I don’t know if I’ve mentioned this, but I’m a foodie. I eat. I eat a lot, that’s true, but more than eating quantity, I want to eat variety. Give me a tasting menu any day. If it’s weird, I want to try it. I’m not the girl that gets the caesar salad everywhere to “compare”. No, I want the broiled squid or the oxtail or something with the word “reduction” in it. I’m rarely so happy as when I am tasting.
This one time, my husband and I were supping at Dino, a delightful little Italian restaurant in Cleveland Park. David (my best friend) and I had a killer dinner there during Restaurant Week and I was hoping to recreate it with the hubs. And the truth is, I have no idea what I ordered or what George ordered. I have this vision in my mind of very crusty bread and a generous dish of olive oil to dip in but everything else from our plates is gone. (If you go, you must search out the white anchovies – absolutely divine but absent from the menu on this occasion).
Also, I remember that there was a very attractive (sorry George, but he was!) man sitting next to us reading the paper. He noticed us taking interest in his burrata (like fresh mozzarella) when it came out. We chatted for a bit and then he offered me a taste. I paused for far longer than is appropriate and then declined. No, no, he insisted, I really must try it. I glanced at George, who clearly thought I was the rudest person on earth. Please, he said. So I tried his burrata, but on the condition that he try my dish. I did, he did. And that was the time I ate off a complete stranger’s plate at a restaurant.
In other news, here is a photo I took in Buzzard’s Bay, Cape Cod. It doesn’t have anything to do with Dino or eating, but it is recent. Many good travels, my friends.