Food Porn
I know, it’s evocative of something from the movie 9 ½ Weeks, but that’s not what I mean at all. When you’re involved with someone with whom you’re sexually sated you can start to focus on your other sensuality. I like to live in a visually, acoustically, and olfactory – rich environment at any time, but last night I had a peak sensual experience that I must share.
There is something about going out to dine with a beautiful woman that puts an extra little zing into a meal, even though you have absolutely no designs on her. It’s like having a little fresh ground pepper on your salad, or something else that piques the senses. By going with a girl friend to enjoy a meal that didn’t just border on decadence, but had a whole hand and foot over the line, meant that there was no distraction by sexual tension, or other agenda, and so we were free to nearly swoon over the quality of the food.
Al Forno in Providence, RI has been written up in every foodie magazine over the years, and for good reason. While they indeed think presentation matters, they don’t sublimate your hunger through artistic arrangements and do provide appropriate, even large portions. They DON’T offer you fresh ground pepper on your salad, or extra parmesan on your pasta, because they season and cheese it correctly at the outset.
In college, I would meet my cousin and mother at this same restaurant (although it was in a different location then) as much as three times a year. In those days, I read a menu from right to left, not because it was in Hebrew, but because price mattered. I still do that, but with the understanding that I’m sure as heck going to order one of the hand-crafted desserts (the kind you have to order with your meal so that they’ll be done in time). In those days, I didn’t understand the importance of a meal as a sensual experience.
As an adult, I began to experience the same kind of gratification from good meals that I got when I realized those Cosmo magazines WEREN’T lying about great sex, just how and when you got it. I can still remember with the same fondness one thinks of an old flame, the cornmeal encrusted oysters with chipotle dipping sauce I had in Baltimore, the pan-seared skate with garlic-cheese mashed potatoes I had after my aunt died, some flash-fried calamari in New York. But last night’s meal ranks in my top ten.
The meal began on the right foot when we were seated outside in the courtyard, rather than shivering in an over-air-conditioned dining room that might have had plenty of ambience, but would have detracted from the overall meal in that attention would have been diverted to addressing discomfort. We started with a bottle of wine from the Apuglia region of Italy (in the heel of the boot, our server, a gorgeous young woman with slightly too many teeth for her mouth and fabulous olive skin, told us after we asked and she checked) that was nicely spicy, not too tannic, an excellent compliment to the meal. Our salad came out as smoked salmon with a chimney of zucchini strips, cut with mandoline, and filled with a dice of cucumbers in a sauce of crème fraiche and dill, topped with frisee. Our main courses were a mint tagliatelle (more fettucini-sized) topped with lamb that must have cooked for 10 hours, mint, and a light pomodoro sauce that became infused with the mint; a baked pasta with pancetta, ricotta and parmesan cheese, spinach, and fresh tomatoes. Mmmmm. Trina (from hereonin referred to as "Queen of the Harpies" (be careful what you wish for, QOTH)) won with the lamb, but the crispy edges of the pasta shells at the top of the dish that were filled with a tiny bit of sauce and cheese were quite nice too. I will say one of the other great pleasures of a meal like this (and one of the very best aspects of my late husband that I will reflect on this day, our anniversary) is that everything is ordered cooperatively and for sharing. There is no one twirling some pasta around their fork and saying, here try this. There are two plates pushed as close together as possible and equal eating of both plates with eye rolling and little moans of pleasure that probably made the tables around us nervous.
As we concluded the meal with a lavender-scented panna cotta with honey and bee pollen (possibly one of the best flavour combinations I’ve ever experienced), I watched our server watch us with a bemused look on her face. Did we want coffee or cappuccino? Hell no, who would want to remove this fabulous taste from their mouth.
The drive home was not unlike a drive after you depart from your lover with whom you’ve been inseparable for a weekend. Small smile on your face as you replay the movie in your mind of when he said that, or when he looked at you that way. I reminisced about the texture of the cucumber nuggets, and thought wistfully of the two or three chunks that were on the plate when our server took it away. I daydreamed about how the lamb and mint combined with the tomato sauce to make an entirely new flavour. I felt as though I had experienced what heaven must taste like, through the panna cotta.
There is something about going out to dine with a beautiful woman that puts an extra little zing into a meal, even though you have absolutely no designs on her. It’s like having a little fresh ground pepper on your salad, or something else that piques the senses. By going with a girl friend to enjoy a meal that didn’t just border on decadence, but had a whole hand and foot over the line, meant that there was no distraction by sexual tension, or other agenda, and so we were free to nearly swoon over the quality of the food.
Al Forno in Providence, RI has been written up in every foodie magazine over the years, and for good reason. While they indeed think presentation matters, they don’t sublimate your hunger through artistic arrangements and do provide appropriate, even large portions. They DON’T offer you fresh ground pepper on your salad, or extra parmesan on your pasta, because they season and cheese it correctly at the outset.
In college, I would meet my cousin and mother at this same restaurant (although it was in a different location then) as much as three times a year. In those days, I read a menu from right to left, not because it was in Hebrew, but because price mattered. I still do that, but with the understanding that I’m sure as heck going to order one of the hand-crafted desserts (the kind you have to order with your meal so that they’ll be done in time). In those days, I didn’t understand the importance of a meal as a sensual experience.
As an adult, I began to experience the same kind of gratification from good meals that I got when I realized those Cosmo magazines WEREN’T lying about great sex, just how and when you got it. I can still remember with the same fondness one thinks of an old flame, the cornmeal encrusted oysters with chipotle dipping sauce I had in Baltimore, the pan-seared skate with garlic-cheese mashed potatoes I had after my aunt died, some flash-fried calamari in New York. But last night’s meal ranks in my top ten.
The meal began on the right foot when we were seated outside in the courtyard, rather than shivering in an over-air-conditioned dining room that might have had plenty of ambience, but would have detracted from the overall meal in that attention would have been diverted to addressing discomfort. We started with a bottle of wine from the Apuglia region of Italy (in the heel of the boot, our server, a gorgeous young woman with slightly too many teeth for her mouth and fabulous olive skin, told us after we asked and she checked) that was nicely spicy, not too tannic, an excellent compliment to the meal. Our salad came out as smoked salmon with a chimney of zucchini strips, cut with mandoline, and filled with a dice of cucumbers in a sauce of crème fraiche and dill, topped with frisee. Our main courses were a mint tagliatelle (more fettucini-sized) topped with lamb that must have cooked for 10 hours, mint, and a light pomodoro sauce that became infused with the mint; a baked pasta with pancetta, ricotta and parmesan cheese, spinach, and fresh tomatoes. Mmmmm. Trina (from hereonin referred to as "Queen of the Harpies" (be careful what you wish for, QOTH)) won with the lamb, but the crispy edges of the pasta shells at the top of the dish that were filled with a tiny bit of sauce and cheese were quite nice too. I will say one of the other great pleasures of a meal like this (and one of the very best aspects of my late husband that I will reflect on this day, our anniversary) is that everything is ordered cooperatively and for sharing. There is no one twirling some pasta around their fork and saying, here try this. There are two plates pushed as close together as possible and equal eating of both plates with eye rolling and little moans of pleasure that probably made the tables around us nervous.
As we concluded the meal with a lavender-scented panna cotta with honey and bee pollen (possibly one of the best flavour combinations I’ve ever experienced), I watched our server watch us with a bemused look on her face. Did we want coffee or cappuccino? Hell no, who would want to remove this fabulous taste from their mouth.
The drive home was not unlike a drive after you depart from your lover with whom you’ve been inseparable for a weekend. Small smile on your face as you replay the movie in your mind of when he said that, or when he looked at you that way. I reminisced about the texture of the cucumber nuggets, and thought wistfully of the two or three chunks that were on the plate when our server took it away. I daydreamed about how the lamb and mint combined with the tomato sauce to make an entirely new flavour. I felt as though I had experienced what heaven must taste like, through the panna cotta.
posted by kingoftherabbits at
7:20 AM
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