Geranio

I'm back with a mini-vengeance to recount my dining experiences, and I must admit, it's very satisfying. Sort of like the majority of my meal this evening. The weather is miserable: rainy and hazy and it fogs up my windows and turns my fingertips white. After work, sitting saturated in my car, I realized I have a unique opportunity few people have: I can do whatever I want, every night. I can eat candy bars for dinner or go bowling or see a movie or buy galoshes or drive to West Virginia. I decided to take myself to a nice dinner at Geranio on King Street, which my friend Tammy recommended for their risotto and because I am renewing my project to dine at every restaurant in my neighborhood. I parked 1.5 blocks from my apartment, but right in front of the restaurant. This seemed like an obviously good idea, because of the rain and my reticence to pull out my umbrella. I entered, despite the candlelight, and realized this is only the second restaurant I've dined at alone with only votives for illumination; the first time was fine (ok, sort of depressing because I had just moved to town and didn't understand how it was possible that a 24 year old could have nothing to do on a Friday night and just stumbled in). This time, the candlelight was also a negligible factor in my enjoyment of the restaurant.

I ordered wine and was served delicious crusty bread with perfect little butter balls and green olive oil (what Yiayia says is best). The waiter was fine (I didn't understand what "lovster" risotto was until he left) and I ordered my salad: three warmed mozzarella balls wrapped in prosciutto, with a sauce of braised tomatoes in the middle, entirely drizzled in balsamic vinegar and basil oil. It was magical. Hearty but not too rich, delicate but not fragile, and very sophisticated until I realized the taste it reminded me of was Applebee's mozzarella sticks. I'm regressing.

During the consumption of I think my second cheese ball, some idiot woman backed into my car while she was parallel parking. This is the problem of watching people park around your car while eating. I went out, cheeks flushed, checked the damage and there was none. I lost a bit of my appetite out of anger that a thoughtless woman picking up some obscenely large gift basket can't use her mirrors. Then, my waiter didn't ask me for a new glass of while. I guess I'm a petulant customer, but I don't feel like I should have to ask for either more bread or more wine at a Mediterranean place, because I certainly don't have to ask for oxygen--another necessity--there either.

I ordered mushroom risotto, and despite my disappointment that $17 worth of rice didn't buy me a complete lunch for the next day, I enjoyed the flavors immensely. It had two kinds of delicious mushrooms, English peas, pancetta, shaved Parmesan, and white truffle oil. The truffle oil was disconcerting because it elicited bad memories of an even worse date, where my companion was discussing the merits of a $30 bottle of truffle oil and I wanted to douse him in it and accidentally strike a match. Ok, that's mean. He's probably only worth a coating of vegetable oil anyway. But, it was delicious... very sophisticated but homey, without being too cheesy or creamy. While perusing the dessert menu, I noticed the table next to me oooh'd at a car parallel parking that hit the car behind it--a silver one. My silver one (I saw no damage in the dark, but took his plates too).

I tried concentrating on the dessert menu (eventually deciding upon an almond/pear tart with a hazelnut anglaise). However, the building fury at the criminal treatment of my poor car and the molasses-speed movements of my waiter made me lose my sweet tooth (that rarely happens), haughtily give my credit card to the waiter before seeing the bill, and return home to find my tax forms waiting for my in my mailbox. I'm just too fragile for fine dining I suppose.