3,973 steps, 1.4 miles, 2 floors
Saturday, July 29th, 2017
Recovery day. Friday night, M and I were invited to dinner at Blanca, a 2-two Michelin star restaurant tucked into an old factory/warehouse space beyond the main a dining room and the semi-enclosed labyrinth of courtyards, at least a couple of bars, and dining spaces that comprise Roberta’s on Moore St in Bushwick. At the end of what feels like a night market in some hip third world capital, cobbled together with corrugated metal, recycled timbers and bits and pieces of torn down buildings, we were led through a black door into a sleek, high-ceilinged, space; white, modern and clean that opens onto a stainless steel kitchen faced by a long counter that seats up to a dozen or so people for a 19-course tasting menu that began for us at 9:00 p.m., and as near as I can tell, ended around 1 a.m. I say near as I can tell because our hosts, L&J, ordered six bottles of wine for the four of us though my memory of events becomes somewhat hazy at about course number 15. I am so glad M suggested last minute we take a Lyft (not Uber), rather than drive to the restaurant. If not, we’d probably have had to leave the car there and go back and try to find it in the morning.
The food: beyond anything I’ve had before, not only in terms of scale, variety, creativity and visuals. The tastes were all distinctive and fresh, all prepared and beautifully plated before our hungry gaze. The wines L ordered, matched the food in all those things -- scale, variety, distinctive and visuals. L had started us off with two different whites, the second a Chenin Blanc. I don’t know that I knew what the first one was. If I did, those brain cells have since gone to a better place. Then two bottles of the same (Umbrian) red, ordered and set to breathe together in a beautiful, tall decanter, made by a glass-blowing customer especially for the restaurant.
After we finished those off, and now that L’s judgement is sufficiently impaired, he proceeds to order another bottle of wonderfully expensive red (French?). I mean, other than Brunello, I don’t get to drink really good wines often and I’ve forgotten almost everything I knew about French wines... let’s just say it went down way too easy.
We were engaged spritely conversation by our three servers -- Jamie, Missy and Leslie -- all of whom seemed very happy to be there, except perhaps Missy, who dropped a plate on her foot at the beginning of the service and was happy to moan about it all night (It did look a bit swollen and bruised). L plied us, the servers and the chef with samples of the wines (probably saving my life), and I do believe that even the staff were a bit tipsy by the end. After dinner was cleared, one of the servers brought us a pizza from Roberta’s (unbidden and on the house) that we ate as if we were starving. By now I’m stuffed and marinated. Not surprising as I also remember eating M’s lamb course and J’s uni. Good thing I’m committed to stay sober, exercise and lose weight for the kidney transplant this Fall!
Needless to say, getting up at 7 a.m. yesterday a.m. to make breakfast for the B&B guests was a challenge. Fortunately, it was a light day, and was back in bed and asleep before the first of them had come down to eat. I slept then until 11:30 a.m. and woke up at the sound of the door bell, though I can’t remember who it was or if I even answered it. I spent the rest of the day taking it easy. We ate summer squash and mozzarella pannini from Blue Apron for lunch, took another nap and then walked to Maya Taqueria for dinner, the extent of my physical exertion for the day. Yes, I ate again -- a chili relleno platter with rice and beans, and two diet cokes. The perfect cure for a good-wine hangover. Sadly, it says more to my tolerance for alcohol than to the quality of the wine, that I wasn’t as hungover as I was tired.
I think now I’m going to do a nice 5k speed walk around Prospect Park to ease my guilty conscience.