And to think I was grumbling about moving my lazy tush over to Shearwater at lunchtime. Even after the long session of ProD I was sighing inwardly because the sound of the rain rumbling and tumbling over the school's roof gave me shudders about the walk to the seabus. I even mentioned how I wasn't even really hungry while on the seabus. But he still wanted to go... Frog was insistant. I'm SO glad he was because I had the best "food sex" I've had in ages. Come on... you know sometimes that food is a hot and heavy lover who sets your mind and body reeling.
First it started with not really being able to decide over three choices chalked out on the specials board. It was soon evident we couldn't so we chose all three. They all sounded amazing and like a lot of thought had been put into them.
Not very long later we were presented with a dish as pretty as a tropical flower. The descriptor on the board of "Shrimp Bruschetta with aioli" was a ruddy understatement. Here were five sets of collective shrimp, cheese, onion, peppers on firm tasty sesame-dusted bread ready to be enhanced by the most amazing looking sky-magenta aioli! Intrigued by the colour, I dipped in and added it to my bruschetta... and knew that true happiness CAN exist in a food product. The bruschetta (of which I got only TWO, Mr. Frog!) were soon polished off in a paradoxical time period: both in a slow motion enjoyment and as a quick-grab of fleeting raptures at the same time. The mayonnaise base was so obviously made from scratch as it reminded me of the aoili I'd had with lagoustines in Brittany, France. Frog must have found heaven in the mayonnaise base too because he insists he HATES aioli and yet we were fighting for best dipping position over this pretty purple paradise. Now THAT is the mark of a remarkable chef! If they can change Froggie Food Nazi's mind about his dislikes, I offer up tuition for their culinary classes!
Ready to fork-stab the waiter if he took away the remaining aoili, our next two courses were presented quickly. Mine was a bacon-wrapped halibut piece presented on a bed of luxurious (new favourite word LOL) cream-cheese and smoked salmon sauced penne rigate. The descriptor-rich English language is still not enough to truly explain this food experience. Prompted by our enjoyment of the bruschetta dish, we both quickly dug into our dishes until my rapture was snapped by "OH MY GOD... I forgot to take a picture!" The pictures you have of ANY of the food is just by sheer chance available since our greedy desire for fulfillment overtook the logical mind.
So... back to the halibut.
It was a tournedo of halibut with bacon border in name only. The moist firmness of the white flesh sealed in by the quick golden crust on top and bottom and the bacon edging made me pause in momentary silence followed by a query in mind as to how in Heaven's name did I manage to stay on the raw food thing as long as I did some couple years back. And how on Earth do you describe perfectly cooked halibut without resorting to comparisons to scenes in 'When Harry Met Sally'. The pasta, dancing with little cubes of smoked salmon, was a completely irresistable with its creamy sauce JUST enough and not too much. I really tried to enjoy it s-l-o-w-ly... but I couldn't . I just couldn't.
Froggy enjoyed a half piece of slow-roasted curry basted chicken. I'm still laughing that he hesitated over choosing it because his mind was set that night on a attacking a peppersteak. For a man who claims he loves only the wings and legs, he sucked that birdy down to the bone one silent moment of bliss after another. Even he was shocked at how he ate every bit since he normally doesn't care for the white meat as much nor picking meat away from the ribs. And oh how funny it was to see him crowing over the succulent neck bone(one of his favourite parts). Even funnier still was that he was worried that the appetizer and chicken wouldn't fill him up. I think his post-meal groaning defied THAT earlier belief. We both ate our main meal with a Mission Hill Chardonnay that was delight to the tongue. I was surprised at how yummy it was that night since I could take it or leave it on other nights.
We both sat there after, sated and discussing the food endlessly, trying to find words to expressively convey our enjoyment. Later in the evening we spent time finding those words again as our chef came over to ask about dinner. If I could have spoken at top speed for twenty minutes I think maybe I could have expressed our happiness. In our discussion we found out that my guess for the purple colouring was wrong and NOT something beet related but in fact it was a red wine reduction! Mmmmm! How intriguing! And our dear chef also described how he's cooked the chicken with dipping it in hot curried oil so it half cooked and then roasting it in the oven after.
In the end we wended our way down to the seabus and capped off the night with an invitation to ride up front with the driver "who wanted to get to know us better since I see you every week". We had a wonderful chat with him all the way back. As I chattered and listened I read in a brief look into Frog's eyes and he into mine, that the lights of Waglisla we saw twinkling in the distance were calling us back home. Excuse my blasphemy but God F***ing Dammit, I love where I live. Remind me of that next time I complain about a lack of butter or pink fuzzy tomato innards.