When you think about it, pasta's a little weird.

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It hasn't been a terribly exciting two days, because Beacon Hill shops are not particularly exciting. (You know, just in case you were dying to shop there. Have fun selling your firstborn in order to do so.)

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As I was dawdling at my computer screen, wondering, "What other sorts of fun, unique, and interesting things can I write about Beacon Hill, especially about its food and accommodations?" I realized something a little startling. I can't write much that's fun, unique, or interesting to most Beacon Hill establishments because—

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Part of acclimating to any city is learning the neighborhoods, and from that, learning certain variations in definitions for each area. For example, in the North End, you will not only quickly cease to imitate the Sopranos, but you will also learn that the North End's definition of "crowded pastry shop" is not like the rest of the world's definition of "crowded pastry shop"—visit Mike's Pastries and you'll understand the difference.

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It can be tough to be a lady in the West End. There, I said it. Although the West End has plenty to offer,* it's a little rougher than most of downtown Boston or Boston's pretentious neighbor, Cambridge. You might get catcalled, whistled, or beeped at multiple times in only a couple of hours while you're strolling the rat warren of side streets, and forget it on game days—once fans come pouring out of the TD Garden from their Celtics or Bruins match and flood the pubs, the bachelor crowd only tears its attention away from post-game breakdowns to ogle women blearily (and, might I add, beerily). It's easy to feel that you're more subject to their hunger than the greasy burgers sitting on the counters.

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