Well Worth the Wait

Day 59

Six years ago, I came through Winchester, VA for the first time. While I was here, I had dessert at Violino, an Italian restaurant on the pedestrian mall in the historic district. Since those fateful profiteroles, I have vowed to come back. In fact, as we were planning this trip, Violino became a must for the way home. Yes, I will go out of my way for food, if that wasn't already obvious.

I make an early reservation for dinner, 5:30, because I want to take our time over this meal, and I don't want to go to bed stuffed. We go downtown a little early and stroll around the civil war era buildings, admiring their modest size and design. We arrive as maybe the second or third party at Violino, just as it's beginning to sprinkle outside. The hostess guides us through the sea of aqua blue clothed tables and tucks us in to the corner, where I will be able to hear and no one will walk past us on the way to the ladies room.

This restaurant glows. I don't know if it's the lamps on the tables, the prominent aqua blue theme, the staff, or what, but there is a twinkle about this place. Throughout the restaurant there is a musical theme, in tribute to it's very name Violin. Musical instruments cover the tops of the room dividers, and photos and programs from operas line the walls.

We begin the feast with house cured venison thinly sliced and arranged in a fan beside an heirloom tomato and soft cheese napoleon, topped with a pecan stuffed fresh fig. We also get a carafe of Montepulciano, a Sangiovese variety that I've never heard of. To our delight, the carafe is not the tallish clear glass piece I had imagined. It is instead a stocky ceramic pitcher with a colorful folk-y Italian design. I love it. I am turning all of my pitchers into wine serving devices as soon as we're home.

The server is pleasantly surprised by us, I think. We appear pretty rough around the edges, being straight off the bike and out of our helmets with a two month old wardrobe that is looking pretty tired. And yet, we know our stuff and we order about 6 courses. And yet, we are not pretentious about that, either. The server's assistant, who I admit has a sexy dominatrix thing going on, likes us too. She brings us water before the lonely ice cubes can clink against the bottom of the glass, takes our plates the minute they are clean, removes all of the silverware that has even touched the food so that it will not taint the next course, pours us wine from the pitcher, and asks us how our meal was just as our next course comes out, which catches her off guard once and only once.

The secret to our stamina is that we never order our own plates. We split everything, which in the end is more enjoyable in that we both get to taste a lot of things, but we don't get so stuffed. It's also romantic. We must sit shoulder to shoulder, and we often begin a meal by feeding each other the first bite. There is nothing worse than when a restaurant, bless their hearts, decides to split a plate for you. This actually happened to us at a fancy B&B in Hot Springs, NC one Valentines Day. We ordered in our typical way, by saying that we wanted to share, and then they split it and brought it out on two plates. On Valentines Day! The very night when Lady-and-the-Tramping a kiss somewhere during the meal is at it's all time best. And don't even get me started on restaurants that do a “split charge” for sharing. That is shitty and cheap. Period.

OK, anyway, after our venison we have a beautiful salad with magenta radicchio and green arugula with shaved parmigiano and a lovely vinaigrette. Then, the Ossobuco with saffron risotto. Oh my, even though I am well aware that this is the flesh of a baby cow, it is divine; tender and glistening in it's own juices. The risotto is the color of a temple's golden roof. It is beautiful. It is at this point that the soft notes of an actual violin drift through the place. We look over to see a sweet redhead playing in the corner. This place is enchanted, truly.

Holy Cannoli

After this, the chef sends out a little treat to cleanse the palate: fresh melon and blueberries with port. Goodness. Next, we have fettuccine with wild mushrooms and rosemary sauce. With properly prepared pasta, the starch is the star, not the sauce. This dish is perfect; mounded ribbons of soft semolina with mushrooms generously studded throughout, the sauce is discernible only by tasting it, or by it's delicate shimmer in the light.

Finally, we go with a classic: cannoli and port. This is no ordinary cannoli. There are two, balanced on top on one another, their ends dipped in pistachios (not the usual chocolate chips). A rich, purple fruit sauce and a chocolate sauce is drizzled over the plate. The deep purple port was the perfect pairing.

We get back to the hotel, and happily collapse in bed. The Pirate fall asleep watching NASCAR as I write, and once I am finished, I change the channel and catch the last few minutes of Julie & Julia, where Julia gets her book published and Julie finishes writing her blog. I chose to take that as a specific portent of good.