The back garden at Deb and Jim's in Greenpoint. We ate on the patio, some steps up, which is theirs. The garden belongs to the owners of the house, who live up upstairs
I wanted to call this post Comme il faut, meaning, As it should be. But Vince convinced me that it means, As it should be according to convention, which might be condescending.
I meant, As it should be, but rarely is: in other words, perfect.
And I'm not talking about the beet tzatziki I made, from the NYTimes. Didn't do it for me.
We sat outside and drank bubbly and looked at the May flowers - peonies about to open, a neighbour's clematis, Deb's bare root David Austin roses showing distinct signs of life. From the left came the sound of Friday chanting at the temple down the road, to the right a party got going next door, upstairs. In the middle of dinner three ominous sirens started wailing and we thought the end of New York might have come, but nothing happened.
[3 days later I dreamed that they were tornado warnings for a multiple touch down twister that barreled over Brooklyn and the house leaving scorch marks and a camera that refused to work]
Tidbits kept arriving. Delicious green olives, buttered radishes...
Marinated anchovies with toasts...And prosciutto and mozzarella with lovely, young farmers' market leaves. No picture. Maybe I was embarrassed. Taking pictures of someone else's
dinner is like taking a two year old to Cafe Boulud. Just wrong.
Bubbly gave way to fragrant white wine, and Jim started to get serious about the fire for the steak from Ottomanelli's. I was quite excited. A long time since any of us had had steak.
It was a hot fire. We think Jim lost some hand-hair.
The steaks were superb. Charred on the outside, tender on the inside. Deb produced more: cranberry bean salad, and crushed potatoes into which the charcoal-seared ramps were tossed at the last moment. Red wine filled our tumblers.
For dessert, a berry cobbler, and Häagen-Dazs ice cream. Hibiscus tea, coffee.