Personal Yummy #4 (Part 3)
Having had such a wonderful time at The Dr. Oz Show, my mom and I were undoubtedly going to continue our lovely day and were now ready to find a place to have a beautiful dinner. Therefore, after quite a bit of walking and plenty of time devoted to reading the menus presented near the entrances of many different restaurants, we chose Trattoria Dell’Arte, an elegant, bustling, and alluring Tuscan trattoria at 900 Seventh Avenue, just across the street from Carnegie Hall, between 56th and 57th. I had been there only one time before, during the day, for an appreciation lunch for me and my coworkers when I had been an employee at the nearby asset management firm where I worked as an editor in the private client marketing department. After many months of effort, we had just finally completed a dense and sophisticated 108-page research book on financial planning, and I was so happy to be finished with that particular project and the rounds and rounds of editing and proofreading that it required. I enjoyed that lunch, but I remember how exhausted I was from all of my countless daily corporate responsibilities, and I felt so fortunate to be vastly more rested and in a much more creative mental space for dinner that evening with my mom.
The smiling host greeted us and seated us in the upper-left back section of the restaurant, taking us past the elaborate antipasto bar in the center of the restaurant (the largest antipasto bar in all of New York City!), and past the bottles and bottles of wine and champagne resting in ornate buckets of ice and surrounded by fancy wineglasses. I received such a good energy as I walked through the trattoria, feeling like I had entered a little section of Eden full of candles and appetizing food and atmospheric lights and good conversation and unusual items.
We were seated at a small round table in the middle of the section, and we couldn’t help but admire the walls around us, which were covered with all types of colorful, unexpected, and quirky Italian art, including oversized candy fruit slices and sculptures of lips and famous Italian noses. It was as if we had suddenly arrived in the wonderland of an Italian artist’s mind.
It was difficult to stop looking around, but when our attractive, elegant, and dark-haired waitress with very red lips and a distinct voice and a fashionable windswept bun and dainty earrings handed us the menus, we turned our attention to all of the appetite-inducing offerings in print in front of us. Nevertheless, amid our perusing the menu items and discussing them, my mom commented on how pretty and unique our waitress was, and she couldn’t help but wonder if she was a Broadway performer, or at least an aspiring one. So, naturally (my mom being a bit more comfortable than I am when it comes to asking strangers questions, which is a good thing), when she came back to take our order, my mom simply asked her, “Are you on Broadway?” And you know what she said? With a bit of unmistakable and good-natured mischievousness in her eyes, she simply answered, “No, I’m not. I’m on Seventh Avenue.” My mom glanced at me and smiled, apparently rather impressed by her quick answer. When she finished taking our order, gathered our menus, and left our table, my mom commented, “Well, she’s pretty clever, isn’t she?”
Because there were so many delectable-sounding items on the menu, it was tough to make a decision, but my mom eventually picked the hearts of palm, arugula, and parmesan cheese salad to start, and then the lobster spaghetti carbonara with guanciale bacon, pecorino cheese, and egg for her main course. After going back and forth in my mind, I chose the chicken Milanese. Also, I usually order a glass of wine when I go to such a nice place for dinner, but we were planning to attend a Broadway show afterward (I certainly didn’t want to have to run to the restroom during the show), so I was happy with my refreshing water with lemon, which was served in an intricate wineglass, making it taste even better. My mom decided upon water with lemon too, although she usually orders a decaffeinated beverage of some sort, whether it be a 7Up or some kind of fruity or minty concoction.
A lover of salad—I make a side salad almost every evening to eat with my dinner if I am eating at home—I couldn’t resist enjoying some of my mom’s salad when it arrived, even though my entrée was going to come with a salad as well. In any case, the hearts of palm, arugula, and parmesan cheese salad with fresh black pepper was delicious—filling us with even more anticipation for what was next.
It didn’t take too much time for our waitress to appear with our main dishes, in fact, and I was struck by how beautifully they were presented, certainly a continuation of the artistic nature of the entire establishment. Lying on top of my mom’s creamy pasta was an entire fried egg, the yolk pristine and perfect. And my golden-brown piece of chicken Milanese—which was adorned with a mixture of arugula, fennel, and cherry tomato, as well as half of a lemon wrapped and tied within yellow cheesecloth and accentuated with a tiny green bow—was so large, round, and expansive on the even larger white platter, that I sat there for a minute wondering how the chef had accomplished that feat. However he or she did it, it was tender and crunchy, and when I squeezed the fresh lemon all over it, even better.
The spaghetti carbonara with big chunks of lobster was yummy, too—of course I tried it—and my mom had no trouble finishing the dish, which had been the ideal portion for such a rich combination of lusciousness. As for me, I was able to eat only about a quarter of the chicken, but, as usual, I enjoyed every single bite. Moreover, I certainly didn’t want to waste the rest of it, but I was concerned about taking a to-go container into the theater with me, fearing that the smell would bother the people around me—or that I wouldn’t even be allowed to take it into the theater in the first place—but my mom assured me that if it was wrapped in a sealed container, all would be fine.
Unfortunately, we didn’t have time to try any of the trattoria’s desserts, which include tiramisu, cannoli with blueberry sauce, raspberry sorbet, chocolate mousse, and layered vanilla meringue pie, but I will definitely enjoy one next time…and the next time…and the next time. And—while we’re on the topic—I hope you find the opportunity to enjoy a dessert, and so much more, at the trattoria too.
Finished with our meal and very satisfied, we asked our waitress for our check, and I mentioned that I would like to take the rest of my chicken home. So she packed it in a thick plastic container, which she placed in a sturdy paper bag with an even sturdier handle. Ready to go, we walked through the restaurant toward the exit—gathering additional good vibes on the way—and made a stop in the downstairs restroom, passing even more interesting art on the walls along the staircase. And then out into the cool night air we proceeded, definitely ready for our next New York City adventure, but still discussing our fortune to have spent part of our evening at Trattoria Dell’Arte.
Awash in art, delicious food, Italian sensibility, and the energy of inspiration, it would be hard to find a reason not to go back.
personalyummy.com 