faulker053

Saturday night. New York City. True story. I’m out to dinner with my husband while visiting New York City, at a restaurant highly praised by a foodie—friend I’ll call Lloyd. And Lloyd says “you must try the desserts—they’re amazing”, or something to that effect. It’s a 45-minute wait for a seat at the bar (a beautiful, relaxed setting, I’ll add). We share a couple of wine flights—those 3 oz samples, and order our meal. That part was easy. The arctic char appetizer was divine, surpassed by the two entrees we decided in advance to share. (Basically, I have a hard time deciding and don’t want to limit my options, so I petition my husband that we should share and he generally obliges as he did Saturday. Yes, marrying him was a good decision.)  Skillfully prepared fish and a butternut squash lasagna—the labels do no justice to their taste. Totally wow, and I don’t use superlatives for food too readily. The bread was similarly fabulous—a whole-wheat sourdough seemingly right from t...