The Birthday Blog, Part I: Dinner Tuesday Night
I turned thirty-four years old at 6:50-something this morning. I was curled around Amy, she beneath the the covers and I above them to keep from overheating too much. It's the happiest birthday I can recall.
I drove up to Cincinnati last night so we could be together, Amy having to present a copyright workshop at Xavier today (apparently you actually have to tell Xavier professors it's illegal to scan an entire book and upload it to their blackboard pages). She gave me some fantastic gifts before we went to dinner, but more on those in the next blog.
We ate at the bizarrely located restaurant Primavista: it's on top of a hill in the middle of a random neighborhood and on the bottom floor of a rather homely looking condo. (Walking into the building was a bit like walking into a 60s or 70s school dormitory, but the door to the restaurant was this large wood monstrosity with an iron handle. Its placement made as much sense as the location of the restaurant itself and, like the restaurant, if we hadn't been looking for it we would never have found it.) Primavista's website boasts its scenic dining area with views of downtown Cincinnati, and while the view was certainly nice it was the food that made the experience remarkable.
Amy and I had the Carpaccio Parmigiano (thin sliced raw beef with parmesan, capers, extra virgin olive oil, and hearts of palm) and the unpronounceable Carciofi con Lumache e Funghi (artichoke hearts with snails and mushrooms in a creamy Gorgonzola sauce) as appetizers (their menu can be viewed by clicking here). The parmesan made the carpaccio's delicate nature that much more sublime, and the snails, while tasting like the most delicious, buttery, and rich mushroom I'd ever eaten, were nearly overshadowed (in a good way) by the gorgonzola cream sauce. We continued dipping our bread, already laden with roasted garlic that had been pureed to the consistency of butter, in the sauce through the salad course and up until our meals arrived. (Salads were a nice mixed green concoction of radicchio, bib, escarole, and red leaf with a heavily peppered balsamic vinegar and oil dressing.)
The picture of the carpaccio on the dinner menu page, by the way, is nowhere near as beautiful as what they served us.
My main course was the pistachio crusted coho salmon (a special), broiled with a pistachio and pesto sauce on top of three mammoth asparagus spears and accented with artichoke hearts. The crust was prepared in such a way that it tasted like it was the natural result of broiling, and none of the flavors got in the way of the fish. The asparagus, which can be tough when approaching pontoon sizes, were perfectly done. Amy ordered the Filetto di Bue which is, according to the menu, filet mignon broiled & served with risotto croquette & calamari. She added a pat of melted gorgonzola and the result was a steak that literally (at least the bite I had) melted in your mouth. It was exquisite. The risotto was... risotto. I think I need to have truly magnificent risotto sometime so I can understand what all the fuss is about. To me it always tastes like over-flavored undercooked rice-wannabe pasta, and this version was fried. The calamari was letdown not because of flavor (it was flash-fried in a pepper tempura-like batter) but because it wasn't up to the rest of the meal in concept. Its texture was a distraction and better left alone. We had one side, Gnocchi di Patate, beautifully executed potato dumplings with pancetta, sage butter, and more black pepper. If you've never had truly excellent gnocchi the mouth feel is similar to a firm bread dough though, thankfully, the flavor is very different. (What? I was six-years-old once.) God, writing about the gnocchi has caused a salivary dump.
I wasn't impressed by the dessert options (I'm a creams and custards kind of guy, <em>sans</em> bananas, dammit) so we went with the Budino Di Panettone (bread pudding in caramel sauce with marsala-soaked raisins and whipped cream) and the Tiramisu (layered cookies, fresh cream, espresso, mascarpone cheese, chocolate and zabaglione). I was raised in Kentucky so I know my bread puddings and I'm dubious of anything lacking a bourbon sauce that destroys your ability to drive. The budino di panettone was <em>stunning</em> and what did it was the freshly made caramel sauce and the bits of shattered burned sugar sprinkled around the plate. As for the tiramisu, it seems that this dessert is can go one of two ways: really good or unforgivably blandly bad. After such a meal I don't know why I doubted Primavista. The addition of the zabaglione (an Italian dessert itself, made with egg yolks, sugar, a sweet liquor (usually Marsala wine), and sometimes cream and mascarpone) and a sweetened strawberry puree put what was "Merely Very Good"*1 into "Best Tiramisu I've Ever Had"-land.*2
The evening was pure bliss. I can't express to you how much I love Amy, who made all this happen, and how wonderful she is to me. I also need to stop writing because I'm supposed to be meeting up with the band (minus the drummer who had to work) for celebratory birthday drinks. I'll be tweeting where we are through the night in case anyone wants to drop in and say Hi.
My Name is Benjamin and I'm thirty-four years old. And I feel like I just woke up.
Footnotes
1) I can hear you now (because I'm saying it myself): "'Merely' very good, he says." You've read about the rest of the meal and can probably imagine what dumping an italian custard on top of tiramisu tastes like. I stand by the pomposity of "merely very good".
2) While we were waiting for our desserts to arrive our oddly affected waitress delivered a plate of Gelati Misti with a completely different caramel sauce and a single birthday candle. The three gelati flavors were chocolate, pistachio, and cherry and the dish acted as a sorbet of sorts that allowed us to go between the richness of the tiramisu and the budino di panettone. I know, right? Gelato as sorbet. Tough life.
I turned thirty-four years old at 6:50-something this morning. I was curled around Amy, she beneath the the covers and I above them to keep from overheating too much. It's the happiest birthday I can recall.
I drove up to Cincinnati last night so we could be together, Amy having to present a copyright workshop at Xavier today (apparently you actually have to tell Xavier professors it's illegal to scan an entire book and upload it to their blackboard pages). She gave me some fantastic gifts before we went to dinner, but more on those in the next blog.
We ate at the bizarrely located restaurant Primavista: it's on top of a hill in the middle of a random neighborhood and on the bottom floor of a rather homely looking condo. (Walking into the building was a bit like walking into a 60s or 70s school dormitory, but the door to the restaurant was this large wood monstrosity with an iron handle. Its placement made as much sense as the location of the restaurant itself and, like the restaurant, if we hadn't been looking for it we would never have found it.) Primavista's website boasts its scenic dining area with views of downtown Cincinnati, and while the view was certainly nice it was the food that made the experience remarkable.
Amy and I had the Carpaccio Parmigiano (thin sliced raw beef with parmesan, capers, extra virgin olive oil, and hearts of palm) and the unpronounceable Carciofi con Lumache e Funghi (artichoke hearts with snails and mushrooms in a creamy Gorgonzola sauce) as appetizers (their menu can be viewed by clicking here). The parmesan made the carpaccio's delicate nature that much more sublime, and the snails, while tasting like the most delicious, buttery, and rich mushroom I'd ever eaten, were nearly overshadowed (in a good way) by the gorgonzola cream sauce. We continued dipping our bread, already laden with roasted garlic that had been pureed to the consistency of butter, in the sauce through the salad course and up until our meals arrived. (Salads were a nice mixed green concoction of radicchio, bib, escarole, and red leaf with a heavily peppered balsamic vinegar and oil dressing.)
The picture of the carpaccio on the dinner menu page, by the way, is nowhere near as beautiful as what they served us.
My main course was the pistachio crusted coho salmon (a special), broiled with a pistachio and pesto sauce on top of three mammoth asparagus spears and accented with artichoke hearts. The crust was prepared in such a way that it tasted like it was the natural result of broiling, and none of the flavors got in the way of the fish. The asparagus, which can be tough when approaching pontoon sizes, were perfectly done. Amy ordered the Filetto di Bue which is, according to the menu, filet mignon broiled & served with risotto croquette & calamari. She added a pat of melted gorgonzola and the result was a steak that literally (at least the bite I had) melted in your mouth. It was exquisite. The risotto was... risotto. I think I need to have truly magnificent risotto sometime so I can understand what all the fuss is about. To me it always tastes like over-flavored undercooked rice-wannabe pasta, and this version was fried. The calamari was letdown not because of flavor (it was flash-fried in a pepper tempura-like batter) but because it wasn't up to the rest of the meal in concept. Its texture was a distraction and better left alone. We had one side, Gnocchi di Patate, beautifully executed potato dumplings with pancetta, sage butter, and more black pepper. If you've never had truly excellent gnocchi the mouth feel is similar to a firm bread dough though, thankfully, the flavor is very different. (What? I was six-years-old once.) God, writing about the gnocchi has caused a salivary dump.
I wasn't impressed by the dessert options (I'm a creams and custards kind of guy, <em>sans</em> bananas, dammit) so we went with the Budino Di Panettone (bread pudding in caramel sauce with marsala-soaked raisins and whipped cream) and the Tiramisu (layered cookies, fresh cream, espresso, mascarpone cheese, chocolate and zabaglione). I was raised in Kentucky so I know my bread puddings and I'm dubious of anything lacking a bourbon sauce that destroys your ability to drive. The budino di panettone was <em>stunning</em> and what did it was the freshly made caramel sauce and the bits of shattered burned sugar sprinkled around the plate. As for the tiramisu, it seems that this dessert is can go one of two ways: really good or unforgivably blandly bad. After such a meal I don't know why I doubted Primavista. The addition of the zabaglione (an Italian dessert itself, made with egg yolks, sugar, a sweet liquor (usually Marsala wine), and sometimes cream and mascarpone) and a sweetened strawberry puree put what was "Merely Very Good"*1 into "Best Tiramisu I've Ever Had"-land.*2
The evening was pure bliss. I can't express to you how much I love Amy, who made all this happen, and how wonderful she is to me. I also need to stop writing because I'm supposed to be meeting up with the band (minus the drummer who had to work) for celebratory birthday drinks. I'll be tweeting where we are through the night in case anyone wants to drop in and say Hi.
My Name is Benjamin and I'm thirty-four years old. And I feel like I just woke up.
Footnotes
1) I can hear you now (because I'm saying it myself): "'Merely' very good, he says." You've read about the rest of the meal and can probably imagine what dumping an italian custard on top of tiramisu tastes like. I stand by the pomposity of "merely very good".
2) While we were waiting for our desserts to arrive our oddly affected waitress delivered a plate of Gelati Misti with a completely different caramel sauce and a single birthday candle. The three gelati flavors were chocolate, pistachio, and cherry and the dish acted as a sorbet of sorts that allowed us to go between the richness of the tiramisu and the budino di panettone. I know, right? Gelato as sorbet. Tough life.