Debt. Austerity. Brie riots. Dark times, indeed.
So, finally, some good news from Europe: their pizza industry is in fantastic shape.
For proof, look at Vapiano, a cunning mix of Italian La Dolce Vita and brisk German efficiency, establishing a beachhead in Lincoln Park as early as this coming Thursday.
Based in Bonn, it’s taking an aggressive posture in the US with three key truths about you, the American consumer: 1) You’re picky about pasta. 2) You need faster access to beer. 3) You’re done splitting the check.
So the cafeteria-style service is ideal with a big group of friends. You’ll each get a card that electronically records exactly what you order.
Then someone will head to the pasta station to dictate exactly how you like your carbonara. Someone heads to the pizza station and orders a Capricciosa, one of 16 pies on the menu. Then someone—namely you—heads to the bar for the first round of Peronis. (Or at least you will, after their liquor license arrives in October.) Meet at a big communal table, where the basil plants are yours for the picking.
Soon enough, you’ll be able to head to the lounge, relax in cushy red leather seats, listen to some music, maybe discuss the upcoming Chicago G8 summit over rounds of Negronis.
Incidentally, we hear Merkel can really knock back the Campari.
So, finally, some good news from Europe: their pizza industry is in fantastic shape.
For proof, look at Vapiano, a cunning mix of Italian La Dolce Vita and brisk German efficiency, establishing a beachhead in Lincoln Park as early as this coming Thursday.
Based in Bonn, it’s taking an aggressive posture in the US with three key truths about you, the American consumer: 1) You’re picky about pasta. 2) You need faster access to beer. 3) You’re done splitting the check.
So the cafeteria-style service is ideal with a big group of friends. You’ll each get a card that electronically records exactly what you order.
Then someone will head to the pasta station to dictate exactly how you like your carbonara. Someone heads to the pizza station and orders a Capricciosa, one of 16 pies on the menu. Then someone—namely you—heads to the bar for the first round of Peronis. (Or at least you will, after their liquor license arrives in October.) Meet at a big communal table, where the basil plants are yours for the picking.
Soon enough, you’ll be able to head to the lounge, relax in cushy red leather seats, listen to some music, maybe discuss the upcoming Chicago G8 summit over rounds of Negronis.
Incidentally, we hear Merkel can really knock back the Campari.
