Thursday, December 9, 2010. Del Porto. Twenty-four degrees when I got up this morning. The heater, despite running for days without a break, only gets the temperature up to fifty-eight. The repairman finally showed up at one-thirty. After an hour of checking things out, he found the fan guilty of running too fast--at the air conditioner speed, instead of the lower heating speed. But it's always done that, for twenty years, and we never had this problem before. If that's the case, he said, then the thermostat wasn't properly controlling the fan speeds, and we needed a new one. The cost for everything was $245--substantially lower a figure than I was expecting. And the house is warm again.
The repairman's afternoon arrival made me stay home with the radio show again. And to dine somewhere on the North Shore. Mary Ann is still on "The Downalator"--her word for the mood she's in following a visit to or from Jude. I suggested that we dine tonight at Del Porto, where we have not been on over a year. "That's just what I was thinking!" she said. Good start to the evening.
Del Porto has only one door separating the dining room from the cold outside. We asked for and got a table far away from the entrance, way in the corner. The menu didn't lift MA's spirits, but they gave me a lot to think about. My first idea was to have a Negroni, featured on the cocktail list. Either I was way ahead of the curve on the increasing popularity of this classic cocktail, or it's becoming popular because I talk about it a lot. (Probably the first explanation.) Del Porto served as generous a Negroni as I've ever had--almost too big.
The first course was the zuppa del giorno. It was nothing like any other zuppa del giornos I've had.* Made with pumpkin and Calabrese sausage, it was thick, hot, and hearty--the perfect soup on a night like this. Very enjoyable.
Next, a bowl of fourteen mussels, arrayed around the perimeter of the plate in the classic way, with a pile of soft tomatoes and herbs in the center. The tomatoes combined with the mussel juices and wine to make a fine, sloshy, moderately peppery sauce at the bottom of the bowl, the better to slosh the bivalves around en route to my waiting bec.
Just as these arrived, so did an old friend. He has gone through too many crises for such a nice guy. But he looked good, and was in his usual light mood. When his kids were young, his wife went through a long and losing battle with cancer. His empathy is so strong that his own suffering was great. Tonight, he dropped a bomb about one of his now-grown children, who suddenly has a life-altering, long-term challenge to meet. He interspersed this report with jokes for me and right-wing political analysis for Mary Ann, while trying to put a good face on his situation. I hope our jaws weren't hanging too low as he told us the story. When he returned to his date, we looked at one another and, in harmony, said, "Wow."
Our thoughts meshed, too. How is it that we're so lucky never to have big problems, to have kids so healthy, smart, interesting, and responsible, and to live such an enjoyable life? If something like what our friend has to deal with came our way, could we handle it with such grace? And why him?
Dinner continued with a third appetizer for me and a gigantic one-course meal for Mary Ann. Mine was a bowl of superb, home-made gnocchi with wild mushrooms and fried sweetbreads, with a brothy sauce, a few scattered raisins, and arugula. Hers was an enormous pork osso buco. Two of them, really, with a fine sauce of natural juices and basil, with a rough pesto topping. It must have been very good: she wiped it out.
Mary Ann must have needed a salve for her soul, because she wanted a dessert--a course she almost never eats. Or it could have been the attraction of the dense chocolate torte. I always eat dessert, and here was a panna cotta, flavored with sweet potatoes and pecans. Perfect light touch. The cup holding the panna cotta rested on a doily made by cutting a square out of an old menu. This was funny, I thought. Mary Ann said she'd noticed that every dish all night long came out served that way. Well, she's the atmosphere specialist.
It sure was cold walking the half-block to the car.
*Joke.
Ristorante Del Porto. Covington: 501 E Boston St. 985-875-1006.
