Gimme Pretty Food
Good day today. A TWO post day.
Sometimes, food is not good. Earlier today, I stopped to get an Italian soda, made the UNFORTUNATE choice of picking gingerbread flavored syrup (I KNOW. What was I thinking?!) and had to dump it out in a gutter. I think I was subconciously wishing for a cookie, and that was as close as I felt I could come.
But sometimes food is good. Tonight Sam took me to a fancy place for dinner. Lineage, in Brookline. I forgot how much I LOVE me a fancy restaurant. I didn't even know how much I loved them until I started dating Sam and he took me to Cafe Degas in New Orleans, Purple Parrot in Hattiesburg, Restaurant August in the French Quarter, and some place in Greenwich Village I can't remember the name of where I got the most aesthetically pleasing meal of my life, etc. Since we moved here, we've been attempting to be more financially conservative. To be, like, grown ups. But I'm so glad we didn't tonight.
Here's what I remembered, what I want to remember because we paid a darn fortune for these details: At fancy places, there are tablecloths--clean, crisp, white ones. People fill your water glass, give you fresh silverware for nearly every bite, have intelligent things to say about the menu items, wear pretty clothes. At this place, they had a big wood-burning stove in the back. (I caught the reflection of the fire in the window and briefly thought a car was burning.) The salt and pepper were in little wooden cellars on the table. They played semi-cheesy jazz music that didn't seem cheesy at all. They brought us fire-warmed rolls in a big oblong basket.
And the food. The FOOOOOD.
For the appetizer, we had lobster tacos: little taco shells stuffed with lobster meat, creme freche, avacado mousse, and some indian spice that I can't pronounce. (Okay, maybe the tacos sound weird but holy happy loveliness.) Sam had scallops on a bed of fennel squash risotto. The bite he could spare for me was wonderful. I had this thin, bafflingly delicious pizza with (and this sounds odd, too.) yukon gold potatoes, sauted mushrooms, sprinkled with some green herb and drizzled with truffle oil. I also had a salad with cranberries and oranges and bacon and strange lettuce that looked like coral. They brought it out with pears poking at artsy angles, and Sam said it looked like the underside of a lobster.
Dessert (sorry, Chinese Herbalist.): dark chocolate bread pudding made with brioche. Vanilla ice cream on the side.
Seriously, folks. This was such a happy time. Sam kept trying to talk to me, carry on a human conversation, and I found it so distracting. I wanted sush him, tell him I was eating, close my eyes and listen to the sappy music and feel the heat of the wood stove and swoon for the flavors in my delighted mouth.
This is what prompted Sam to say, "You're in love with food." And I got offended, huffy.
But it's true. It's TRRUUUEE. I love me a lovely dish. I'm a sucker for restaurants and waiters and water in tall glasses and especially for pretty things that taste pretty. Sigh.
It was worth every penny. Every darn penny.
Sometimes, food is not good. Earlier today, I stopped to get an Italian soda, made the UNFORTUNATE choice of picking gingerbread flavored syrup (I KNOW. What was I thinking?!) and had to dump it out in a gutter. I think I was subconciously wishing for a cookie, and that was as close as I felt I could come.
But sometimes food is good. Tonight Sam took me to a fancy place for dinner. Lineage, in Brookline. I forgot how much I LOVE me a fancy restaurant. I didn't even know how much I loved them until I started dating Sam and he took me to Cafe Degas in New Orleans, Purple Parrot in Hattiesburg, Restaurant August in the French Quarter, and some place in Greenwich Village I can't remember the name of where I got the most aesthetically pleasing meal of my life, etc. Since we moved here, we've been attempting to be more financially conservative. To be, like, grown ups. But I'm so glad we didn't tonight.
Here's what I remembered, what I want to remember because we paid a darn fortune for these details: At fancy places, there are tablecloths--clean, crisp, white ones. People fill your water glass, give you fresh silverware for nearly every bite, have intelligent things to say about the menu items, wear pretty clothes. At this place, they had a big wood-burning stove in the back. (I caught the reflection of the fire in the window and briefly thought a car was burning.) The salt and pepper were in little wooden cellars on the table. They played semi-cheesy jazz music that didn't seem cheesy at all. They brought us fire-warmed rolls in a big oblong basket.
And the food. The FOOOOOD.
For the appetizer, we had lobster tacos: little taco shells stuffed with lobster meat, creme freche, avacado mousse, and some indian spice that I can't pronounce. (Okay, maybe the tacos sound weird but holy happy loveliness.) Sam had scallops on a bed of fennel squash risotto. The bite he could spare for me was wonderful. I had this thin, bafflingly delicious pizza with (and this sounds odd, too.) yukon gold potatoes, sauted mushrooms, sprinkled with some green herb and drizzled with truffle oil. I also had a salad with cranberries and oranges and bacon and strange lettuce that looked like coral. They brought it out with pears poking at artsy angles, and Sam said it looked like the underside of a lobster.
Dessert (sorry, Chinese Herbalist.): dark chocolate bread pudding made with brioche. Vanilla ice cream on the side.
Seriously, folks. This was such a happy time. Sam kept trying to talk to me, carry on a human conversation, and I found it so distracting. I wanted sush him, tell him I was eating, close my eyes and listen to the sappy music and feel the heat of the wood stove and swoon for the flavors in my delighted mouth.
This is what prompted Sam to say, "You're in love with food." And I got offended, huffy.
But it's true. It's TRRUUUEE. I love me a lovely dish. I'm a sucker for restaurants and waiters and water in tall glasses and especially for pretty things that taste pretty. Sigh.
It was worth every penny. Every darn penny.
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