As I sauntered through the East Village one evening with sangria flowing through my bloodstream I came across a restaurant that looked so painfully charming that I almost fell to my knees and crawled up to one of the outdoor tables so that I might get a mere sensory feel for what it would be like to dine there. But instead I just wrote the name down in my phone and went back another day. Via della Pace (pronounced PAH-CHAY for all you non Eye-talians) is on 7th Street near 2nd Ave and was cheap and delicious and has a million different kinds of pasta. The two photos you see are the only ones I managed to take before my camera battery entered its death throes and ceased to function.
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