There's no need to ever peruse the menu at Old Spaghetti Factory; I know exactly what I want.  Never to vary, I stick with the KISS method: Keep it simple, stupid.  For me, it's a quick order of Mizithra spaghetti with a side of broccoli.  That's all I need. That's all I want. Don't try and suggest something else, it will only confuse me.

Now, as for my drink order, that's a different story.  Bandito Betty is usually my deciding factor and main bodyguard when it comes to fielding all questions from over-thinking bartenders.  All I want is your most popular drink within the last hour, Bartender Einstein - no need for the epic inquisition concerning my favorite type of drink.  I don't get paid to make decisions. I get paid to drink.

Hell, someone has to do it.  Might as well be me.  Salut!

Drink One: Blackberry Margarita (bartender's choice) - Thankfully, we had no problems at all with Rob, our Old Spaghetti Factory server du jour.  He listened, and provided all requests without hesitation.  And might I say his choice of drink was quite delicious.  Served on the rocks in a pounder glass, I couldn't imagine quenching my Mizithra thirst with anything else at that moment - except, maybe, some red wine. ... 

Oh please say red wine was the most popular drink within the last hour, Rob!  Oh please. Oh please. Oh please!

Drink Two: Columbia Crest Merlot (most popular drink within last hour) - SCORE!  Red wine! 

Oh, wait, what?  It's Columbia Crest Merlot, you say? Dammit.  I knew it was too good to be true.

Drink Three: Blackberry Pomegranate Long Island Iced Tea (My choice) - Suddenly, the cheap wine-cloud cleared and rays of fruity alcoholic beverages began to shine down upon us from the heavens above.  Except, instead of actual "heavens," the light shone down on us from the top of the antique train we were dining in located in the middle of the restaurant. 

But after three drinks, the unusual fact that I was dining inside a train located inside a restaurant didn't matter.  What mattered was I had a ride home, my Mizithra had made it in my belly, and I had realized that I no longer needed to "get paid to drink." 

What I needed was to get paid for a hangover. 

Old Spaghetti Factory

1735 Jefferson Ave., Tacoma
253.383.2214