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| RER 8.22.15 |
“Two?”
“Two,” she says,
certain, looking behind her at his weary eyes.
A blur of blue
and white winding ahead of them leads them to a table. They want to take it all in, but they
arrive at their table in an instant, covering much of the restaurant’s floor.
It’s grey, white and wood, a rustic kind of glam imbues the details— grey plush
tall booths hugging granite tabletops, long wooden harvest tables, typical
white subway tile, heavy curtains draped with deep folds, a wall unit warm with
trinkets, and glittery candelabras emanating a brighter light than expected. It’s
eclectic and synchronized, homey and yet, trendy.
The menu is a
quick read with four wide columns, the words tickling their taste-buds and
strumming their appetite. She wants everything; he is indifferent, rubbing the
unexpected workday from his eyes. She orders with her usual authority. Slight hesitation.
She orders more. She’s taking him out, and she wants everything.
The sky darkens
outside and the light becomes warmer, edges soften, even his lips give way to a
smile. What was once cold and sharp is now subdued as night sets in. A rosy
moment passes too quickly and interiors reflect in the windows against the
blackening backdrop. Like in the sky, sweeps of color whisper across the plates
at The Kitchen at Grove Station.
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| RER 8.22.15 |
Towering and
jade, the watercress salad burns, bitter, relief only in salty-sweet bacon
wrapped peach slices and thick ribbons of raw zucchini. It’s crisp and raw,
incongruent and hard to eat, foliage directly to the mouth. Watercress
overwhelms, staining the juicy peach and pungent cheese.
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| RER 8.22.15 |
Arranged like
flowers opening in sunlight, the fluke crudo is mild, studded with lively
pomegranate seeds and floral mandarin oranges. The dish embellished with curls
of celery is light, like eating air from the sea. Slick textures create stark
contrast with the crunch of the gemlike seeds, providing bravado to muted flavors.
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He pours the
temperate soup in the shallow bowl lined with thinly sliced shrimp curled up on
a thick stripe of parmesan frico. The salt of the cheese clashes with the
sweetness of the fresh kernels of the summer corn and briny shrimp. However, it
brings out the salty sourness of the thick dirty golden soup. Complexity and
layers are misaligned and misguided but visually stunning.
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| RER 8.22.15 |
An elaborate
crescent rests on a perfect round, a conglomeration of textures and colors
dimmed by a thick dark sauce spiked with red pepper flakes. The delicate pasta
gushes with soft potato filling contrasting with the crisp sparkle of summer
corn and spicy radish and green-tasting cilantro. Salty bacon moments create a
familiarity feeling mixing with the soft starch.
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Slippery, doughy
dumplings filled to brimming with raucous seafood blends with the succulent and
sensuous coconut broth. It coats their tongues, heavy, rich and sweet,
overbearing, but laced with the bitterness of a few watercress stems. Popping
orange-red tobiko and translucent radishes float at the broth’s surface.
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Their eyes
lower, content but wanting more, and there is. A beautiful slab of duck is
perched on dark oaty quinoa and earthy charred spinach. Its skin and fat gleam
in the light, begging to be both devoured and savored. The pink of the meat
mimics the dark tone of the refreshingly sweet and tart beet and apple puree.
Each element comes together seamlessly, giving part of itself to fill the needs
of its counterparts, a balance of decadence.
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It’s almost over, they think. The savory has been
deconstructed, reconstructed and devoured; the smiles have deepened and the
laughs have resonated; and things have quieted. But there is always dessert to
reignite the flame of satiation.
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And it is
beautiful, like summer delicately transplanted into a shallow bowl. Dessert is
a collection of warm weather memories blended with past and present through the
expression of fresh fruit hardly touched but amplified. Buttery sweet crumble
and melting ice cream sink into the fruit of the re-imagined cobbler, evoking
home and happiness.
They leave
holding hands, not sure what happened, if dinner even happened, but smiling with
a certain secret satisfaction. She took him out, and she wants everything.
RER
8.22.15
