spring kisses summer

lured in by 2 words artfully inscribed on the storefront signage: wood fired, I found myself compelled to make a careful U-turn, for an opportunity to explore what I hoped might be a neighborhood gem. it was a Saturday night, around 8-ish and I was alone, exploring the nooks and crannies of the food/wine scene in portland, the spot of local color I selected for my summer ad…opps, I mean, (food)venture. as is customary for me when I am traveling or dining alone, i opted for a seat at the bar. i was pleasantly surprised to discover the wine list included some more obscure varietals, instead of the usual suspects, and ordered a glass of gavi di gavi, a current frontrunner in my summer crush: dry, crisp, whites.

the menu was printed out on paper, a harbinger of hope that the restaurant's focus is on fresh, seasonal, and available ingredients, altering their selections with the season’s bounty and best. the yummy words, wood fired, still ambling about in my brain, directed my attention to their pizza offerings. with barely a nod toward the more formidable entrees, my focus was honing in on the pizzas. after reading the sign, i could feel the urgency of my ache for a crisp, slightly charred in just the right places, thin crust, adorned with the season’s finest crops, local, artisanal cheeses and cured meats. after some reflection and some drooling all over myself (metaphorically of course), i managed to whittle down the choices to two; one of which featured wild mushrooms, one of my go-to pizza topping faves, but I found myself incredibly torn, as another tempting offering whispered breathily in my ear, like a new lover's entreaty, imploring and impossible to tune out.

when pulled in two directions, without a dice in hand, i fell back on my usual gambit - ask the waitperson! they sample the food, they live a life of foodie bliss, surely they are in the know....so, i queried the handsome waitperson/bartender for his gastronomic wisdom on wood fired fun.

wisdom is what i sought; wisdom is what i received, as he reminded me that pizza al funghi is a repeat offender on their menu, so i could come back and fulfill those desires on another visit, but the other contender vying for my attention was evanescent, making a brief appearance rat the moment, but, likely to be whisked away at the chef’s culinary caprice or whim. like being torn between two lovers...but in this case, i can have my pie and eat it too, so i must opt for the one making a rare appearance, leaving the regular joe for another wood fired foray into shroomy, earthy goodness.

i must confess here that i not infrequently solicit input from waitstaff as i muse about my selections, and thus far, i have never been steered wrong. so i was eager and willing to follow his sage counsel and plunge, mouth, tongue, and fingers into the wood fired creation du jour.

conflict resolved, i sip my gavi, while making small talk with a couple sitting next to me. finally, i am presented with this formidably pretty pie, whose moniker eludes me now, possibly due to imbibing not one but several gavi’s. taking my first timid bites into the smoking hot pie, and all i could think about was: spring kissing summer. it was as though spring rushed up, softly, gently, sensually, kissing summer..... stimulating the senses, stoking desires, teasing the palate in the wake of flavors and textures.

the thin, crisp crust bubbled up around the edges, faint spots of blackened hue attesting to the wood fired conflagration when dough meets heat, searing but not burning the exterior to crusty deliciousness. and the toppings were a mellifluous mélange of flavors, that seamlessly segued from one season to the next….hints of lemony brightness paired perfectly with creamy, pillowy ricotta clouds, slathered over a luscious layer of herbaceous pesto, topped off with thin, perfectly cooked ribbons of zucchini, that were both springy and soft….fabulous fusion of flavors...the brightness of the citrus dusted ricotta (reminiscent and redolent of spring) deeply kissing summer’s ripeness with aromatic basil pesto, and firm, slightly sweet, al dente zucchini. i savored every sinful bite of this perfect pie, knowing i would take half home with me to savor yet again.

conversation with the couple next to me flowed for several hours and before long we were a trio, devouring a plate of profiteroles. the couple, regulars at this neighborhood gem, coaxed me into indulgence, despite my protestations over the temptation of dessert. cleverly they convinced me that the because desert came with 3, not 2 sumptuous, puffs penetrated with soft balls of ice cream, drizzled a thin river of warm chocolate sauce, dusted with jagged bits of chocolate covered toffee, that i would just have to share it with them, or risk them eating even more. it didn't take much convincing, as i was easily seduced by my convivial companions. mmmm, our three forks moved in unison, stabbing and claiming as our own, one little island of lushness..... like a unexpected kiss, deliciously planted on your lips at the conclusion of a first date, sharing the profiteroles was the perfect unanticipated ending to socially and gastrogasmically pleasing evening.

post script: I was so enamored with spring kissing summer pizza that I went back a week or so later, only to discover that my love was not a love at all, but rather, was just a summer romance ---a short-lived passionate encounter with love at first bite, to be relived again, only in the fertile fodder of my memory and a single photograph, not unlike a summer love affair.

finally, she posts after a ridiculously long hibernation

not too long ago, I dined with a large group at a local Italian spot near the beach, well one of the beaches, as there are many. i decided to order 2 appetizers instead of a single app and a main, as i am enamored with the grazing concept; sampling from an array of gastronomic sensations, instead of a single, looming plate sometimes heaped with copious amounts of single preparation, although better restaurants don’t heap, but creatively plate lesser amounts of better prepped culinary creations. my first small plate was seared scallops atop a creamy fondue; unusual, I know. no dunking of cold scallops into a plunging sea of boiling oil to bring them to temperature as one might encounter in a fondue joint (ok, just saying –not a fan of dipping meats and sea bits into a mini cauldron of boiling oil at a restaurant). moving along here -- the scallops were sliced in half horizontally, creating much surface area for searing, and rendering the scallops into mini crustacean pancakes. the scallops were perfectly seared, crusty on the outside, creamy soft, with a tiny bite (although not chewy) on the inside - -al dente! . the scallops rested on a golden hued bed of aromatic fondue, thick and golden, like creamy polenta, but not a hint of glop; a perfect foil for the soft, sweet, slightly chewy, opalescent crustaceans perched atop the velvety bed. it was a very small bite...so more to come……

for my second small plate, i was a bit more intrepid with my selection, opting for the veal sweetbreads, topped with a cooked quail egg. OMG, was this ever a taste, texture, olfactory sensation exploding in my mouth at once...the sweetbreads, rich, intense, earthy, topped with a sunny side up quail egg. one quick stab of the tines, and POP goes the yolk, spewing forth it's slightly gelatinous saffron hued river streaming over the succulent sweetbreads, surrounded by what appeared to be a sprinkling of wild mushrooms (although i am not certain of this). in any case, this dish left me hungry for more' of that explosive pop of flavors flooding my mouth, despite the fact that my hunger was now sated. isn't that what any really good appetizer ought to do? stimulate the palate, tease the tongue, torture the diner, helpless and bound in the shackles of gastrogasmic bliss, aching, begging for just a mite more.

i would eagerly return to this venue just to greedily mop up a few more bites of this earthy, oozy, rich palate teasing and pleasing morsel…and if there happened to have been any shackles nearby…well, that my dear friends, will be left for the subject of another sizzling post.

although tempted, tortured, and teased, i opted of out the dessert course, even as various offerings beckoned me like a siren, but despite the tussling with temptation, restraint won out, and my inner voyeur kicked in, as i watched others dive into their dolce (sweet, in italian), taking my own pleasure vicariously, as i gingerly sipped a full bodied italian red, swirling around like a dancer in my oversized goblet.