On the Other Side of the Apron

"The preparation of good food is merely another expression of art, one of the joys of civilized living."

- Dione Lucas

My past three weeks have been of a particular breed of masochistic. It is midterm season, to which I am referring. Sustaining myself with sandwiches and cereal, coffee and very little sleep, I've accomplished more in twenty one days than in the entire four months of my summer combined. I wrote my last exam on Tuesday; sat in a semi-cationic state on Wednesday, affording myself the luxury of doing absolutely nothing; and Thursday night, I spent in celebration.

How did I celebrate? By being on the other side of the apron.

I have spent much time in enlightening my readers upon my observations as a server, but now I would like to share who I am as a customer so that you may put my opinions within some sort of context.

"Naked As We Came," Iron & Wine

At about 8:30 pm, greeted with the melodic grace of Iron & Wine playing softly over speakers, I walked through the doors of
Three A Tasting Bar.

The restaurant was full with the exception of seating along the bar, at which a friend of mine was already ordering her second gin martini as she waited for me. As the glass was set down, Mitch offered me one of her olives; explaining that she had intended to save me one from the first drink, but had been unable. In her glass sat two plump queen olives, one stuffed with Gorgonzola and the other with a mild horseradish. Fishing an olive from the proffered well of gin, and taking a bite of salty wonder, I understood what Mitch had meant by "unable." It was delicious, and a great way to begin an evening which would extend for hours.

Suggestions intended to improve your experiences when dining out, which I have offered in past entries, I take to heart. More consistently than any other variable, I have emphasized time as a factor contributing to either a positive or negative dining experience. With no desire to condense our evening into a half-appreciated meal, Mitch and I ordered the "chef's mood," and sat back comfortably to enjoy our beverages and our conversation. For me, going out to eat at a restaurant should be different than what I may accomplish by cooking for myself, or by ordering in. It should be an event to which I dedicate myself to my companionship as well as the food being served.

In ordering the mood, our meal became an adventure with each new dish precisely explained by our server. We began with a potato-leek and roasted garlic soup; served with hand-rolled vegetarian spring rolls, complete with red curry vinaigrette for dipping. Our appetizer was followed by gyoza dumpling with ponzu sauce; a cranberry-mandarin salad topped with grilled salmon, caramelized onion, and carrot chips, and garnished with cream cheese and dill crostini.

Hungry yet?

As course upon course was delivered to us, each stressful midterm moment dissolved onto my palette.

We finished with grilled Rex sole in a tarragon cream sauce served abed a wild mushroom and asparagus risotto, and accompanied by grilled vegetables drizzled with a balsamic reduction. All this, and garlic-cheddar prawns.

Well, we didn't quite finish. Mitch and I opted to share warm apple pie and a slab of fig-apple bread pudding. Both were served with pumpkin mousse.

After a couple bites we each had to concede to the fact that we'd eaten more than we could comfortable hold. Are you familiar with reaching this point? The one when you know enough is enough, but you sometimes just can't stop your gluttonous evil twin because it tastes so damn good? We defeated those darker selves. Dessert went home with Mitch. Upon my insistence of course (I had won the left-overs the last time we dined together).

Although Three is owned and staffed by friends of mine, it has been one of my favourite establishments since well before such friendships were formed, and continues to be so. It is elegant, yet casual; small, but not cramped; and welcoming, but not overbearing. The food is astonishing. Three is my ideal dining experience, and one not to be missed if you've the opportunity. To my local readers, please treat yourself sometime.

And take your time...