Armed with forks acquired at the door, wrist-ringed with blue hospital bands marking us as Those Who Belonged Within, we traveled from hand sliced ham from Salumeria Rosi's rosy pig leg, to Whitehall's just-set savoury panna cotta topped with raw tuna, to morsels of slow cooked pork ribs with sweet pickles, to pork shoulder shredded in a broth rich with anise and rutabaga (yes, that can be a good thing), to Veselka's melting pierogis, to an unlikely ceviche of duck - the Frenchman might have returned four times for another sliver, to fresh oysters to...
...to Hendrick's gin cocktails mixed with blood orange juice: Hm, tastes like Kool-Aid, murmured Vince speculatively (OK, moving along), to Eden's ice ciders - vibrant and snappily dry (one of my top two tastes of the night - brewed in Vermont and flavoured with understated basil, or sold in slim bottles and sweet as a dessert wine), to Crop Vodka's cucumberish coldness, to the Brooklyn Gin punch bowl. Where I could have stayed all night. And to whose cool depths I may have returned four times. Well, three. Maybe. And it's not even made in Brooklyn. Do I care? Hell, no! It is stunning. And their punch just charmed the entertainer in me. A circle of melting lemon ice infused with all its herbs and spices - nine of which I have forgotten, bar orris root and angelica.
There was a lot we did not drink, but we have no regrets. Only very fond memories. It was a helluva shindig and beautifully done. Thanks, Edible (and thanks Ed.).
Oh Marie- wish, wish I could go, that duck ceviche sounds intriguing? x
ReplyDeleteSeems so much more than edible ;-)
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