Buona Sera

It’s way after midnight right now so I can’t call and tell you what happened at dinner tonight. Then again, I have no idea who you are, so I probably don’t have your phone number. Besides, I rarely phone anyone except my mother. (She doesn't text.)

Never mind, I’m writing it all down to amuse myself and because I’m buzzingly awake from the double espresso at the end of the meal.

Oops! Spoiler alert!

Nah, I’m just messing with you, though the espresso was real.

The dinner story: I was at the Italian place across from Danger Room. (DangerRoomImprov on Facebook, look'em up. Click "like") I eat there before I go to Danger Room, which means almost every Friday.

I have a regular waiter who is Italian of the both-sides-of-the-face kissing variety. It’s okay, he really is from Italy. The other waiter comes by to say hi too. He’s just as Italian, but via the Bronx. The Sicilian chef calls me “darling” because I am visibly female. They always give me these fabulous little sugar cookies that aren’t on the dessert menu. Mmm. Cookies.

But I digress. You get the point. I'm a regular.

Of course the hostess doesn’t bother giving me a menu -- not because I’ve already memorized the relevant parts (which I have) but because I don’t order anything. Food is brought to me. There is a difference.

Here’s what happens: My personal waiter verifies that I will eat whatever ingredients he has in mind, in tonight’s case, shrimp. Then he disappears. I read my book. I visit with the pleasant bussers or the hostess. Delicious food appears that may or may not be on the menu.

Tonight it was a composed arugula salad with mango chutney and grilled shrimp. I chatted with the Italy-Italian waiter about it. He spoke of the inspiration offered by special customers, and the desire to make something unique for them. I missed a lot because of his accent, but that’s the gist.

Then he disappeared and brought me some lovely lobster bisque.

While I was enjoying my soup (mmm soup!) the Bronx-Italian waiter took an order at a table behind me. He listed the day’s specials, which included – you guessed it – arugula salad with mango chutney and grilled shrimp.

Ha. Busted! It wasn’t made uniquely for moi, or however you say moi in Italian. Not that I care. It was good, I was happy, and the cookie they gave me with my espresso had apricot in it. Yay for me!

But it’s a silly little reminder to take everything with a grain of salt, and maybe some freshly ground pepper.

Just kidding. The metaphorical salt is plenty.

Ciao, belli amici!