/11/11, Lori, Becky, the no-longer-elusive Kyle, and I dressed up and went for dinner. We wound up sitting below the mystery plate above.

A couple bottles of Montepulciano around the table, sizable tastings of five different vegetarian pastas (a pumpkin bowtie and the risotto with parsley, basil and rosemary were my favorites, but honorable mention to a simple vodka-sauced penne that was perfectly cooked), and then a dessert platter where the tiramisu was good but a berry cheesecake had immense flavor and surprised everyone at the table. Good service, low, warm lights and conversation volume, even with the place packed.

Didn't realize until later: The pasta we ate was what Tasting Table had mentioned in that first, intriguing paragraph. Oh, the roads we travel…

Stops at the post-fire Tune Inn, the post-fire Argonaut, and the happily fire-free Smith Commons followed. Following taxi issues and bartender neighborhood fears, we celebrated 11:11 11/11/11 at the middle stop.

In the early morning hours, we saw the Sticky Rice police car. The sight made me happy. A year and a half ago, I had wanted something new.

You heard me right. Washington now has a meatballs restaurant. It's called "Meatballs." Colleagues Sondra, Lauren and I visited for lunch last week, after its opening. We left impressed and full of meatballs.

The place was packed when we arrived around 12:30, but tables grew easier to find over the hour. Music by the door was ear-splittingly loud.

But the volume was better further into the restaurant, and the menu distracted us from all else. For this first visit, I went the simple route: classic meatballs, inside sliders, with marinara and mozzarella slices added on. The pricing was odd: half the posted price for two sliders. Why not offer four sliders at regular price? I would have eaten four.

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A lowly sea creature lofted to culinary heights, a lowly vegetable that gets a fancy name, a drink made of common ingredients in a shapely, light-catching glass. Sitting at the Tacklebox bar with plastic utensils, you are both the 99% and the 1%, simple yet fortunate to be there.

Blogged here three years ago about the restaurant closing. The fam was very happy to have their hush puppies, fish and bread again a week ago in Wanchese. The warm bread was instant sense memory for me. The restaurant has reopened under new old management — the Daniels family back at the helm, the Virginian Pilot says.

1. Breakfast at Shoney's. Say you're having breakfast there with your son. Or your two med school buddies. What do you order? The breakfast specialties or the buffet?

2. Dating a girl with a Sicilian grandmother. It leads to situations that involve cannoli.

3. Elvis meeting Nixon. Smoking Gun presents the letter before the picture. Elvis' handwriting is worse than mine!