THE ENLIGHTENING OF THE QUAIL

Yet another busy Saturday night. I walk over to an elegant woman of distinction, whose favors I always seem to be in, with her granddaughter to my left. They both have the look. The look I see over and over and over and twice as much on Saturday. Amateur night at the Apollo so to speak .

How to delicately explain we aren't a northern or southern Italian restaurant. We don't have any veal scallopini or chicken parmigiana, two dishes I adore and don't smite anyone for looking for, mind you. But thats not what we do here.

Its my job to be an ambassador our menu's culinary genius which uses all the flavors Italy has to offer from the very north to the southern shores of Sicily and how they play with the local seasonal fare and the traditions of Italy.

Back to the look. 

The woman, who was making her yearly pilgrimage to her collegiate granddaughter, had the look and she had it hard. What she needed asap is to be comforted and reassured that this menu (which must have seemed as foreign as Arabic because the items are written in Italian boldly and the English description are below in a small and light font)has exactly what they need to bring them to another place. A culinary vacation is here for all to enjoy, now, if they just sit back and follow my lead.

It starts with the eyes and soft approach. Eye contact, a slow blink and reassuring  'yes' nod  reels her in. This night our lady has forgotten her glasses at the hotel. Perfect for me. Some would go search for readers at the hostess station and let her sit there for another ten minutes of confusion with awkward zebra or leopard printed glasses on.

This is my time to strike with precision and ask what her pleasure would be tonight. Even though I know she's a beet salad and fish lady I go through with some other options verbally first.

Here is where this textbook approach took a turn to another place all together.
I get to my favorite meat dish the quail. De-boned breast stuffed with mozzarella herbs breadcrumbs swiss chard and wrapped in panchetta. The legs lolipopped and glazed with a touch of marsala over a parsnip vanilla puree and salsify roasted on top. All of the tings that make quail an annoyance to eat ,the bones, are taken out of the equation making this dish a delightfully fun and an uninterrupted joy.

Now Ive been known to be a touch dramatic and long winded at times with my descriptions but all for the pleasure of the guest.

Tears were not something I expected. The woman was in full on water works. Sobbing quietly not to be so embarrassed but also not being able to stop. She grabbed my arm whilst crying trying to apologize for the tears. If there is one thing in life we should never apologize for are our tears. I see them as a gift and a channel for growth. So I immediately let her know there is probably not a better persons shoulder to be crying on in all of Manhattan than mine. Let her cry I did. I assured the girl not to be embarrassed of her grand mother's tears and that everyone is pretty much oblivious to anything thats not in a 2 foot radius to them on a Saturday night. Even sometimes to my dismay, me their captain trying to take their order.

The woman quelled her tears to tell me her husband loved quail. He hunted it his whole life, he recently passed and left her alone and sad. He would have enjoyed my description and she was positive that's what he would be eating tonight if he were there.

I shared with her I had just lost my dear grandmother months prior. I use this food as my connection to her. When chef makes a pasta con le sarde. A tradtional Sicilian dish. It takes me back to her kitchen and me piling the extra fried breadcrumbs on top with a table of family and friends who have long passed or moved away. To a simpler time when life was fuller than we possibly knew. Because only through loss do we see it. It brings me to a joyous place now with every bite and I hold my grandmother with me in my heart. Thats how lucky we are to have had them. That we have these foods to enjoy their memory can be so fulfilling.She grabbed my arm again and asked if she could pray over me as the granddaughters eyes rolled. 

She said "Lord keep your blessing over Anthony and all that he does this year and protect him from evil and other such things..."

Not forgetting I have a job to do that she was keeping me from she says with enlightened grace and charm, 

“We'll share the Beet salad and the Branzino”. Can I pick 'em or what?

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