Personal Yummy #89
It was my favorite place to have a glass of red wine in the city.
Cabernet, Malbec, or Merlot…
On a white-and-red–checkered tablecloth.
With a little clay bowl of black and green olives dressed in oil and red pepper flakes, of course.
I particularly enjoyed sitting in the front section at one of the rustic wooden tables near the elegant bar, with the mirrored wall behind it listing some of the available white wines (Les Vins Blanc) on the left side—Sancerre, Pinot Grigio, Chardonnay, Sauvignon Blanc—and some of the available red wines (Les Vins Rouge) on the right—Pinot Noir, Côtes du Rhône, Beaujolais, Bordeaux—in a fancy cream-colored script.
And I especially enjoyed spending time there with my friend Sally.
We got together at the restaurant so frequently over the years that when she took another friend there for a glass of wine, she later confessed to me, laughing lightly, “I cheated on you Wednesday night at Saju Bistro with my friend Lana…”
Certainly.
Surrounded by a large antique-looking, French country mirror; a curlicue-embellished gold chandelier with tons of little white lamp shades on top; and colorful Provençal plates and framed Orangina ads covering the walls…and, across West 44th Street, through the sliding lace-covered French doors, a stunning view of the lit-up Belasco Theatre…Sally and I would meet there after work—or after our ballroom dance lessons at nearby Dance Times Square, or my Latin Jazz dance classes at the Ailey Extension—and chat about our jobs, our friends, their dramas, her children, my auditions, our dance teachers, the ballroom dance competition world, and dating.
We always had so much to talk about, and so much fun talking about it all, so comfortable and easy with each other…and so happy to devote our evening to being together at Saju Bistro.
In addition to our glasses of red wine, we would often treat ourselves to dinner too.
As usual, I liked to start off with the jardinette salad, which was light and refreshing (mixed field greens, cherry tomatoes, and lemon vinaigrette). But if I wanted to change things up a bit, I’d decide upon the salade de poulet, which was tasty as well, just much more hearty and filling (grilled chicken tenders, mixed field greens, string beans, asparagus, apple, and lemon vinaigrette).
Moreover, I ordered the burger quite regularly (with cheddar, lettuce, tomato, onion, and fries), and almost always following an intense workout. As for Sally, the turkey burger was her primary choice (with lettuce, tomato, onion, cilantro aioli, avocado, and fries).
Every once in a while I would splurge and spoil myself with a pasta dish, such as the rigatoni à la saucisse de campagne (rigatoni with Italian sausage, broccoli rabe, extra virgin olive oil, garlic, and a touch of Grana Padano cheese), or the spaghetti puttanesca au thon frais (fresh tuna, fresh tomato, basil, capers, and black olives). And, every once in a while, both Sally and I would savor the saumon à la Provençal (grilled salmon, tarragon persillade, grilled asparagus, and pommes rissolées).
It was such a satisfying meal!
For dessert, I would consistently get the crème brûlée (traditional vanilla custard), while Sally would request a cappuccino (the caffeine doesn’t seem to keep her from getting a good night’s sleep, as it does me). On certain occasions, however, we would order the profiterole and share it (puff pastry, vanilla ice cream, and hot Belgian chocolate). It was so decadent and delicious, and doubly yummy when shared with a good friend… (And, yes! I know that Belgian chocolate contains caffeine, too, but for certain delights I am willing to take the risk!)
Whether we ordered dessert or not, every time we finished dinner our waiter would bring us a tiny white plate adorned with a dainty, even-whiter paper doily decorated with about five little various-shaped shortbread cookies sprinkled with powdered sugar—classy and fun.
Sally would eat one and then give the rest to me to relish.
Before leaving, I would invariably take a walk through the larger, more-hidden section of the restaurant, past the many tables lining the red brick and yellow walls enhanced with ornate, gold- and wooden-framed still lifes of bottles, sunflowers, and fruit—candles and mood lights abounding, and lots of romantic ambience—and stop in one of the small restrooms on either side of the tucked-away alcove all the way in the back, near the oversize vase on the floor filled with an abundance of fresh flowers, and adjacent to the Tournée du Chat Noir and Palais de Glace posters.
The bathrooms were tiny, but cozy, calm, and comforting, with unique, fanciful sinks.
And it never failed.
As I washed my hands with the fragrant liquid soap and met my gaze in the circular mirror—my eyes happy and glowing; my body warmed up by the food, the wine, and the atmosphere—I thanked Saju, that spirit of destiny, for leading me back to my beloved bistro one more time.
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