Thanks for Four Years of Awesome
So Long, and Thanks for All the Fish
Blogged Around Philly: Farewell Edition
Photoist
To my dear, darling boyfriend:
There's no easy way to say this, so I guess the best thing to do would be to just come out with it: I have a new boyfriend. His name is James.
Oh, don't worry. It's not your best friend James – that would be cruel to you, and besides, your best friend James has a lovely girlfriend. I wouldn't dream of coming between them.
No, the James to which I'm referring lives on 8th Street, and isn't a person at all. My James is a restaurant. JAMES, to be exact.
It all started last night, when you took me there for my birthday dinner. The restaurant's atmosphere is so seductive: the wood floors, the pale blue walls, the candlelight. The leather. Very sexy. It had me at "this way to your table, please." The glass of vinho verde that I chose to start with was perfect (it's a wonderful wine, but easy to make badly), and you claimed your vodka tonic was one of the best you'd ever had. That's because JAMES is a classy place. Our waitress, Meghan, was very helpful in suggesting menu items to us and explaining terms that even we, as foodies, had never heard of. That's because JAMES is patient. And then Meghan brought out the amuse bouche – smoky, salty pork pate on toast. Heavenly. That's because JAMES is talented.
When our first course finally arrived—sautéed langostino tails with whipped vanilla-infused ricotta, grapefruit slices, and grated black walnut—I actually didn't know what to do with myself. The presentation was just too perfect. (Have I mentioned how attractive I think JAMES is?) Then, I took a bite. Good lord. My tastebuds had an orgasm. (You know my theory about foodgasms, don't you honey?) I have never had a combination of flavors quite like that. That's when I started to get an inkling that you and I might have to have this talk.
Before our second course, you told the sommelier what we'd be eating and he recommended the perfect wine to complement it. It was too dark to read the label, which is unfortunate, but I swear to you, I would happily replace my daily water intake with this stuff. Then came our braised rabbit agnolotti with muscat grapes and pecorino di fossa. These little stuffed pasta pillows weren't as novel as the langostino, but they were damned near perfect. The thinly-sliced grapes were just sweet enough to complement the gamey flavor of the rabbit, and the pasta shells were hard evidence that Chef Jim Burke is a man who knows his stuff. I hate to tell you this, but by this point in the evening, if JAMES had asked me to leave you, I probably would've.
Entrees: I got the special for the evening, a hanger steak over smoked potatoes and swiss chard in a red wine sauce. I thought it was pretty tasty (the potatoes especially). And then I had a bite of your entree (Jamison Farm lamb over creamy tarbais beans, melted shallots, and a fall spice jus) and just about fell off the padded suede banquette I was sitting on. I am fairly certain that I have never had a sexier piece of meat – no offense. I feel a little icky for cheating on you with your own meal, but hey, it happens. And honestly, from the look on your face while you were enjoying your meal, I think the infidelity was mutual.
I think I was panting by the time Meghan brought the dessert menu.
All of the desserts looked incredible, but then she told us about the special for the night: a pawpaw trio: pawpaw ice cream, pawpaw brulee, and a pawpaw colada. I had never heard of pawpaw, let alone tasted it, but when Meghan told us that it was a fruit only in season for two weeks out of the year, we had to go for it. JAMES is such a tease like that.
Turns out we ordered exactly the right thing. The ice cream had more of a sorbet texture, but it was definitely creamy in flavor. I think that pawpaws taste like a combination of a passion fruit and a mango, but perhaps with a slightly more bitter flavor profile. The creme brulee was exquisite, served warm so we knew they caramelized it to order, with an exceptionally thick crust. And the colada—a tiny drink made from pureed pawpaw and pineapple juice—took my breath away. I wanted a gallon, but alas, it wasn't to be.
After clearing our dessert plate, Meghan announced that there was one more treat in store for us, and returned quickly with a tiny square plate. On it were two dime-sized cookies with a dollop of coconut meringue on them, and two orange candied cubes, the proper name for which escapes me at the moment. I usually hate coconut, but the flavor was so light and delicate that I enjoyed my tiny bite, following it up with the orange candy. Perfect palate cleansers: they wash the sins of your meal away. Or at least, the appearance of the sin. My sin with JAMES was still there, even if the flavor wasn't.
And so I just wanted to tell you about my new lover. I'm not leaving you or anything—I have enough love to give you both—but I figured that I should at least be honest with you about this.
For the record, though: I'd totally understand if you made JAMES your boyfriend, too. I can share.
Image via JAMES's website.
add to digg
add to stumble upon
add to reddit