For as long as I can remember, Tom has encouraged men to get into trouble with their ladies by ignoring the actual day to honor St. Valentine, and just move it to another day. Hopefully, not too many guys took his advice. This disdain gave me a pass to just ignore the day, but I am a celebrate-on-the-actual-day stickler, and we had to do something. My valentine does not recognize cooking at home as eating. That fact alone lessens the significance of where we eat because we eat out for nearly every meal.
Dickering with myself over this question left me with no reservations on the big day. Dropping in at a nicer restaurant was a hilarious thought until I remembered a very special place with a large bar and outside tables that are always kept for diners like us. And luckily, it was a balmy, though threatening night.
I would still have felt funny at a place like this had it not been for the fact that walking into Pardo’s at any time is like getting a big hug from family. The etching on the door reminded me that Pardo’s is celebrating their 10th anniversary this year. I remember their arrival on the scene into a space vacated by a very good Italian restaurant we loved. It is not easy for me to let go of things I love, but I never thought of the place again. Pardo’s grabbed me from the first sight, and certainly that first bite.
There have been a lot of fits and starts since the move to Hwy 22, but every time I leave there I am annoyed with myself that we go so irregularly. The place is so beautiful I could move in there tomorrow, the food is terrific, and the service friendly, attentive, and accomplished.
We arrived at 5pm la nuit d’amour to the fabulous courtyard at Pardo’s and were happy to see only one couple there. Two large four tops were empty, but the bar inside was packed. After a greeting with the usual warmth and familiarity, they set the table for us. We didn’t expect Brianna and felt a bit guilty when she came, but we always love when she takes care of us because she cares so much.
We were still full from lunch and didn’t want to hold a table too long, so we ordered a few apps. Tom got his crispy oysters, which were prepared a bit differently than the last time. There has been a revolving door of chefs here since the magical combination of Osman the owner and Marvin, his longtime chef.
The last crispy oyster preparation featured a pile of oysters amid shaved radishes over a Gribiche sauce, with a smidge of roe. This was a line of crispy oysters, same sauce, a few sliced cucumbers, and a lot of roe. Every bit as delicious, how could it not be?
I was intrigued by a new item on the menu - dumplings. I never pass up a dumpling when I see it, and I wish I had ordered six plates of these. They were smallish, six to an order, and napped with the spiciest and most divine sauce!
After ordering the carpaccio as an entree for Tom, and a Caesar salad for myself, I heard the soup du jour was a chicken vegetable soup. Even though I feel that soup is a weak spot here, it’s hard to pass up a chicken vegetable soup. It was definitely not the best of these I’ve had, but again, it’s chicken soup with vegetables. Never a miss.
My Caesar salad was beautiful and the carpaccio was stunning. Mine was a nice pile of greens well dressed with a Parmesan crisp on top. But this carpaccio!
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It was without a doubt the thinnest beef slices I have ever seen. I don’t know how they got it onto the plate, but Tom had to scrape it off the plate with a fork. It was a large portion on a large plate, with a pile of arugula in the center, and a smattering of caper berries. An artfully arranged stack of very thin crostini flanked one side, with the requisite Dijon mustard vinaigrette drizzled in the expected lattice pattern, and all this dusted with Parmesan cheese. Tom ate every scrap, and I do mean scrap, of this.
Since there wasn’t a wait for these tables, we got a chance to linger, vacillating about getting dessert. It was such fun to sit by the front door and watch a steady parade of their glamorous customers passing us on their way in. I was surprised to see the number of people dressed specially for the day. Since the rain only threatened and didn’t actually arrive, we sat for a while.
We struck up a conversation with the adjacent diners over their selection of a Slovenian rosé. It was a marvelous evening, as usual, and we left with the same thought, as usual: why in the world don’t we come here every week?
