The Art of Eating In - Cathy Erway [154]
“Oh,” I said.
“Sometimes I don’t even have to go to the places to write about them.”
“Is that how it works?” I asked.
“Not all the time.” Keith shrugged.
“That’s sneaky.” We laughed. “Sometimes I wish I didn’t have to eat the things I cook for my blog when they turn out bad or are really fattening.”
We glanced at our menus as we chatted.
“What should we start with?” I asked.
“I heard the warm beet salad is good, and the blackened shrimp,” said Keith.
We decided to go for the blackened shrimp. Our waiter came to our table to tell us the specials. After he described the last one, seared sea scallops with haricots verts, I was sold. It had sounded simple but wasn’t something I would normally cook at home; sea scallops were a luxury I rarely felt like indulging in just for myself. Keith ordered the apple-glazed pork chop. Our appetizer arrived a few minutes later. Four fat shrimp were speared with a wooden skewer, looking juicy and crisp on the outside. A lemon half on the side of the plate had a funny-looking cheesecloth fitted around it with an elasticized edge.
“It looks like it’s wearing a little hairnet,” I said as I squeezed the juice through the cloth onto the shrimp. “I guess that’s for keeping the seeds away.”
The shrimp was hot and perfectly seasoned with blackened Cajun spices. It was not innovative or very fussy, but the shrimp itself was deliciously fresh.
“Wow, that’s really good,” I said. “Totally classic. I can appreciate that.”
Keith agreed. As we slowly finished the appetizer, we kept a conversation going, first about movies, then about authors that we found we both liked. We had both recently gone to see films at the same noir retrospective at the Film Forum.
It soon became clear to me that I was on a classic first date—the restaurant type. Everything about the affair was very reserved and polite. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate with friends when I didn’t throw a piece of food at Matt or didn’t eat with my hands. “Are you going on a date?” Chrysanthe had written over instant messaging earlier that day, when I described my dinner plans. I scrunched my nose. “No, it’s more like a weird opposite-week challenge,” I had insisted. Whatever.
As I sat across from Keith, though, talking in between slicing through buttery lumps of scallops, I did have to admit that I was having a nice time. And that I did think he was pretty cute. Halfway through my entree and well into my second glass of wine, I wasn’t eating out of hunger, just enjoying the unique sensations of the food on my plate. I took my time with it, savoring the delicate spindles of haricots verts, which were pleasantly lemony and resilient to the bite. The restaurant was busy for its first week of service, but it seemed that the noise level never rose above a soft murmur. We finished dinner off with another drink—Bourbon on the rocks. It was another thing we found we both liked. When our glasses came to the table, they were filled to the brim.
“Gosh, they really don’t skimp on portions here,” Keith said.
Our waiter never made us feel as if we should rush, but I ended up drinking that Bourbon pretty quickly. Keith was game for checking out the music show afterward, and I didn’t want to miss the act. When our check came to the table, Keith snatched it up.
“Wait, let me get half,” I said, pulling out a credit card.
“No, it’s fine,” Keith said, hovering over the check protectively.
“No, really! It was my idea!” I pried, trying to angle my card into the billfold. But he was having none of it. The waiter came by and took the check from Keith’s hands with a nod. I had no idea what the total bill was, but I guessed it was well over $100, with six drinks, two entrees, and an appetizer between us.
“I can expense some of it” Keith shrugged. I was defeated.
We walked outside to get our bikes, since we had both ridden to the restaurant. I strapped my chain lock around my waist and strolled up to his bike.