There is a cute little Italian restaurant in the West Village that we call "ours." Whenever we go in, usually just for a glass of wine, the owners greet us with big smiles, remembering us from our first visits there. The place is always quiet and usually almost empty. Though we have wondered how the cozy little joint stays in business, we were always happy to have a quiet, peaceful space to call our own. We have made a habit of going there on special occasions to celebrate with a glass of wine and a few appetizers, a good place to talk and take inventory since the last time we found ourselves chatting with the thick-accented Stella, the owner's daughter and new mother to a baby girl.

One summer night, we wandered in just as they were closing. Instead of turning us away, they carried a table outside, set up two chairs and watched approvingly as we sipped our wine. That's the kind of place it is.

Though we've never needed a reservation. M. called ahead of time in case Valentine's Day was unexpectedly busy. When he got no answer, we chalked it up to the laid-back ways of the owners but last night, as I was approaching the restaurant, M. greeted me with the sad news that the restaurant was closed. A sign was hung in the window saying "Closed for January" and well, now it's February. Not a good sign. We're crossing our fingers that this is not permanent but it doesn't look good.

Fortunately, there is good news: I have to believe it's fate that Peanut Butter & Co. is on the same block as our little haunt. As you may recall from a few blogs back, I LOVE me some pb&j and M. is no stranger to this fine delicacy. So for dinner, we got ourselves some high quality sandwiches (extra pb for M, crunchy for us both and grape jelly just the way mom use to make it), found a little bench and chowed down. It was just right.