DEFINING DINNER


we know it when we eat it.

My all-time favorite definition is the definition of "obscenity" famously attributed to Supreme Court Justice Potter Stewart: I can't describe it, but I know it when I see it. I've invoked, quoted, paraphrased, and bastardized this little nugget many times in my life -- most notably, perhaps, during a sophomore year honors class, when I used it to compare pornography to epic poetry; every student in the class, save for some freshman named Jim Pascoe, recoiled in horror -- and I thought of it again last night, when Wendy and I went first to one restaurant and then to another in search of a good, enjoyable meal.

We were, thanks to two different family illnesses, finally trying to enjoy a belated, belated anniversary dinner. Though we have reasonably discerning tastes, at times like these, we're quite easy to please: give us some unique and tasty dishes; some good wine; a relaxed, relaxing atmosphere; attentive but unobtrusive service; and, perhaps most importantly, two hours of time uninterrupted by the need to cut someone else's food, escort someone to the potty, or tell someone to stop pestering his brother. All this, we think, in the grand continuum of dinner expectations, is not too much to ask.

Last night, we were reminded that we have one other little, reasonable expectation: lack of fussiness and pretension.

Though we have plenty of favorite dining haunts in Pittsburgh, we're always eager to try fresh, exciting new spots. One of these spots, the Big Burrito group's ELEVEN, which recently opened on the Strip District site of the late, lamented VALHALLA, was booked by the time we knew we had both babysitting (thanks, Mom) and a free evening. The other, THE RED ROOM, just down the street and around the corner from us in East Liberty, sounded great, has received rave reviews, and had a few free tables for 5:30. We reserved, confirmed, and prepared our taste buds.

Our first impression -- save for the annoying yuppie couple two tables over; he with the short-sleeved shirt and sweater-vest on a 35 degree night, she with the (no more than) 2-year-old on her shoulder -- was positive. Deep, warm reds. Soft lighting. Lots of natural wood. An open, expansive dining room and lounge. A hostess with a bit of snark around the edges but still pleasant enough. A smiling, cordial waitress who appeared even before we'd settled in our seats. Yes. This was nice.

Then we opened our menus. And nineteen years after his death, Justice Stewart pulled up a chair and joined us.

We looked at our choices. We didn't speak.

The waitress returned and rattled off the specials. Demi-glaze was big. Very big. In fact, it seemed to be everywhere and on everything.

I looked again at the menu. Among seven or eight appetizer choices, only one called my name: fresh-baked crusty bread with three dipping sauces. For 8 bucks. And I thought: at three of my favorite restaurants, we get that for free. I looked at the entrees. Some lamb. Some pork. Some salmon. A lot more demi-glaze. And a whole bunch of other spices, garnishes, and flourishes, that, let's face it, sound a whole lot tastier than they actually taste.

I put the menu aside and looked at the table. I admired its lovely finish. I wondered if they'd demi-glazed that too.

I looked at Wendy. She looked at me. We both looked at the ghost of Justice Stewart, who, heartily laughing all the while, untucked a napkin from his robes. And we thought: Perhaps we can't describe fussy, pretentious cuisine, but we know it when we see it. And we know we don't want to eat it.

When our waitress returned, we smiled and politely told her that we'd changed our plans.

We went back to the 4Runner and, thinking we'd never get a table, called our favorite Pittsburgh restaurant, the South Side's fabulous DISH OSTERIA & BAR. Through some bit of supernatural luck -- the Ghost of Anniversaries Past? the Patron Saint of Wishful Thinking & Eating? -- they still had a table for two at 6. I told the hostess I'd take it and stepped on the accelerator. We got there, even with a MAC machine stop along the way, at 5:59.

And, yes, there was an unctuous, annoying couple smoking and drinking at the bar when we arrived -- and still when we left -- and a waitress who was a bit too cool for her own good and at least a couple of demi-glazes. But there was also the warm, cozy ambience. The high ceilings and soft candle light. The abundant -- and complimentary -- fresh-baked bread and olive oil. The dozen or so delectable and not overly fussy appetizers. (We chose, as usual, the Gamberi, a saucy mix of shrimp and tomatoes). The best house white wine we've ever tasted. And our two signature entrees: Wendy's fettucini with mushrooms and spinach and my filet mignon in rosemary red wine sauce -- which is good enough to drink from a glass -- with wild mushroom risotto. No dessert, though we'd both saved room in case they were repeating last year's heart-stopping pumpkin cheesecake. All this, and ninety-minutes of uninterrupted one-on-one conversation, for less than what two -- at least to our eyes -- relatively fussy, unappetizing entrees at THE RED ROOM would have cost.

Which is not to say, of course, that THE RED ROOM is not a great place to go for a meal. Or for an upscale dining experience. Or for your choice of several hundred demi-god-like demi-glazes. It may well be. It is well-liked and well-reviewed, but it clearly was not, as places like LUCCA and PALOMINO and DISH so clearly are, for us. For what we want and eat and think and know.

Perhaps the difference has something to do with DISH's Michele Savoia, who learned his trade not from an American culinary school but from his Sicilian grandmother, and who proudly stays true to his European roots and traditions rather than to the whims and tastes of current haute cuisine. Or perhaps the difference has something to do with the perfect fit of a couple who find great passion in life and in each other with a restauranteur whose motto is "Cook with passion."

Either way, we went home as we always do: well-fed and well-soothed, enriched by the meal and the mood. Warmed by the wine. Charmed by the intimacy of the room and the sincerity of the service. And convinced that, like obscenity in film and fussiness in food and pretension in presentation, neither could we sufficiently describe the value and simplicity and beauty of our dinners at DISH. We just know it when we eat it.

And, perhaps more importantly, when we feel it.

Posted: Sun - November 28, 2004 at 06:19 PM   Teacher. Wordsmith. Madman.   Life   Previous   Next Feedback

© Chad Hermann