Sunday, February 26, 2012

Me lika Mizuna

To be honest, I'm not a foodie; I wish I were. I admire foodies. They seem like cool people who never have to say they're cool to be cool. They just silently take in the moment, taste it for all it's worth and notice the fine nuances. I'm not that subtle and neither is my pallet. Since I can't really smell anything, my schnauze ruins most things I really want to taste. I use my eyes more in the eating experience because of this. It's why I like color and contrast on a plate. Still D holds firm to the idea that he can expose me to the finer foods in life.

A few weeks ago, he took me out to the incomparable Mizuna for dinner. It was inspiring to say the least. Upon sitting down, I felt like we were whisked away in to a dream of what you imagine the most wonderful date dinner to be: a quaint, hip restaurant; a friendly waiter; unbelievable food presented in the most interesting ways; long-legged wines courtesy of a well-seasoned sommelier; and the sheer joy of a full belly of good food and drink as you sit across from an attractive companion.

Since D knows so many people over there, we were visited by faces entrenched in the scene. It seemed like clockwork the way the evening flowed and they stopped by the say hello. It was impressive; I told him later in the meal, if we weren't married and just on any old Friday night date, he probably would be getting lucky.

This was food and ambiance as an art form. It was taken to a high level by people who perfect what degree to prepare the food at, how to make it unique and interesting, how to seamlessly deliver the enjoyment of the experience to your own personal space within their confines. Every person is at the top of their game: mastering their profession, believing in the company, helping people enjoy a night out on the town. Who cares if it's cow town Denver; I felt like we were in Manhattan. Good meals have no boundaries.

In fact, I was nervous that I wasn't sheik or foodie enough to rise to the occasion. D grimaced at the idea of me taking photos of the courses. He made me promise no flash (please, I don't shine my gold teeth in public). Still, I'm left wanting when I sit reviewing the night in photos. The experience itself is one beautiful photo in my head though I wish my morsel memory was stronger. I wish I could remember the flavors more distinctly and how the wine accompanied them. I wish I was savvy enough to order a five-course meal in perfect, complimenting flavors to match the standards of what each person in that restaurant brings to the table. To say to the staff, I too like food as much as you. But I don't understand food the way these people do. It made me feel lacking - in a good way; in the way I get inspired to be a better person in my daily life when I'm faced with people flourishing passionately in theirs. In the way it made me go home and want to make flavored butter to serve on the table to my guests.

If as Bonanno says, "Every night is theater; we’ll want to give a better show next time". I say, it was all I could do not to walk out of Mizuna clapping.

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