Everyone says:
Make sure you go on a date now!
Get to movies now because you never will again!
Go go go!
A couple of weeks ago, we made a trip up to the hot springs. Probably won’t do that again because sitting has become so much less fun, especially on a long car trip, and bathroom visits so much more frequent.
Movies are a similar challenge — can’t put my feet up. Oh, the swelling…
After a very productive day yesterday, we decided to have our “Last Meal.”
We picked our favorite local fancy Italian restaurant that we always reserve for special occasions and treats.
Upon arrival at said restaurant we discovered that we had happened upon the last night of the chef’s annual Truffle Dinners.
The man goes to Italy, hunts for the truffles himself, comes back, and creates (hard to call it just “cooking”).
After we ordered, our waiter brought a small round wood board with a glass lid to the table containing what looked like three moon rocks. He held the lid open and passed the platter under our noses. Mmmmmm, truffle smell. How to describe? Earthy, musky, a little bit of a bite?
We started with duck liver panna cotta, a dense, creamy yet airy pudding made with black truffles, house-made charcuterie (well, Scott had that stuff, not sure I’m supposed to and anyway, too salty for my edema — Oy!).
Course number two was celery root gnocchi in a creamy white truffle sauce, with fresh green herbs snipped in. This was the first dish to warrant a visit from the truffle shaving lady. She came to the table with one of the nuggets and a special wooden shaving implement. Shoosh, shoosh, shoosh, shoosh, the paper thin petals floated down onto the snowy white dumplings.
It may have been the best thing I’ve eaten in my entire life. Scott’s eyes were like saucers on his first bite. There was a kind of high that came from smelling and eating it. (My heart is beating fast again now even as I write this, remembering how it tasted.)
Course three also brought the truffle lady back. A creamy pork scaloppini with anchovy and radicchio for me, a broiled vitellone steak with creamy roasted cauliflower for Scott (the cream thing seemed to be a theme, and good for combining with the flavors of the magic truffles).
“How much do you want?” she asked. I asked her what she recommended. “I usually cover the dish — about 3 to 5 grams.” Sounds good to me, I said.
And so she shooshed over both our plates.
Coffee and tea to end the meal. And then the bill came.
Scott’s eyes were even wider than they’d been when he’d tasted the truffles.
“How bad?” I asked. “Is it a stroller?”
We knew this place was pricey, it’s our special occasion restaurant.
The oops was in how we’d read the menu.
Truffle service tableside: $12.
Turns out that was $12/g. As in “per gram.”
Errrrr. Kinda missed that small g on first reading.
Well, it is going to be our last fancy meal for a while, right?
Scott took the receipt and wrote a note to our future son on the back, explaining that this is how we celebrated his impending arrival. And this is why we strongly suggest he go to law school.
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