So, with maybe not-enough-hand-wringing (I've got to make it to Buffalo Wild Wings in a few hours for OU's first game so I can't be that self-flagellatingly penitent to dedicate more than one paragraph to the how many beautiful food photographs will exist caption- and blog-less) I'd like to tell you about my culinary adventures with my man friend. Soon.
This summer, I dined once (legitimately Boca Sola-style) sidling up with a book at a linen-clothed table at Del Campo in Chinatown. Granted, my man friend was down the street drinking craft Oktoberfest beers and hunting HD African animals on a $1.00 video game, but I'll showcase his sophisticated tastes in a few short paragraphs.
Since it's summer, cold things have been preferable to warm things. Del Campo prides itself on an "everything is grilled" menu which, while a bit militant, is delicious. I started with a cocktail, the Encanto Del Campo, with pisco, lime juice, syrup, allspice dram, and mint. I had an exquisite brothy/crunchy/charred tuna ceviche, with grilled avocado, olives, burnt shallots, pistachios. Tuna ceviche typically feels so dainty and contrained; this one was equally centrifugal but the burnt avocado made it taste like something with a flavor of a beach-side barbecue or a mostly-attentive backyard griller. It was a shade enough beyond a normal ceviche to really intrigue.
Then, since there are a few things in the world that are my anti-kryptonites that I am obliged to order on menus, I had the burnt artichokes with grilled zucchini and parmesan, with my food-crush, squash blossoms.
I also accepted the challenge of eating something I probably could have easily passed up: beef heart. Not being a man, it seems it did me no good in the plussing-up-on-virility department and not being anemic, I'm not certain I needed an explosive amount of iron. But, I couldn't resist.
And it didn't disappoint (until, admittedly, the final bite and I thought about my childhood preferences for filet mignon). It was served two ways: on the left, on a kabob atop griddled polenta and on the right, tartare, with a quail egg. Tartare was the unexpected double challenge, particularly when I thought of a pretty vital organ going straight to my plate. But I ate it all. Just for the blog (and because I was still hungry).
However, the majority of my summer dining has been spent with my man friend. The blog really likes him: he takes care to postpone the first bite until a photo is taken (he has even taken some himself!) and always shares with his amateur food blogger. He also has exceptional taste, ordering his eggs over easy and not fearing a little runny egg yolk.
And can pair his chili (that he's made) with an appropriate beer pairing.
For his birthday, we went to the Ashby Inn, a charming little establishment in Paris, Virginia, and we ate on its exquisite patio with some very fancy folk. It was remarkable in all its details. He ordered scrapple--the charmingly tiniest bit of scrapple with rich sunlight-dense tomatoes--and I had raw tuna with visibly large salt flakes and the most exquisite charred broccoli. We were in raptures (each at our own level of rapturing, of course).
My man friend had venison with edible flowers and salted potatoes that looked like small rocks. It was extemely sophisticated mountain man food and was rich but since the rareness chilled it, making it a little lighter. I had grilled fish (something I had to confirm was fish with the waiter before ordering as it was something I'd never heard of) and a lovely, light salad with marcona almonds. The fish skin was crisped just as I like it and its flesh was rich and moist.
We ordered two desserts because that's just what one does when faced with difficult dessert choices. He had an elderflower and jasmine rice pudding with streusel (with something green in it like parseley we couldn't place) and peanuts. I had a broken up financier with nectarine sorbet, toasted cream mousse (it was like astronaut ice cream) and hazelnuts and ridiculously tasty.
And, because this place was fancy, we had a second round of exquisite desserts--free-form Turkish delights and root beer macaron.
We've even had French, with my man friend ordering two Ricards (travesty of travesties, the wait staff had no idea what that was). We went to Bastille, a charmingly (mostly) French place up the street that while enclosed in run-of-the-mill American siding used in 90% of churches in Oklahoma, is quite lovely.
We started with fancy cocktails: I had a flutey Sauternes-centric drink (Sauternes is a dessert-wine from the Bordeaux-region) and he had a delicious rum drink. Restaurant Week (which recently concluded in Alexandria) allows diners to put aside their caloric considerations while spending only $35 and change on a dinner (in my mind, a prix fix meal obviates the need to be concerned with caloric intake).
My man friend ordered really exquisite shrimp beignets, with corn and basil: they were whole-shrimpy and light, but still had the unruly flavor of delightful fair food. I had the peach salad with caramalized pecans and a fried bit of chevre, which I learned was called a cromesqui.
Our dinners varied a bit in quality: he had hangar steak that was quite chewy. I'm a big sauce-on-beef fan but even that couldn't hide the over-marbling. The fries tasted like Charcoal Oven's, but that's a fast food place in Oklahoma City. I had grilled fish with ratatouille; it was tasty but a bit over-charred. Nevertheless, it was tasty.
Dessert was inventine, but not singular: he had compressed watermelon (it was so adorably brightly-colored to seem like a Fisher Price toy) with an exquisite mint sorbet, but it was more clever than delicious. I had three really wonderful cheeses (with half a candied fig and some probable quince paste), but I'm not sure I can give the restaurant credit for good taste in fromage.
There has been lots of good dining this summer though, fancy and not. And this fall, there will be boneless chicken wings, starting tonight. Boomer!
