Entree Envy

I am working this week at our fabulous performing arts venue NJPAC.  It is located in the most beautiful area of downtown Newark (yes, there really is one) and boasts world class performances from the globe's most gifted performers.  I love coming here because the venue is awesome, our clients are fun and the food service team we have here is like a box of Crackerjacks--there's always a surprise or two inside.

It is also fun to travel here because of its proximity to New York City, about 22 minutes and 4 panhandlers away by PATH train.  As a matter of fact, after work today and I am heading to the Big Apple for a pre Christmas holiday weekend of theater, Fifth Avenue window shopping, and of course, surrendering to the siren call beckoning me to the foodie capital of America.

Speaking of food (yep, going there once again, Dining Dave) I had dinner with friends last night in Jersey City at a "Manhattan style" eatery called the Light Horse Tavern.  At 8:30 on a Thursday, the place was buzzy with alcohol-fueled merriment, small (and New Jersey loud) holiday gatherings, and waitpersons scurrying around the handsomely appointed room with cheerful attentiveness and snappy sass.

In our group of five, I was seated next to my friend Kathleen, a lifelong Manhattanite who recently moved to Jersey City after living the last ten years in about 25 square feet on the Upper West Side.  (It was actually less an apartment than an oversized dollhouse.) After downing some excellent Fisher Island oysters from Block Island Sound, our main courses arrived.  A couple orders of Fish and Chips, some French Onion Soup, Kathleen's Raw Bacon wrapped Individual Meatloaf, and Spaghettini with Scallops and Peas for me.  As our group surveyed the dishes in front of us, it was clear I had won the prize for ordering correctly, which I refer to as my innate menu-ography.

Imagine a generous pasta bowl of perfectly cooked spaghetti dotted with two dozen sauteed bay scallops and a large handful of freshly steamed sweet peas swimming in sinfully rich brown butter sauce.  The aroma rising off the plate was intoxicating, so at first I didn't notice how intently Kathleen was staring at my plate as she forked into her overcooked lump of meat.  I had a couple of bites of my dish--super rich and approaching utter bliss--and Kathleen asked if she could have a taste.  I like sharing food at table, so of course I assented, although I wasn't very interested in trying anyone else's selections. 

I got involved in a conversation at the other end of the table for a minute or two, and then returned my attention to my delicious dinner.  It. Was. Gone.

While my back was turned, that sneaky, aggressive northeastern gal had "tasted" every remaining morsel and was greedily sopping up what was left of the sauce with a slice of freshly baked Italian bread. Stunned, I wasn't exactly sure what to say.  As I was groping for the most polite way of calling her a food thief and a guttersnipe, she batted her beautifully made up, lying eyes and said, "I'm sorry.  Weren't you finished?"

Being the polite, Southern gentleman that I am, I resisted my initial impulse to haul off and backhand her.  I woefully stared at my empty plate (which by now she had thoughtfully returned to its place in front of me) and murmured something about already being full.  Meanwhile, the Evil One was asking the waitress to wrap up her meatloaf to take home since she "didn't have room for it."  Really.  How startling.

I did survive the night without starving due to a couple of Tic Tacs I had in my pocket and downing several glasses of water (which made the cab ride back to Newark quite uncomfortable.)  In the grand scheme of things there was no real harm done, and Kathleen probably did my waistline and my cardiac health a world of good by Hoovering what probably amounted to two cups of melted butter.

But tomorrow night at dinner after a matinee performance of the Book of Mormon, I know what my plan will be.  Wait until Kathleen and my other friends are seated, and then quietly slip out to the restaurant next door.