Thursday, September 17, 2015

You Don't Know How it Feels to Be Me

We got out of the habit of eating out when I lost my job and we became seriously broke.  Then I started enjoying to cook more and opted to eat in instead of going through what felt like the hassle of getting ready and making a production out of just eating.  Don't get me wrong, I celebrate and enjoy food immensely.  Just everything was reevaluated at some point and it became less important. First we didn't do dinners, only brunch and breakfast but often at least.  Then my schedule put the skids on those fun times.  Now we really only go out to dinner if there is bad news to break, family or friends in town and in any case, it's never just the two of us.  It is always with a third party.  I used to bitch about it until I realized, I don't really care.  If I want to go to a restaurant, we could go anytime.  We have amazing delivery options, so that is still alive and well.  It's not a bad thing.  It's just how it is.  You go through phases but also, I want to know exactly what I'm eating right now.  I like choosing the ripe tomato and the crispness of the greens going on my plate.
So a relative was in town and decisions did have to be discussed so to a dining establishment we did trek.  John's of 12th Street. It was my choice.  Matt loves pizza and we wanted an old timey sort of feel, white tablecloths, male wait staff.  It was all of these things and the food was good.  The food was not great but by no means bad.  Sometimes you want 'good' though.
I had one of the specials, a gnocchi in a brown butter sauce.  And I think I either bullied Matt into getting the other special which was some orange ravioli or I pushed him to try something more fun than one of the regular entrees he was leaning towards.  I persuaded P to get pizza, so we could share. He doesn't care.  P's not a foodie.  He likes food and he can understand when it's really good but he doesn't live and breathe it like I do.  He doesn't think about it and write about it and cream over a good sauce or cut of meat.  He wasn't preoccupied with what he'd get given the choice of a full Italian menu.  He didn't understand my inner turmoil when faced with traditional verses specialty mains.  An amazing lasagna or linguine with clams made well could kick the shit out of any special.  But was it worth the risk?  These are the problems i had that night. He touches on it sometimes but he can never fully know what food really means to me.  All that it encompasses.  It's probably for the best.

We sat next to that huge ass candle that's been burning since prohibition or something.
Avocado pesto bruschetta for an appetizer.  Good.  And old New York Italian just good was exactly what I truly wanted in food that night.

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