Let's Go Red Sox
Oct. 9th, 2003 05:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lollardfishThey won Game 1. Should I brace for the pain now? Can I revel in the brief glory of finding out, 18 hours later, that the Red Sox are now 1-0 against the Yankees? Can I close my eyes and imagine, for a moment, that Derek Lowe will beat them tonight, that Pedro, in Fenway, will be crush them? Or, when I close my eyes, will I flash back to that most character-building of sports-related childhood events, the ball rolling the Bill Buckner's legs. I remember getting up and going to the bathroom before the 10th inning started, Sox up by two, feeling that they were going to win the Series. I remember the horror. Can I let myself be so hurt again? Since then, sports has mostly been a series of disasters. The Red Sox mired perpetually in second place. The Celtics collapsing. Buffalo losing four straight superbowls. Now the Vikings ... the Red Sox of the NFL, just good enough to keep your hopes high, but always failing in the worst possible way right at the last minute. Gary Anderson missing a field goal for the first time all season in the NFC Championship game, and then losing in OT. The 42-0 disgrace. Aside from I.U. Basketball, I haven't backed a winner in awhile, and lately I root for Minnesota college hoops anyway.
But dare I hope?
For the Twins, I could hope. They've actually won it twice in my lifetime. Heck, in my father's lifetime. But the Red Sox?
Anyway, my friends Bruce and Karen are visiting this week, and it's been nice to see them. Last night we sought out the restaurant Alla Carampane, quite well reviewed and featured in a mystery book my parents both read. It is difficult to find, being on a series of streets that are not named on my maps (though they do have names). Outside, the sign reads "No lasagne. No pizza. No Tourist Menu." Inside, the place is nicely decorated, if not sumptuously so. There is a winelist, almost entirely of local wines (from the Veneto, Friulia, and other Italian regions less prominantly), but no menu. The waitress told us what was available, and then helped us decide what to eat. This was taxing for my Italian, because I needed to hear her, translate in my head, remember, and then relay to my friends. As opposed to just hearing and ordering without translating. We began with a little raw tuna and schie (like prawns; little shrimps) and three breaded and baked scallops. These were well prepared and presented, and, with the prosecco, whetted our appetites nicely. We moved onto truly wonderful primi. Bruce had a crab linguine, and Karen a spaghetti with fish sauce, made with pieces of a 'brutish red fish', as described by the waitress. Both were very good. (I may be misremembering kinds of pasta). I had ordered the same as Karen, but then the waitress came back out and asked me if I wanted a risotto. The funny thing is that I did want a risotto. I had been wanting a Venetian seafood risotto for weeks, and hadn't gotten around to ordering one yet (or it had been unavailable). I had commented, probably ad nauseum, on this to Karen and Bruce during the afternoon.
All I can say is compliments to the restaurant's intelligence agency. The risotto was extraordinarily delicious.
The secondi, on the other hand, were ordinary if fine. Bruce and Karen both ordered the John Dorry, which the waitress said would be baked, and I a grilled Branzino. At any rate, I told the waitress I'd like a grilled branzino (a kind of Adriatic sea bass), and she said, "right, baked." "No, grilled please." She smiled. "Right, baked." (Actually she said, "Si, ai ferri). I got it baked. I like uppity waitresses who know that the customer is not, in fact, always right. They know the food, the cuisine, and what's the best way to do it. So that's how they did it. And my fish was lovely, if ordinary (no better than the branzino my mother and I shared at another, cheaper, restaurant). Bruce's and Karen's secondi were a touch greasy, but also tasty (and served in a porcini sort of sauce, I think. No doubt they will correct me if wrong).
For desert, we ordered a chocolate cake and two sgroppini (lemon sorbet, prosecco, and a touch of vodka). We had chocolate cake and three sgroppini. The waitress shrugged and walked away when I cautiously asked, "tre?" But she, like us, were smiling. The bill was not small, but nor was it exhorbitant.
Tonight we head to Da Fiore, recipient of a Guide Michelin star, so considered quite grand by some. It will be interesting to compare.
In other news, I talked the procuratoria of San Marco into letting me into the hallway between the Ducal Palace and the Church today, to view the plaque. I was not able to meet with the person I was supposed to ask, because he was in meetings, but some other random procurator took me down to the church, introduced me to the guards, and asked them to take care of it. They did. We had to shift around a table and some flats and platforms, but I got a lot of good pictures. Thanks so much to Bruce and Karen for lending me their digital camera. This plaque was commissioned in the 1260s to commemorate the miraculous survival of various relics from a fire in the 1220s, and is a visual illustration of how the late thirteenth century Venetians used certain relics in their possession (from the Fourth Crusade) to further political ends. Anyway, I needed to see it and photograph it, and got permission, and feel quite pleased with myself about that.
Go Red Sox ...
But dare I hope?
For the Twins, I could hope. They've actually won it twice in my lifetime. Heck, in my father's lifetime. But the Red Sox?
Anyway, my friends Bruce and Karen are visiting this week, and it's been nice to see them. Last night we sought out the restaurant Alla Carampane, quite well reviewed and featured in a mystery book my parents both read. It is difficult to find, being on a series of streets that are not named on my maps (though they do have names). Outside, the sign reads "No lasagne. No pizza. No Tourist Menu." Inside, the place is nicely decorated, if not sumptuously so. There is a winelist, almost entirely of local wines (from the Veneto, Friulia, and other Italian regions less prominantly), but no menu. The waitress told us what was available, and then helped us decide what to eat. This was taxing for my Italian, because I needed to hear her, translate in my head, remember, and then relay to my friends. As opposed to just hearing and ordering without translating. We began with a little raw tuna and schie (like prawns; little shrimps) and three breaded and baked scallops. These were well prepared and presented, and, with the prosecco, whetted our appetites nicely. We moved onto truly wonderful primi. Bruce had a crab linguine, and Karen a spaghetti with fish sauce, made with pieces of a 'brutish red fish', as described by the waitress. Both were very good. (I may be misremembering kinds of pasta). I had ordered the same as Karen, but then the waitress came back out and asked me if I wanted a risotto. The funny thing is that I did want a risotto. I had been wanting a Venetian seafood risotto for weeks, and hadn't gotten around to ordering one yet (or it had been unavailable). I had commented, probably ad nauseum, on this to Karen and Bruce during the afternoon.
All I can say is compliments to the restaurant's intelligence agency. The risotto was extraordinarily delicious.
The secondi, on the other hand, were ordinary if fine. Bruce and Karen both ordered the John Dorry, which the waitress said would be baked, and I a grilled Branzino. At any rate, I told the waitress I'd like a grilled branzino (a kind of Adriatic sea bass), and she said, "right, baked." "No, grilled please." She smiled. "Right, baked." (Actually she said, "Si, ai ferri). I got it baked. I like uppity waitresses who know that the customer is not, in fact, always right. They know the food, the cuisine, and what's the best way to do it. So that's how they did it. And my fish was lovely, if ordinary (no better than the branzino my mother and I shared at another, cheaper, restaurant). Bruce's and Karen's secondi were a touch greasy, but also tasty (and served in a porcini sort of sauce, I think. No doubt they will correct me if wrong).
For desert, we ordered a chocolate cake and two sgroppini (lemon sorbet, prosecco, and a touch of vodka). We had chocolate cake and three sgroppini. The waitress shrugged and walked away when I cautiously asked, "tre?" But she, like us, were smiling. The bill was not small, but nor was it exhorbitant.
Tonight we head to Da Fiore, recipient of a Guide Michelin star, so considered quite grand by some. It will be interesting to compare.
In other news, I talked the procuratoria of San Marco into letting me into the hallway between the Ducal Palace and the Church today, to view the plaque. I was not able to meet with the person I was supposed to ask, because he was in meetings, but some other random procurator took me down to the church, introduced me to the guards, and asked them to take care of it. They did. We had to shift around a table and some flats and platforms, but I got a lot of good pictures. Thanks so much to Bruce and Karen for lending me their digital camera. This plaque was commissioned in the 1260s to commemorate the miraculous survival of various relics from a fire in the 1220s, and is a visual illustration of how the late thirteenth century Venetians used certain relics in their possession (from the Fourth Crusade) to further political ends. Anyway, I needed to see it and photograph it, and got permission, and feel quite pleased with myself about that.
Go Red Sox ...
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Date: 2003-10-10 03:01 am (UTC)And thank you for the delectable description of all the food. Now, of course, I am unconscionably hungry.
Damn your descriptiveness, memory for pasta types or no!